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Royalty Restored; Or, London Under Charles II

by J. Fitzgerald Molloy · English · Gutenberg #1879 · 725,454 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Royalty Restored; Or, London Under Charles II

Author: J. Fitzgerald Molloy


        
Release date: September 1, 1999 [eBook #1879]
                Most recently updated: November 6, 2008

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1879

Credits: Produced by An Anonymous Volunteeer, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROYALTY RESTORED; OR, LONDON UNDER CHARLES II ***




Produced by An Anonymous Volunteeer





ROYALTY RESTORED

or, LONDON UNDER CHARLES II.


By J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY



Original Transcriber's Note:

Footnotes have been inserted into this etext in square brackets ("[]")
close to the place where they were indicated by a suffix in the original
text.

The pound sterling symbol has been written as 'L'.

Text in italics has been written in capital letters.


PG Editor's Note: Archaic spelling and grammar retained.



TO THOMAS HARDY, ESQ.

   DEAR MR. HARDY,

   In common with all readers of the English language, I owe you a
   debt of gratitude, the which I rejoice to acknowledge, even in so
   poor a manner as by dedicating this work to you.

   Believe me,

   Faithfully yours always,

   J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY.




PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

No social history of the court of Charles II. has heretofore been
written. The Grammont Memoirs, devoid of date and detail, and addressed
"to those who read only for amusement," present but brief imperfect
sketches of the wits and beauties who thronged the court of the merry
monarch whilst the brilliant Frenchman sojourned in England. Pepys,
during the first nine years of the Restoration, narrates such gossip as
reached him regarding Whitehall and the practices that obtained there.
Evelyn records some trifling actions of the king and his courtiers,
with a view of pointing a moral, rather than from a desire of adorning a
tale.

To supply this want in our literature, I have endeavoured to present a
picture of the domestic life of a king, whose name recalls pages of the
brightest romance and strangest gallantry in our chronicles. To this I
have added a study of London during his reign, taken as far as possible
from rare, and invariably from authentic sources. It will readily be
seen this work, embracing such subjects, could alone have resulted from
careful study and untiring consultation of diaries, records, memoirs,
letters, pamphlets, tracts, and papers left by contemporaries
familiar with the court and capital. The accomplishment of such a task
necessitated an expenditure of time, and devotion to labour, such as in
these fretful and impatient days is seldom bestowed on work.

As in previous volumes I have writ no fact is set down without
authority, so likewise the same rule is pursued in these; and for such
as desire to test the accuracy thereof, or follow at further length
statements necessarily abbreviated, a list is appended of the principal
literature consulted. And inasmuch as I have found pleasure in this
work, so may my gentle readers derive profit therefrom; and as I have
laboured, so may they enjoy. Expressing which fair wishes, and moreover
commending myself unto their love and service, I humbly take my leave.

J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY.




LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL BOOKS, PAMPHLETS, TRACTS, AND NEWSPAPERS,
CONSULTED IN WRITING THIS VOLUME.

"Elenchus Motuum Nuperorum." Heath's "Flagellum; or, the Life and Death
of Oliver Cromwell." Banks' "Life of Cromwell." "Review of the Political
Life of Cromwell." "A Modest Vindication of Oliver Cromwell." "The
Machivilian Cromwellist." Kimber's "Life of Cromwell." "The World
Mistaken in Oliver Cromwell"(1668). "A Letter of Comfort to Richard
Cromwell." "Letters from Fairfax to Cromwell." "Cromwell's Letters and
Speeches." "A Collection of Several Passages concerning Cromwell in his
Sickness." "The Protector's Declaration against the Royal Family of the
Stuarts." "Memoirs of Cromwell and his Children, supposed to be written
by himself." "Narrative of the Proceedings of the English Army in
Scotland." "An Account of the Last Houres of the late renowned Oliver,
Lord Protector" (1659). "Sedition Scourged." Heath's "Chronicles of the
late Intestine War." Welwood's "Memoirs of Transactions in England."
"Memoirs of Edmund Ludlow, M.P., in the year 1640." Forster's "Statesmen
of the Commonwealth." "Killing No Murther." Thurloe's "State Papers."
Lord Clarendon's "State Papers." Tatham's "Aqua Triumphalis." "The
Public Intelligencer." "Mercurius Politicus." "The Parliamentary
Intelligencer." Lyon's "Personal History of Charles II." "The Boscobel
Tracts, relating to the Escape of Charles II." "An Exact Narrative of
his Majesty's Escape from Worcester." Several Passages relating to the
"Declared King of Scots both by Sea and Land." "Charles II.'s Declaration
to his Loving Subjects in the Kingdom of England." "England's Joy; or,
a Relation of the most Remarkable Passages from his Majesty's Arrival
at Dover to his Entrance at Whitehall." "Copies of Two Papers written
by the King." "His Majesty's Gracious Message to General Monk." "King
Charles, His Starre." "A Speech spoken by a Blew-Coat of Christ's
Hospital to his Sacred Majesty." "Monarchy Revived." "The History of
Charles II., by a Person of Quality." Lady Fanshawe's "Memoirs." "The
Character of Charles II., written by an Impartial Hand and exposed to
Public View." "Sports and Pastimes of the English People." "A History
of Domestic Manners and Sentiments in England." Wright's "Homes of Other
Days." Idalcomb's "Anecdotes of Manners and Customs of London." Pepys'
"Diary." Evelyn's "Diary." Grammont's "Memoirs." Lord Romney's "Diary
of the Times of Charles II." "The Life and Adventures of Colonel Blood."
"Diary of Dr. Edward Lake, Court Chaplain." Bishop Burnet's "History of
His Own Times." Oldmixon's "Court Tales." Madame Dunois' "Memoirs of
the English Court." Heath's "Glories and Triumphs of Charles II."
"Continuation of the Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon." "Original
Correspondence of Lord Clarendon." "The Memoirs of Sir John Reresby."
Lister's "Life of Clarendon. Brain Fairfax's "Memoirs of the Duke of
Buckingham." "Letters of Philip, Second Earl of Chesterfield." Aubrey's
"Memoirs." "The Life of Mr. Anthony a Wood, written by Himself." Elias
Ashmole's "Memoirs of his Life." Luttrell's "Diary." "The Althorp
Memoirs" (privately printed). Lord Broghill's "Memoirs." "Memoir of
Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland" (privately printed). Aubrey's "Lives
of Eminent Men." Count Magalotti's "Travels in England." "The Secret
History of Whitehall: consisting of Secret Memoirs which have hitherto
lain conceal'd as not being discoverable by any other hand." "Athenae
Oxonienses." Lord Rochester's Works. Brown's "Miscellanea Aulica." The
Works of Andrew Marvell. "State Tracts, relating to the Government
from the year 1660 to 1689." "Antiquities of the Crown and State of
Old England." "Narrative of the Families exposed to the Great Plague of
London." "Loimologia; or, an Historical Account of the Plague in 1665."
"A Collection of very Valuable and Scarce Pieces relating to the Last
Plague in 1665." "London's Dreadful Visitation." "Letter of Dr, Hedges
to a Person of Quality." "God's Terrible Voice in the City: a Narrative
of the late Dreadful Judgments by Plague and Fire." "Pestis; a
Collection of Scarce Papers relating to the Plague." "An Account of the
Fire of London, published by authority." Lord Clarendon's "Account of
the Great Fire." "A Voyage into England, containing many things relating
to the State of Learning, Religion, and other Curiosities of that
Kingdom," by Mons. Sorbiere. Carte's "Life of James, Duke of Ormond."
Carte's "History of England." Lord Somers' "Collection of Scarce and
Valuable Tracts." "Memoirs of the Duchess of Mazarine." "Secret History
of the Duchess of Portsmouth." St. Evremond's "Memoirs." "Curialia;
or, an Historical Account of some Branches of the Royal Household."
"Parliamentary History." Oldmixon's "History of the Stuarts." Ellis's
"Original Letters." Charles James Fox's "History of James II." Sir
George L'Estrange's "Brief History of the Times." Lord Romney's "Diary
of the Times of Charles II." Clarke's "Life of James II." "Vindication
of the English Catholics." "The Tryals, Conviction and Sentence of Titus
Oates." "A Modest Vindication of Oates." "Tracts on the Popish Plot."
Macpherson's "Original Papers." A. Marvell's "Account of Popery."
"An Exact Discovery of the Mystery of Iniquity as Practised among the
Jesuits." Smith's "Streets of London." "London Cries." Seymour's "Survey
of the Cities of London and Westminster." Stow's "Survey of London
and Westminster." "Angliae Metropolis." Dr. Laune's "Present State of
London, 1681." Sir Roger North's "Examn." "The Character of a Coffee
House." Stow's "Chronicles of Fashion." Fairholt's "Costume in England."
"A Just and Seasonable Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders."
Sir William Petty's "Observations of the City of London." John Ogilvy's
"London Surveyed." R. Burton's "Historical Remarks." Dr. Birch's
"History of the Royal Society of London." "A Century of Inventions."
Wild's "History of the Royal Society." "The Philosophical Transactions
of the Royal Society." Richardson's "Life of Milton." Philip's "Life of
Milton." Johnson's "Lives of the Poets." Aubrey's "Collections for
the Life of Milton." Langbaine's "Lives and Characters of the
English Dramatic Poets." "Some Remarkable Passages in the Life of Mr.
Wycherley." "Some Account of what Occurred at the King's Death," by
Richard Huddlestone, O.S.B. "A True Narrative of the late King's Death."




CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Cromwell is sick unto death.--Fears and suspicions.--Killing no
Murder.--A memorable storm.--The end of all.--Richard Cromwell
made Protector,--He refuses to shed blood. Disturbance and
dissatisfaction.--Downfall of Richard.--Charles Stuart proclaimed
king.--Rejoicement of the nation.--The king comes into his own.--Entry
into London.--Public joy and festivity.

CHAPTER II.

The story of the king's escape.--He accepts the Covenant, and lands in
Scotland.--Crowned at Scone.--Proclaimed king at Carlisle.--The
battle of Worcester,--Bravery of Charles.--Disloyalty of the Scottish
cavalry.--The Royalists defeated.--The king's flight.--Seeks refuge
in Boscobel Wood. The faithful Pendrells.--Striving to cross the
Severn.--Hiding in an oak tree.--Sheltered by Master Lane. Sets out
with Mistress Lane.--Perilous escapes.--On the road.--The king is
recognised.--Strange adventures.--His last night in England.

CHAPTER III.

Celebration of the king's return. Those who flocked to Whitehall.--My
Lord Cleveland's gentlemen.--Sir Thomas Allen's supper.--Touching for
king's evil.--That none might lose their labour--The man with the fungus
nose.--The memory of the regicides.--Cromwell's effigy.--Ghastly scene
at Tyburn.--The king's clemency.--The Coronation procession.--Sights and
scenes by the way.--His majesty is crowned

CHAPTER IV.

The king's character.--His proverbial grace.--He tells a story well.--"A
warmth and sweetness of the blood."--Beautiful Barbara Palmer.--Her
intrigue with my Lord Chesterfield.--James, Duke of York. His
early days.--Escape from St. James's.--Fights in the service of
France.--Marriage with Anne Hyde.--Sensation at Court.--The Duke of
Gloucester's death.--The Princess of Orange.--Schemes against the
Duke of York's peace.--The "lewd informer."--Anne Hyde is acknowledged
Duchess of York.

CHAPTER V.

Morality of the restoration.--Puritan piety.--Cromwell's
intrigues.--Conduct of women under the Republic.--Some notable
courtiers.--The Duke of Ormond and his family.--Lord St. Albans and
Henry Jermyn.--His Grace of Buckingham and Mistress Fairfax.--Lord
Rochester.--Delights all hearts.--The king's projected
marriage.--Catherine of Braganza.--His majesty's speech.--A royal
love-letter.--The new queen sets sail.

CHAPTER VI.

The king's intrigue with Barbara Palmer.--The queen arrives at
Portsmouth.--Visited by the Duke of York.--The king leaves town.--First
interview with his bride.--His letter to the lord chancellor.--Royal
marriage and festivities.--Arrival at Hampton Court Palace.--Prospects
of a happy union.--Lady Castlemaine gives birth to a second child.--The
king's infatuation.--Mistress and wife.--The queen's misery.--The king's
cruelty.--Lord Clarendon's messages.--His majesty resolves to break the
queen's spirit.--End of the domestic quarrel.

CHAPTER VII.

Their majesties arrive at Whitehall.--My Lady Castlemaine a
spectator.--Young Mr. Crofts.--New arrivals at court.--The Hamilton
family.--The Chevalier de Grammont.--Mrs. Middleton and Miss Kirke.--At
the queen's ball.--La belle Hamilton.--The queen mother at Somerset
House.--The Duke of Monmouth's marriage.--Fair Frances Stuart.--Those
who court her favour.--The king's passion.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Duke of York's intrigues.--My Lady Chesterfield and his royal
highness.--The story of Lady Southesk's love,--Lord Arran plays the
guitar.--Lord Chesterfield is jealous.--The countess is taken from
court.--Mistress Margaret Brooks and the king.--Lady Denham and the
duke.--Sir John goes mad.--My lady is poisoned.

CHAPTER IX.

Court life under the merry monarch.--Riding in Hyde Park.--Sailing on
the Thames.--Ball at Whitehall.--Petit soupers.--What happened at
Lady Gerrard's.--Lady Castlemaine quarrels with the king.--Flight to
Richmond.--The queen falls ill.--The king's grief and remorse.--Her
majesty speaks.--Her secret sorrow finds voice in delirium.--Frances
Stuart has hopes.--The queen recovers.

CHAPTER X.

Notorious courtiers.--My Lord Rochester's satires.--Places a watch on
certain ladies of quality.--His majesty becomes indignant.--Rochester
retires to the country.--Dons a disguise and returns to town.--Practises
astrology.--Two maids of honour seek adventure.--Mishaps which befell
them.--Rochester forgiven.--The Duke of Buckingham.--Lady Shrewsbury
and her victims.--Captain Howard's duel.--Lord Shrewsbury avenges
his honour.--A strange story.--Colonel Blood attempts an
abduction.--Endeavours to steal the regalia.--The king converses with
him.

CHAPTER XI.

Terror falls upon the people.--Rumours of a plague.--A sign in the
heavens.--Flight from the capital.--Preparations against the dreaded
enemy.--Dr. Boghurst's testimony.--God's terrible voice in the
city.--Rules made by the lord mayor.--Massacre of animals.--O, dire
death!--Spread of the distemper.--Horrible sights.--State of the
deserted capital.--"Bring out your dead."--Ashes to ashes.--Fires are
lighted.--Relief of the poor.--The mortality bills.

CHAPTER XII

A cry of fire by night.--Fright and confusion.--The lord mayor is
unmanned.--Spread of the flames.--Condition of the streets.--Distressful
scenes.--Destruction of the Royal Exchange.--Efforts of the king and the
Duke of York.--Strange rumours and alarms, St. Paul's is doomed.--The
flames checked.--A ruined city as seen by day and night.--Wretched state
of the people.--Investigation into the origin of the fire.--A new city
arises.

CHAPTER XIII.

The court repairs to Oxford--Lady Castlemaine's son.--Their majesties
return to Whitehall.--The king quarrels with his mistress.--Miss Stuart
contemplates marriage.--Lady Castlemaine attempts revenge.--Charles
makes an unpleasant discovery.--The maid of honour elopes.--His majesty
rows down the Thames.--Lady Castlemaine's intrigues.--Fresh quarrels at
court.--The king on his knees.

CHAPTER XIV.

The kingdom in peril.--The chancellor falls under his majesty's
displeasure.--The Duke of Buckingham's mimicry.--Lady Castlemaine's
malice.--Lord Clarendon's fall.--The Duke of Ormond offends the king's
mistress.--She covers him with abuse.--Plots against the Duke of
York.--Schemes for a royal divorce.--Moll Davis and Nell Gwynn.--The
king and the comedian.--Lady Castlemaine abandons herself to great
disorders.--Young Jack Spencer.--The countess intrigues with an
acrobat.--Talk of the town.--The mistress created a duchess.

CHAPTER XV.

Louise de Querouaille.--The Triple Alliance.--Louise is created Duchess
of Portsmouth,--Her grace and the impudent comedian.--Madam Ellen moves
in society. The young Duke of St. Albans.--Strange story of the
Duchess of Mazarine.--Entertaining the wits at Chelsea.--Luxurious
suppers.--profligacy and wit.

CHAPTER XVI.

A storm threatens the kingdom--The Duke of York is touched in his
conscience.--His interview with Father Simons.--The king declares his
mind.--The Duchess of York becomes a catholic.--The circumstances of her
death.--The Test Act introduced.--Agitation of the nation.--The Duke
of York marries again.--Lord Shaftesbury's schemes.--The Duke of
Monmouth.--William of Orange and the Princess Mary.--Their marriage and
departure from England.

CHAPTER XVII.

The threatened storm bursts.--History of Titus Oates and Dr. Tonge.--A
dark scheme concocted.--The king is warned of danger.--The narrative of
a horrid plot laid before the treasurer.--Forged letters.--Titus Oates
before the council.--His blunders.--A mysterious murder.--Terror of the
citizens.--Lord Shaftesbury's schemes.--Papists are banished from the
capital.--Catholic peers committed to the Tower.--Oates is encouraged.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Reward for the discovery of murderers.--Bedlow's character
and evidence.--His strange story.--Development of the "horrid
plot."--William Staley is made a victim.--Three Jesuits hung.--Titus
Oates pronounced the saviour of his country.--Striving to ruin the
queen.--Monstrous story of Bedlow and Oates.--The king protects
her majesty.--Five Jesuits executed.--Fresh rumours concerning
the papists.--Bill to exclude the Duke of York.--Lord Stafford is
tried.--Scene at Tower Hill.--Fate of the conspirators.

CHAPTER XIX.

London under Charles II.--Condition and appearance of the
thoroughfares.--Coffee is first drunk in the capital.--Taverns and
their frequenters.--The city by night.--Wicked people do creep
about.--Companies of young gentlemen.--The Duke of Monmouth kills
a beadle.--Sir Charles Sedley's frolic.--Stately houses of the
nobility.--St. James's Park.--Amusement of the town.--At Bartholomew
Fair.--Bull, bear, and dog fights.--Some quaint sports.

CHAPTER XX.

Court customs in the days of the merry monarch.--Dining in public.--The
Duke of Tuscany's supper to the king.--Entertainment of guests by
mountebanks.--Gaming at court.--Lady Castlemaine's losses.--A fatal
duel.--Dress of the period.--Riding-habits first seen.--His majesty
invents a national costume.--Introduction of the penny post.--Divorce
suits are known.--Society of Antiquaries.--Lord Worcester's
inventions.--The Duchess of Newcastle.

CHAPTER XXI.

A period rich in literature.--John Milton's early life.--Writing
"Paradise Lost."--Its publication and success.--His later works and
death.--John Dryden gossips with wits and players.--Lord Rochester's
revenge.--Elkanah Settle.--John Crowne.--Thomas Otway rich in
miseries.--Dryden assailed by villains.--The ingenious Abraham
Cowley.--The author of "Hudibras."--Young Will Wycherley and Lady
Castlemaine. The story of his marriage.--Andrew Marvell, poet and
politician.--John Bunyan.

CHAPTER XXII.

Time's flight leaves the king unchanged.--The Rye House
conspiracy.--Profligacy of the court.--The three duchesses.--The king
is taken ill.--The capital in consternation.--Dr. Ken questions his
majesty.--A Benedictine monk is sent for.--Charles professes catholicity
and receives the Sacraments.--Farewell to all.--His last night on
earth.--Daybreak and death.--He rests in peace.




ROYALTY RESTORED

or, LONDON UNDER CHARLES II.



CHAPTER I.

  Cromwell is sick unto death.--Fears and suspicions.--Killing no
  Murder.--A memorable storm.--The end of all.--Richard Cromwell
  made Protector.--He refuses to shed blood.--Disturbance and
  dissatisfaction.--Downfall of Richard.--Charles Stuart proclaimed
  king.--Rejoicement of the nation.--The king comes into his own.--Entry
  into London.--Public joy and satisfaction.

On the 30th of January, 1649, Charles I. was beheaded. In the last days
of August in the year of grace 1658, Oliver Cromwell lay sick unto death
at the Palace of Whitehall. On the 27th day of June in the previous
year, he had, in the Presence of the Judges of the land, the Lord
Mayor and Aldermen of the City, and Members of Parliament assembled at
Westminster Hall, seated himself on the coronation chair of the Stuarts,
assumed the title of Lord Protector, donned a robe of violet velvet,
girt his loins with a sword of state, and grasped the sceptre, symbolic
of kingly power. From that hour distrust beset his days, his nights were
fraught with fear. All his keen and subtle foresight, his strong and
restless energies, had since then been exerted in suppressing plots
against his power, and detecting schemes against his life, concocted
by the Republicans whose liberty he had betrayed, and by the Royalists
whose king he had beheaded.

Soon after he had assumed the title of Lord High Protector, a most
daring pamphlet, openly advocating his assassination, was circulated
in vast numbers throughout the kingdom. It was entitled "Killing no
Murder," and was dedicated in language outrageously bold to His Highness
Oliver Cromwell. "To your Highness justly belongs the honour of dying
for the people," it stated, "and it cannot but be an unspeakable
consolation to you, in the last moments of your life, to consider with
how much benefit to the world you are likely to leave it. It is then
only, my lord, the titles you now usurp will be truly yours; you will
then be, indeed, the deliverer of your country, and free it from a
bondage little inferior to that from which Moses delivered his, you
will then be that true reformer which you would now be thought; religion
shall then be restored, liberty asserted, and Parliaments have those
privileges they have sought for. All this we hope from your Highness's
happy expiration. To hasten this great good is the chief end of my
writing this paper; and if it have the effects I hope it will, your
Highness will quickly be out of the reach of men's malice, and your
enemies will only be able to wound you in your memory, which strokes you
will not feel."

The possession of life becomes dearest when its forfeiture is
threatened, and therefore Cromwell took all possible means to guard
against treachery--the only foe he feared, and feared exceedingly. "His
sleeps were disturbed with the apprehensions of those dangers the day
presented unto him in the approaches of any strange face, whose motion
he would most fixedly attend," writes James Heath, gentleman, in his
"Chronicles," published in 1675. "Above all, he very carefully observed
such whose mind or aspect were featured with any chearful and debonair
lineaments; for such he boded were they that would despatch him; to that
purpose he always went secretly armed, both offensive and defensive;
and never stirred without a great guard. In his usual journey between
Whitehall and Hampton Court, by several roads, he drove full speed in
the summer time, making such a dust with his life-guard, part before and
part behinde, at a convenient distance, for fear of choaking him with
it, that one could hardly see for a quarter of an hour together, and
always came in some private way or other." The same authority, in his
"Life of Cromwell," states of him, "It was his constant custom to shift
and change his lodging, to which he passed through twenty several locks,
and out of which he had four or five ways to avoid pursuit." Welwood, in
his "Memoirs," adds the Protector wore a coat of mail beneath his dress,
and carried a poniard under his cloak.

Nor was this all. According to the "Chronicle of the late Intestine
War," Cromwell "would sometimes pretend to be merry, and invite persons,
of whom he had some suspicion, to his cups, and then drill out of their
open hearts such secrets as he wisht for. He had freaks also to divert
the vexations of his misgiving thoughts, calling on by the beat of drum
his footguards, like a kennel of hounds to snatch away the scraps and
reliques of his table. He said every man's hand was against him,
and that he ran daily into further perplexities, out of which it was
impossible to extricate, or secure himself therein, without running
into further danger; so that he began to alter much in the tenour of
his former converse, and to run and transform into the manners of the
ancient tyrants, thinking to please and mitigate his own tortures with
the sufferings of others."

But now the fate his vigilance had hitherto combated at last overtook
him in a manner impossible to evade. He was attacked by divers
infirmities, but for some time made no outward sign of his suffering,
until one day five physicians came and waited on him, as Dr. George Bate
states in his ELENCHUS MOTUUM NUPERORUM. And one of them, feeling
his pulse, declared his Highness suffered from an intermittent fever;
hearing which "he looked pale, fell into a cold sweat, almost fainted
away, and orders himself to be carried to bed." His fright, however,
was but momentary. He was resolved to live. He had succeeded in raising
himself to a position of vast power, but had failed in attaining the
great object of his ambition--the crowned sovereignty of the nation he
had stirred to its centre, and conquered to its furthest limits. Brought
face to face with death, his indomitable will, which had shaped untoward
circumstances to his accord with a force like unto fate itself, now
determined to conquer his shadowy enemy which alone intercepted his path
to the throne. Therefore as he lay in bed he said to those around him
with that sanctity of speech which had cloaked his cruellest deeds and
dissembled his most ambitious designs, "I would be willing to live to be
further serviceable to God and his people."

As desires of waking hours are answered in sleep, so in response to his
nervous craving for life he had delusive assurances of health through
the special bounty of Providence. He was therefore presently able
to announce he "had very great discoveries of the Lord to him in his
sickness, and hath some certainty of being restored;" as Fleetwood, his
son-in-law, wrote on the 24th of August in this same year.

Accordingly, when one of the physicians came to him next morning, the
High Protector said, "Why do you look sad?" To which the man of lore
replied evasively, "So it becomes anyone who had the weighty care of
his life and health upon him." Then Cromwell to this purpose spoke: "You
think I shall die; I tell you I shall not die this bout; I am sure on't.
Don't think I am mad. I speak the words of truth upon surer grounds than
Galen or your Hippocrates furnish you with. God Almighty himself hath
given that answer, not to my prayers alone, but also to the prayers of
those who entertain a stricter commerce and greater intimacy with him.
Ye may have skill in the nature of things, yet nature can do more than
all physicians put together, and God is far above nature." The doctor
besought him to rest, and left the room. Outside he met one of his
colleagues, to whom he gave it as his opinion their patient had grown
light-headed, and he repeated the words which Cromwell had spoken.
"Then," said his brother-physician, "you are certainly a stranger in
this house; don't you know what was done last night? The chaplain and
all their friends being dispersed into several parts of the palace
have prayed to God for his health, and they all heard the voice of God
saying, 'He will recover,' and so they are all certain of it."

"Never, indeed, was there a greater stock of prayers going on for any
man," as Thurlow, his secretary, writes. So sure were those around him
that Providence must hearken to and grant the fulfilment of such
desires as they thought well to express, that, as Thomas Goodwin, one of
Cromwell's chaplains, said, "We asked not for the Protector's life, for
we were assured He had too great things for this man to do, to remove
him yet; but we prayed for his speedy recovery, because his life and
presence were so necessary to divers things then of great moment to be
despatched." When this Puritanical fanatic was presently disappointed,
Bishop Burnet narrates "he had the impudence to say to God, 'Thou hast
deceived us.'"

Meanwhile the Protector lay writhing in pain and terror. His mind was
sorely troubled at remembrance of the last words spoken by his daughter
Elizabeth, who had threatened judgments upon him because of his refusal
to save the King; whilst his body was grievously racked with a tertian
fever, and a foul humour which, beginning in his foot, worked its way
steadily to his heart. Moreover, some insight regarding his future
seemed given to him in his last days, for he appeared, as Ludlow, his
contemporary, states, "above all concerned for the reproaches he saw men
would cast upon his name, in tramping upon his ashes when dead."

On the 30th of August his danger became evident even to himself, and
all hope of life left him. For hours after the certain approach of death
became undeniably certain, he remained quiet and speechless, seemingly
heedless of the exhortation and prayers of his chaplains, till suddenly
turning to one of them, he whispered, "Tell me, is it possible to fall
from grace?" The preacher had a soothing reply ready: "It is not," he
answered. "Then," exclaimed this unhappy man, whose soul was red with
the blood of thousands of his countrymen, "I am safe, for I know I was
once in grace." Anon he cries out, whilst tossing wildly on his bed,
"Lord, although I am a miserable and a wretched creature, I am in
covenant with Thee through grace, and I may and will come to Thee for
Thy people. Pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor
worm. And give us a good night if it be Thy pleasure. Amen."

It was now the 2nd of September. As the evening of that day approached
he fell into a stupor, and those who watched him thought the end had
come.

Within the darkened chamber in Whitehall all was silence and gloom;
without all was tumult and fear. Before the gates of the palace a
turbulent crowd of soldiers and citizens had gathered in impatient
anxiety. Those he had raised to power, those whose fortunes depended on
his life, were steeped in gloom; those whose principles he had outraged
by his usurpation, those whose position he had crushed by his sway,
rejoiced at heart. Not only the capital, but the whole nation, was
divided into factions which one strong hand alone had been able to
control; and terror, begotten by dire remembrances of civil war and
bloodshed, abode with all lovers of peace.

As evening closed in, the elements appeared in unison with the
distracted condition of the kingdom. Dark clouds, seeming of ominous
import to men's minds, gathered in the heavens, to be presently torn
asunder and hurried in wild flight by tempestuous winds across the
troubled sky. As night deepened, the gale steadily increased, until it
raged in boundless fury above the whole island and the seas that rolled
around its shores. In town houses rocked on their foundations, turrets
and steeples were flung from their places; in the country great trees
were uprooted, corn-stacks levelled to the ground, and winter fruits
destroyed; whilst at sea ships sank to rise no more. This memorable
storm lasted all night, and continued until three o'clock next
afternoon, when Cromwell expired.

His body was immediately embalmed, but was of necessity interred in
great haste. Westminster Abbey, the last home of kings and princes, was
selected as the fittest resting-place for the regicide. Though it was
impossible to honour his remains by stately ceremonials, his followers
were not content to let the occasion of his death pass with-out
commemoration. They therefore had a waxen image of him made, which they
resolved to surround with all the pomp and circumstances of royalty. For
this purpose they carried it to Somerset House--one of the late King's
palaces--and placed it on a couch of crimson velvet beneath a canopy of
state. Upon its shoulders they hung a purple mantle, in its right hand
they placed a golden sceptre, and by its side they laid an imperial
crown, probably the same which, according to Welwood, the Protector had
secretly caused to be made and conveyed to Whitehall with a view to his
coronation. The walls and ceiling of the room in which the effigy lay
were covered by sable velvet; the passages leading to it crowded with
soldiery. After a few weeks the town grew tired of this sight, when the
waxen image was taken to another apartment, hung with rich velvets and
golden tissue, and otherwise adorned to symbolize heaven, when it was
placed upon a throne, clad "in a shirt of fine Holland lace, doublet
and breeches of Spanish fashion with great skirts, silk stockings,
shoe-strings and gaiters suitable, and black Spanish leather shoes."
Over this attire was flung a cloak of purple velvet, and on his head
was placed a crown with many precious stones. The room was then lit, as
Ludlow narrates, "by four or five hundred candles set in flat shining
candlesticks, so placed round near the roof that the light they gave
seemed like the rays of the sun, by all which he was represented to be
now in a state of glory." Lest, indeed, there should be any doubt as to
the place where his soul abode, Sterry, the Puritan preacher, imparted
the information to all, that the Protector "now sat with Christ at the
right hand of the Father."

But this pomp and state in no may overawed the people, who, by pelting
with mire Cromwell's escutcheon placed above the great gate of Somerset
House gave evidence of the contempt in which they held his memory. After
a lapse of over two months from the day of his death, the effigy was
carried to Westminster Abbey with more than regal ceremony, the expenses
of his lying-in-state and of his funeral procession amounting, as stated
by Walker and Noble, to upwards of L29,000. "It was the joyfullest
funeral I ever saw," writes Evelyn, "for there were none that cried but
dogs, which the soldiers hooted away with a barbarous noise, drinking
and taking tobacco as they went."

A little while before his death Cromwell had named his eldest surviving
son, Richard, as his successor, and he was accordingly declared
Protector, with the apparent consent of the council, soldiers, and
citizens. Nor did the declaration cause any excitement, "There is not
a dog who wags his tongue, so profound is the calm which we are in,"
writes Thurlow to Oliver's second son, Henry, then Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland. But if the nation in its dejection made no signs of resistance,
neither did it give any indications of satisfaction, and Richard was
proclaimed "with as few expressions of joy as had ever been observed on
a like occasion." For a brief while a stupor seemed to lull the
factious party spirit which was shortly to plunge the country into
fresh difficulties. The Cromwellians and Republicans foresaw resistless
strife, and the Royalists quietly and hopefully abided results.

Nor had they long to wait. In the new Parliament assembled in January,
1659, the Republicans showed themselves numerous and bold beyond
measure, and hesitated to recognise Richard Cromwell as successor to
the Protectorate. However, on the 14th of the following month the
Cromwellians gained the upper hand, when Richard was confirmed in his
title of "Lord Protector, and First Magistrate of England, Scotland, and
Ireland, with all the territories depending thereon." Further discussion
quickly followed. "One party thinks the Protectorate cannot last; the
other that the Republican cannot raise itself again; the indifferent
hope that both will be right. It is easy to foretell the upshot,"
writes Hyde. The disunion spread rapidly and widely; not only was the
Parliament divided against itself, but so likewise was the army; and the
new Protector had neither the courage nor the ability to put down strife
with a strong hand. Richard Cromwell was a man of peaceful disposition,
gentle manners and unambitious mind, whom fate had forced into a
position for which he was in no way fitted. By one of those strange
contradictions which nature sometimes produces, he differed in all
things from his father; for not only was he pleasure-loving, joyous,
and humane, but he was, moreover, a Royalist at heart, and continued in
friendship with the Cavaliers up to the period of his proclamation as
Protector. It has been stated that, falling on his knees, he entreated
his father to spare the life of Charles I.; it is certain he remained
inactive whilst the civil wars devastated the land; and there is
evidence to show that, during the seven months and twenty-eight days of
his Protectorship, he shrank from the perpetration of cruelty and
crime. Accordingly, when those who had at first supported his authority
eventually conspired against him, he refrained from using his power to
crush them. At this his friends were wrath. "It is time to look about
you," said Lord Howard, speaking with the bluntness of a friend. "Empire
and command are not now the question. Your person, your life are in
peril. You are the son of Cromwell; show yourself worthy to be his son.
This business requires a bold stroke, and must be supported by a good
head. Do not suffer yourself to be daunted. I will rid you of your
enemies: do you stand by me, and only back my zeal for your honour with
your name; my head shall answer for the consequences."

Colonel Ingoldsby seconded the advice Lord Howard gave, but Richard
Cromwell hearkened to neither. "I have never done anybody any harm,
and never will," said he, "will not have a drop of blood spilt for the
preservation of my greatness, which is a burden to me." At this Lord
Howard was indignant. "Do you think," he asked, "this moderation of
yours will repair the wrong your family has committed by its elevation?
Everybody knows that by violence your father procured the death of the
late king, and kept his sons in banishment: mercy in the present state
of affairs is unreasonable. Lay aside this pussillanimity; every moment
is precious; your enemies spend the time in acting which we waste
in consulting." "Talk no more of it," answered the Protector. "I am
thankful for your friendship, but violent counsels suit not with me."

The climax was at hand; his fall was but a question of time. "A
wonderfull and suddaine change in ye face of ye publiq," writes Evelyn,
on the 25th of April, 1659. "Ye new Protector Richard slighted; several
pretenders and parties strove for the Government; all anarchy and
confusion. Lord have mercy on us!"

Before the month of May had expired, the House of Commons commissioned
two of its members to bid Richard Cromwell leave the palace of
Whitehall, and obtain his signature to a deed wherein he acknowledged
complete submission to Parliament. His brief inglorious reign was
therefore at an end. "As with other men," he wrote to the House of
Commons, "I expect protection from the present Government: I do hold
myself obliged to demean myself with all the peaceableness under it,
and to procure, to the utmost of my power, that all in whom I have any
interest to do the same." He retired into Hampshire, where he dwelt as
a private gentleman. His brother Henry resigned his position as Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland and settled in Cambridgeshire. From this time the
name of Cromwell was no longer a power in the land.

During two years subsequent to the death of Oliver the government
of England underwent various changes, and the kingdom suffered many
disorders; until, being heartily sick of anarchy, the people desired
a king might once more reign over them accordingly, they turned their
eyes towards the son of him whom "the boldest villany that ever any
nation saw" had sent to the block. And the time being ripe, Charles
Stuart, then an exile in Breda, despatched Sir John Grenville with royal
letters to both Houses of Parliament, likewise to the Lord Mayor of
London and members of the Common Council, to Monk, commander of the
forces, and Montagu, admiral of the fleet. These letters were received
with so universal a joy and applause, that Parliament forthwith ordained
Charles Stuart should be proclaimed "the most potent, mighty, and
undoubted King of England, Scotland and Ireland." Moreover, both Houses
agreed that an honourable body of Commissioners, all men of great
quality and birth, should be sent to the king with letters, humbly
begging his majesty would be pleased to hasten his long-desired return
into England. And because they knew full well the royal exchequer was
empty, Parliament ordered these noble gentlemen to carry with them a
present of fifty thousand pieces of gold to the king, together with ten
thousand to his brother of York, and five thousand to his brother of
Gloucester. Nor was the City of London backwards in sending expressions
of loyalty and tokens of homage and devotion; to evince which twenty
valiant men and worthy citizens were despatched with messages of
goodwill towards him, and presents in gold to the amount of twelve
thousand pounds.

And presently Admiral Montagu arriving with his fleet upon the coast of
Holland, awaited his majesty near Scheveling; and all things being in
readiness the king with his royal brothers and a most noble train set
sail for England.

It came to pass that on the 25th day of May, 1660, a vast concourse of
nobility, gentry, and citizens had assembled at Dover to meet and greet
their sovereign king, Charles II., on his landing. On the fair morning
of that day a sound of cannon thundering from the castle announced that
the fleet, consisting of "near forty sail of great men-of-war," which
conveyed his majesty to his own, was in sight; whereon an innumerable
crowd betook its joyful way to the shore. The sun was most gloriously
bright, the sky cloudless, the sea calm. Far out upon the blue horizon
white-winged ships could be clearly discerned. By three o'clock in the
afternoon they had reached the harbour, when the king, embarking in a
galley most richly adorned, was rowed to shore. Then cannon roared once
more from the castle, and were answered from the beach; bells rang from
church towers, and a mighty shout went up from the hearts of the people.

In the midst of these rejoicings Charles II. landed, and the gallant
General Monk, who had been mainly instrumental in bringing his royal
master to the throne without loss of blood, now fell upon his knees to
greet his majesty. The king raised the general from the ground, embraced
and kissed him. Then the nobility hastened to pay their duty likewise,
and the Mayor and Aldermen of Dover presented him with a most loyal
address. And presently, with the roar of cannon, the clangour of bells,
the sound of music, and the shouts of a great multitude ringing in his
ears, the king advanced on his way towards Canterbury. At the gates
of this ancient city he was met by the mayor and aldermen, and was
presented by them with a golden tankard, Here he spent the following
day, which being Sunday, he went with a great train to the cathedral,
where service according to the Church of England, long disused by the
Puritans, was restored, to the satisfaction of many.

Setting out from Canterbury on Monday, the 29th of May--which was,
moreover, the anniversary of his birth--he journeyed to Blackheath,
where he reviewed the forces drawn up with great pomp and military
splendour to greet him, and bestowed many gracious expressions on them.
Then, having received assurances of their loyal homage through their
commander, Colonel Knight, he turned towards London town. And the nearer
he approached, the more dense became crowds thronging to meet him; the
fields on either side the long white road being filled with persons of
all conditions, who cheered him lustily. As he passed they flung leaves
of trees and sweet May flowers beneath his horse's feet, and waved green
boughs on high, And when he came to St. George's Fields, there was my
lord mayor in his robes of new velvet, wearing his collar of wrought
gold, and attended by his aldermen in brave apparel likewise. Going down
on his knees my lord mayor presented the king with the city sword, which
his majesty with some happy expressions of confidence gave back into his
good keeping, having first struck him with it upon the shoulder and bade
him rise up Sir Thomas Allen. Whereon that worthy man rose to his feet
and conducted the king to a large and richly adorned pavilion, and
entertained him at a splendid collation, it being then one of the clock.
And being refreshed his majesty set forth again, and entered the city,
which had never before shown so brave and goodly an appearance as on
this May day, when all the world seemed mad with joy.

From London Bridge even to Whitehall Palace the way was lined on one
side by the train-bands of the city, and on the other by the city
companies in their rich livery gowns; to which were added a number
of gentlemen volunteers, all in white doublets, commanded by Sir John
Stanel. Across the streets hung garlands of spring flowers that made the
air most sweet, and at the corners thereof were arches of white hawthorn
in full bloom, bedecked with streamers of gay colours. From wooden
railed balconies, jutting windows, and quaint gables hung fair
tapestries, rich silks, and stuffs of brilliant hues; and from the high
red chimneys, grey turrets, and lofty spires, floated flags bearing
the royal arms of England, and banners inscribed with such mottoes as
loyalty and affection could suggest. The windows and galleries
were filled with ladies of quality in bright dresses; the roofs and
scaffolding, with citizens of all classes, who awaited with eager and
joyous faces to salute their lord and king.

And presently, far down the line of streets, a sound was heard of
innumerable voices cheering most lustily, which every minute became
nearer and louder, till at last a blare of trumpets was distinguished,
followed by martial music, and the tramp and confusion of a rushing
crowd which suddenly parted on all sides. Then there burst on view the
first sight of that brave and glorious cavalcade to the number of twenty
thousand, which ushered the king back unto his own. First came a troop
of young and comely gentlemen, three hundred in all, representing the
pride and valour of the kingdom, wearing cloth of silver doublets and
brandishing naked swords which flashed in the sunlight. Then another
company, less by a hundred in number, habited in rich velvet coats,
their footmen clad in purple liveries; and next a goodly troop under the
command of Sir John Robinson, all dressed in buff coats with cloth of
silver sleeves, and green scarves most handsome to behold. These were
followed by a brave troop in blue doublets adorned with silver lace,
carrying banners of red silk fringed with gold. Then came trumpets, and
seven footmen in sea-green and silver liveries, bearing banners of blue
silk, followed by a troop in grey and blue to the number of two hundred
and twenty, and led by the most noble the Earl of Northampton. After
various other companies, all brave in apparel, came two trumpets bearing
his majesty's arms, followed by the sheriffs' men in red cloaks and
silver lace, and by a great body of gentlemen in black velvet coats with
gold chains. Next rode six hundred brave citizens, twelve ministers, the
king's life guards, led by Sir Gilbert Gerrard, the city marshals with
eight footmen, the city waits and officers, the sheriffs and aldermen in
scarlet gowns, the maces and heralds in great splendour, the lord mayor
carrying a naked sword in his strong right hand, the Duke of Buckingham,
and General Monk, soon to be created Duke of Albermarle.

Now other heralds sound their trumpets with blasts that make all hearts
beat quicker; church bells ring far louder than before; voices are
raised to their highest pitch, excitement reaches its zenith, for here,
mounted on a stately horse caparisoned in royal purple and adorned with
gold, rides King Charles himself; on his right hand his brother of York,
on his left his brother of Gloucester. Handkerchiefs are waved, flowers
are flung before his way, words of welcome fall upon his ear, in answer
to which he bows with stately grace, smiles most pleasantly, and gives
such signs of delight as "cheared the hearts of all loyal subjects
even to extasie and transportation." Last of all came five regiments of
cavalry, with back, breast, and head piece, which "diversified the show
with delight and terrour." John Evelyn stood in the Strand and watched
the procession pass, when that worthy man thanked God the king had
been restored without bloodshed, and by the very army that had rebelled
against him. "For such a restauration was never mention'd in any history
ancient or modern, since the returne of the Jews from the Babylonish
captivity; nor so joyfull a day and so bright ever seene in this nation,
this hapning when to expect or effect it was past all human policy."

For full seven hours this "most pompous show that ever was" wound its
way through the city, until at nine of the clock in the evening it
brought his majesty to the palace of Whitehall, where the late king had
"laid down his sacred head to be struck off upon a block," almost twelve
years before. Then the lord mayor and his aldermen took their goodly
leave, and the king entered into the banquet hall, where the lords and
commons awaited him, and where an address was made to him by the Earl
of Manchester, Speaker to the House of Peers, congratulating him on his
miraculous preservation and happy restoration to his crown and dignity
after so long and so severe a suppression of his just right and title.
Likewise his lordship besought his majesty to be the upright assertor of
the laws and maintainer of the liberties of his subjects. "So," said the
noble earl, "shall judgment run down like a river, and justice like a
mighty stream, and God, the God of your mercy, who hath so miraculously
preserved you, will establish your throne in righteousness and peace."
Then the king made a just and brief reply, and retired to supper and to
rest.

The worthy citizens, however, were not satisfied that their rejoicements
should end here, and "as soon as night came," says Dr. Bate, "an
artificial day was begun again, the whole city seeming to be one great
light, as, indeed, properly it was a luminary of loyalty, the bonfires
continuing till daybreak, fed by a constant supply of wood, and
maintained with an equal excess of gladness and fewel." Wine flowed from
public fountains, volleys of shot were discharged from houses of the
nobility, drums and other musical instruments played in the streets,
citizens danced most joyfully in open places, and the effigy of Cromwell
was burned, together with the arms of the Commonwealth with expressions
of great delight.



CHAPTER II.

  The story of the king's escape.--He accepts the Covenant and lands in
  Scotland.--Crowned at Scone.--Proclaimed king at Carlisle.--The
  battle of Worcester.--Bravery of Charles.--Disloyalty of the Scottish
  cavalry.--The Royalists defeated.--The King's flight.--Seeks refuge
  in Boscobel Wood.--The faithful Pendrells.--Striving to cross the
  Severn.--Hiding in an oak tree.--Sheltered by Master Lane.--Sets out
  with Mistress Lane.--Perilous escapes.--On the road.--The king is
  recognised.--Strange adventures.--His last night in England.

That King Charles had been miraculously preserved, as my Lord Manchester
set forth, there can be no doubt. His courageous efforts to regain the
Crown at the battle of Worcester and his subsequent escapes from the
vigilant pursuits of the Cromwellian soldiers, would, if set down in
justice and with detail, present a story more entertaining than any
romance ever written. Here they must of necessity be mentioned with
brevity.

In the year 1645, Charles I., having suffered the loss of many great
battles, became fearful of the danger which threatened his family and
himself. He therefore ordered his son Charles, who had already retired
into the west, to seek refuge in the Scilly Isles. The prince complied
with his desires, and went from thence to Paris, where his mother,
Henrietta Maria, had already taken shelter, and, after a short stay
with her, travelled to the Hague. Soon after the king was beheaded, the
Scots, who regarded that foul act with great abhorrence, invited
Charles to come into their kingdom, provided he accepted certain hard
conditions, which left the government of all civil business in the hands
of Parliament, and the regulation of all religious matters in charge
of the Presbyterians. No other prospect of regaining his rights, and of
enabling him to fight for his throne presenting itself, he accepted
what was known as the Covenant, and landed in Scotland in 1650. He
was received with the respect due to a monarch, but placed under the
surveillance forced on a prisoner. The fanatical Presbyterians, jealous
of that potent influence which his blithe ways exercised over all with
whom he associated, neither permitted him to attend the council nor
command the army; they, however, preached to him incessantly, admonished
him of his sins and those of his parents, guarded him as a captive, and
treated him as a puppet. Meanwhile Cromwell, being made aware of his
presence in the kingdom, advanced at the head of a powerful body into
Scotland, fought and won the battle of Dunbar, stormed and captured
Leith, and took his triumphal way towards Edinburgh town. Charles was at
this time in Perth, and being impatient at his enforced inaction whilst
battles were fought in his name, and lives lost in his cause, made his
escape from the Covenanters, with the determination of arousing
the Royalists who lay in the north. But the Scots soon overtook and
recaptured him. However, this decisive action awoke them to a better
understanding of the deference due to his position, and therefore
they crowned him at Scone on the first day of the year 1651, with much
solemnity, and subsequently made him commander of the army.

After spending some months in reorganizing the troops, he boldly
declared his intention of marching into England, and fighting the rebel
force. Accordingly, on the 31st of July, 1651, he set out from Sterling
with an army of between eleven and twelve thousand men. At Carlisle
he was proclaimed king, and a declaration was published in his name,
granting free grace and pardon to all his subjects in England, of
whatever nature or cause their offences, saving Cromwell, Bradshaw and
Cooke. He then marched to Lancashire, and on the 23rd of August unfurled
the Royal standard at Worcester, amidst the enthusiastic acclamations of
his troops and the loyal demonstrations of the citizens. Weary of civil
strife, depressed with fear of Cromwell's severities, and distrustful
of the Presbyterians, who chiefly composed the young king's army, the
Royalists had not gathered to his standard in such numbers as he had
anticipated. His troops, since leaving Scotland, had been reinforced
merely by two thousand men; but Charles had hopes that fresh recruits
would join him when news of the rising got noised abroad.

The Republicans were filled with dismay at the king's determined action,
but were prompt to make a counter-move, Accordingly, additional troops
were levied, London was left to be defended by volunteers, and Cromwell,
heading an army of thirty-four thousand men, marched against the
Royalists. On the 28th of August, they drew near Worcester, and on the
3rd of September the battle was fought which will remain for ever
famous in the annals of civil war. On the morning of that day, the king,
ascending the cathedral tower, saw the enemy's forces advancing towards
Worcester: before reaching the city, it was necessary they should cross
the Severn, and, in order to prevent this if possible, Charles hurried
down and directed that some of his troops, under the command of
Montgomery, should defend Powick Bridge; whilst he stationed others
under Colonel Pitscottie lower down, at a point of the river towards
which the Republicans were marching with pontoons, by means of which
they intended to cross. The young king, hopeful of victory and full of
enthusiasm, rode speedily out at the head of his troops and placed them
at their various stations. Scarcely had he done so, when he became aware
that the main body of the enemy had opened an artillery fire on Fort
Royal, which guarded the city on the south-east side. He therefore
galloped back in hot haste to headquarters, and reconnoitred the
advanced posts eastward of the city, in full front of the enemy's fire.
Meanwhile Montgomery, having exhausted his ammunition, was obliged to
retreat in disorder from Powick Bridge, followed by the Cromwellians.
The king now courageously resolved to attack the enemy's camp at Perry
Wood, which lay south-east of Worcester. Accordingly he marched out with
the flower of his Highland infantry and the English cavaliers, led by
the Dukes of Hamilton and Buckingham. Cromwell, seeing this, hastened to
intercept the king's march, whereon a fierce battle was bravely fought
on either side. Nothing could be more valiant than the conduct of the
young king, who showed himself wholly regardless of his life in the
fierce struggle for his rights. Twice was his horse shot under him;
but increasing danger seemed but to animate him to greater daring. So
bravely did his army fight likewise, that the Republicans at first gave
way before them. For upwards of four hours the engagement raged with
great fierceness. Cromwell subsequently declared it was "as stiff a
contest as he had ever seen," and his experience was great. Success
seemed now to crown the Royalists, anon to favour the Roundheads. The
great crisis of the day at length arrived: the Cromwellians began to
waver and give way just as the Royalist cavalry had expended their
ammunition; the king had still three thousand Scotch cavalry in the rear
under the command of Leslie, who had not yet been called into action. He
therefore ordered them to advance; but, to his horror, not one of these
men, who had looked on as passive spectators, made a movement. In this
hour, when victory or defeat hung upon a thread the Scots ignominiously
failed their king. Charles instantly saw he was undone. The English
cavalry continued to fight bravely, in their desperation using the butt
ends of their muskets; but they were gradually compelled to give way
before the enemy, who, seeing their condition, had renewed the
attack. The Royalists therefore fell back into the city. When the king
re-entered Worcester he saw before him a scene of the most disastrous
confusion. Royalists and Republicans encountered and fought each other
in every thoroughfare; the air was filled with the report of muskets,
the imprecations of soldiers, the groans of wounded men, and the shrieks
of women. The streets ran red with blood. At such a sight his heart sank
within him, but, manning himself for fresh efforts, he called his troops
together and sought to incite them with courage to make a final charge.
"I would rather," he cried out, "you would shoot me than keep me alive
to see the sad consequences of this fatal day." Those who heard him were
disheartened: it was too late to retrieve their heavy losses: most of
them refused to heed him; many sought safety in flight. Then the young
king's friends, gathering round, besought him to make good his escape;
and accordingly, with a sad heart, he rode out of St. Martin's Gate
humbled and defeated. In order to cover his retreat from the enemy now
advancing, my Lord Cleveland, Sir James Hamilton, Colonel Careless, and
some other worthy gentlemen defended Sudbury Gate, towards which the
main body of the Republicans approached. They held this position a
sufficient time to gain the end for which it was undertaken. But at
length the Republicans, forcing open the gate, marched upon the fort,
defended by fifteen hundred soldiers under Colonel Drummond. This loyal
man refusing to surrender, the fort was speedily stormed; and he and
those of his men who survived the attack were mercilessly put to the
sword.

Dr. George Bate gives a quaint and striking picture of what followed.
"Deplorable and sad was the countenance of the town after that," writes
he; "the victorious soldiers on the one hand killing, breaking into
houses, plundering, sacking, roaring, and threatening; on the other
hand, the subdued flying, turning their backs to be cut and slashed, and
with outstretched hands begging quarter; some, in vain resisting, sold
their lives as dear as they could, whilst the citizens to no purpose
prayed, lamented, and bewailed. All the streets are strewed with dead
and mangled bodies. Here were to be seen some that begged relief, and
then again others weltering in their own gore, who desired that at once
an end might be put to their lives and miseries. The dead bodies lay
unburied for the space of three days or more, which was a loathsome
spectacle that increased the horror of the action."

Concerning his subsequent dangers and narrow escapes, the king, in his
days of peace and prosperity, was wont to discourse at length, for they
had left impressions on his mind which lasted through life. Edward Hyde,
Lord Clarendon, his Lord High Chancellor, Dr. George Bate, his learned
physician, and Samuel Pepys, Esquire, sometime Surveyor-General to the
Victualling Office, have preserved the records of that time of peril,
as told by his majesty. True, their various stories differ in minor
details, but they agree in principal facts. The king had not ridden
many miles from Worcester when he found himself surrounded by about four
thousand of his army, including the Scots under the command of Leslie.
Though they would not fight for him, they were ready enough to fly with
him. At first he thought of betaking himself to Scotland; but having
had sad proof of the untrustworthy character of those with whom he
travelled, he feared they would further betray him if pursued by the
enemy. He therefore resolved to reach London before the news of his
defeat arrived thither, and make his escape from thence; but this
scheme presented many difficulties. Amongst the persons of quality who
accompanied him were my Lord Duke of Buckingham, the Earls of Derby and
Lauderdale, and the Lords Wilmot and Talbot. During their journey it
fell from my Lord Derby's lips, that when he had been defeated at Wigan,
one Pendrell, an honest labourer and a Papist, had sheltered him in
Boscobel House, not far distant from where they then rode. Hearing
this, the king resolved to trust this same faithful fellow, and for
the present seek such refuge as Pendrell could afford. It was not easy,
however, for his majesty to escape the Scots; but when night came, he
and his gentlemen slipped away from the high road, which the others
continued to pursue, and made for Boscobel Wood, led by Charles Giffard,
a loyal gentleman and true. The house they sought was situated between
Tong Castle and Brewood, in a woody place most fitting for retreat;
it was, moreover, six and twenty miles from Worcester, and stood in
Shropshire, on the borders of Staffordshire.

In order to gain this haven of rest, it was necessary for them to pass
through Stourbridge, where a troop of the Republican army lay quartered.
Midnight had fallen ere they reached the town, which was now wrapt in
darkness, and was, moreover, perfectly still. The king and his friends,
dismounting, led their horses through the echoing streets as softly as
possible, being filled the while with dire apprehensions. Safely leaving
it, they rode into the wood until they came to the old convent of
Whiteladies, once the home of Cistercian nuns, who had long since been
driven from their peaceful retreat. The house was now the habitation of
the Giffard family, with whom George Pendrell lived as servant. On being
aroused, he came forth with a lantern, and admitted them, when Charles
Giffard made known to him in whose presence he stood, and acquainted him
with their situation. Thereupon the honest fellow promised to serve the
king faithfully, and sent immediately for his brothers four: William,
who took charge of Boscobel House, not far removed; Humphrey, who was
miller at Whiteladies; Richard, who lived at Hobbal Grange; and John,
who was a woodman, and dwelt hard by. When they had all arrived, Lord
Derby showed them the king's majesty, and besought them for God's sake,
for their loyalty's sake, and as they valued all that was high and
sacred, to keep him safe, and forthwith seek some place of decent
shelter where he might securely lurk. This they readily swore to
compass, though they risked their lives in the attempt.

It being considered that greater safety lay in the king being
unattended, his loyal friends departed from him with many prayers
and hopes for a joyful reunion: all of them save my Lords Wilmot and
Buckingham set out to join Leslie's company, that they might proceed
together towards Scotland; but they had not marched six miles in company
with the Scots when these three thousand men and more were overtaken and
were routed by a single troop of the enemy's horse, and my Lord Derby,
being taken, was condemned and executed. Lords Wilmot and Buckingham
set out for London, to which place it was agreed the king should follow
them.

When his majesty's friends had departed, the Pendrells undertook to
disguise him; towards which end one of them cut the long locks reaching
his shoulders, another rubbed his hands and face with dust, and a third
brought him a suit of clothes. "The habit of the king," says Pepys, "was
a very greasy old grey steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up,
without lining or hatband, the sweat appearing two inches deep through
it round the band place; a green cloth jump-coat, threadbare, even to
the threads being worn white, and breeches of the same, with long knees
down to the garter; with an old sweaty leathern doublet, a pair of white
flannel stockings next to his legs, and upon them a pair of old green
yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut
off: his shoes were old, all slashed for the ease of his feet, with
little rolls of paper between his toes to keep them from galling; and
an old coarse shirt, patched both at the neck and hands, of that very
coarse sort which go by the name of nogging shirts."

When Charles was attired in this fashion, Richard Pendrell opened a back
door and led him out into the wood; not a moment too soon, for within
half an hour Colonel Ashenhurst, with a company of Cromwell's soldiers,
rode up to Whiteladies, rushed into the house, searched every chamber
and secret place, pulled down the wainscoting, and otherwise devastated
the mansion in the search for the king. A damp cold September morning
now lengthened to a day of gloom and depression. Rain fell in heavy
torrents, dripped from the leafless branches of trees, and saturated the
thick undergrowth and shrubs where his majesty lay hidden. Owing to
the condition of the weather, the soldiers neglected to search Boscobel
Wood; and, after uttering many threats and imprecations, withdrew from
Whiteladies. When he considered himself quite alone, Richard Pendrell
ventured forth, taking with him a billhook, that if observed he might
seem engaged in trimming hedges; and drawing near the spot where his
majesty lay, assured him of his safety. Later on he besought an old
woman, his neighbour, to take victuals into the wood to a labourer she
would find there. Without hesitation the good woman carried some eggs,
bread, butter, and milk towards the spot indicated to her. On seeing
her the king was much alarmed fearing recognition and dreading her
garrulity; wherefore he said to her: "Can you be true to anyone who hath
served the king?" Upon which she readily made answer: "Yes, sir; I'd die
sooner than betray you." Being reassured at this, he ate heartily.

When night fell, Richard brought him into the house again, and the king,
now abandoning his intention of proceeding to London, expressed his
anxiety to reach Wales where he had many friends, and which afforded
him ready opportunities of escaping from the kingdom. Pendrell expressed
himself willing to conduct him thither. Accordingly, about nine of
the clock, they set out with the determination of crossing the Severn,
intending to pass over a ferry between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury. When
they had walked some hours they drew near a water-mill. "We could see
the miller," said the king in relating the story, "as I believe, sitting
at the mill-door, he being in white clothes, it being a very dark night.
He called out sturdily, 'Who goes there?' Upon which Richard Pendrell
answered, 'Neighbours going home,' or suchlike words. Whereupon the
miller cried out: 'If you be neighbours, stand, or I will knock you
down.' Upon which, we believing there was company in the house, Richard
bade me follow him close, and he ran to a gate that went up a dirty lane
up a hill. The miller cried out: 'Rogues--rogues!' And thereupon some
men came out of the mill after us, which I believe were soldiers; so we
fell a-running, both of us up the lane as long as we could run, it being
very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge, and
lie still to hear if anybody followed us--which we did, and continued
lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hearing nobody
come, we continued our way."

This led to the house of an honest gentleman named Woolfe, living at
Madeley, who was a Catholic, and loyal to his king, and as such was
known to the Pendrells. When they drew near to his house, Richard,
leaving his majesty in a field, went forward and asked this worthy man
if he would shelter one who had taken part in the battle of Worcester;
whereon he made answer he would not venture his neck for any man unless
it were the king himself, upon which Pendrell made known to him it was
his majesty who sought refuge from him. Mr. Woolfe came out immediately
and carried the king by a back way into a barn, where he hid him for the
day, it being considered unsafe for him to stay a longer period there,
as two companies of militia were at that time stationed in the town, and
were very likely to search the house at any minute. Moreover he advised
his majesty by no means to adventure crossing the Severn, as the
strictest guard was then kept at the ferries to prevent any Royalist
fugitives from escaping into Wales. The king was therefore obliged to
retrace his steps, and now sought Boscobel House, not far distant from
his first resting-place of Whiteladies. Arriving there, he remained
secreted in the wood, whilst Richard went to see if soldiers were in
occupation of the dwelling. There was no one there, however, but Colonel
Careless, the same good man and true who had helped to keep Sudbury Gate
whilst Charles made his escape.

The Colonel had been hiding in the forest, and, being sore pressed by
hunger, had come to beg a little bread. Being informed where the king
was, he came forth with great joy, and, the house not being considered
a safe refuge, they both climbed into the branches of a leafy oak,
situated in an open part of the wood, from whence they could see all
round them. They carried with them some bread and cheese and small beer,
and stayed there that day. "While we were in the tree," says the king,
"we saw soldiers going up and down in the thicket of the wood, searching
for persons escaped, we seeing them now and then peeping out of the
wood." When this danger had passed away, the king, worn out by his sore
fatigues, laid his head on his friend's breast and slept in his arms. At
night they descended, and going to Boscobel House, were shown a secret
hiding-place, such as were then to be found in the mansions of all
Catholic families, called the priests' hole a little confined closet
built between two walls, in the principal stack of chimneys, and having
a couple of exits for the better escape of those compelled to seek its
shelter. Here the king rested in peace for a day and a night.

Meanwhile Humphrey Pendrell went into Shifnal to pay his taxes; and it
being known he had come from Whiteladies, he was questioned closely
as to whether he knew aught of Charles Stuart. On stoutly denying all
knowledge of him, he was told that any man who discovered him would gain
a thousand pounds, but he that sheltered him would suffer death without
mercy; these being the terms of a proclamation just issued. This the
honest miller on his return narrated to the king, swearing roundly he
would run all risks for his sake. It chanced at this time one of the
Pendrells heard that my Lord Wilmot who had not been able to make his
way to London, was hiding in a very secure place, at the house of a
gentleman named Whitegrave, above seven miles distant. This coming to
the king's knowledge, he became anxious to see his faithful friend
and hold communication with him. Accordingly one of the Pendrells was
despatched to request Lord Wilmot to meet his majesty that night, in a
field close by Mr. Whitegrave's house. And the time of night being come,
the king was impatient of delay; but his feet were sore from the rough
shoes he had worn on his journey, so that he was scarce able to walk;
therefore he was mounted on Humphrey's mill-horse, and, the four loyal
brothers forming a guard, they directed their way towards Moseley. The
king's eagerness to see Wilmot being great, he complained of the horse's
slow pace. "Can you blame him, my liege," said Humphrey, who loved a
jest, "that he goes heavily, having the weight of three kingdoms on his
back?"

When they had travelled with him a great part of the journey it was
thought safer three of them should withdraw themselves. They therefore
turned away; but scarcely had they gone when the king, who, being
lost in thought, had remained unconscious of their departure, suddenly
stopped, and caused John, who remained, to speedily summon them back.
When they returned he gave them his hand to kiss, and, with that charm
of manner which never failed in winning friends, said to them sadly, "My
sorrows make me forget myself. I earnestly thank you all."

They kissed his hand heartily, and prayed God to save him. In the
days of his prosperity he remembered their kindness and rewarded their
loyalty.

Arriving at the trysting place the king found Mr. Whitegrave, a
Benedictine monk named Father Huddlestone, Sir John Preston, and his
brother awaiting him. It may be mentioned here this monk was destined,
many years later, to play an important part in the closing scene of
his majesty's life. Mr. Whitegrave conducted Charles with great show of
respect to his house, where the king spoke with my Lord Wilmot, feasted
well, and rested safe that night. Next morning the worthy host had
private notice given that a company of soldiers were on their way to
arrest him as one who had served in the king's army. He, being innocent
of this charge, did not avoid them, but received them boldly at his
door, spoke confidently in his own defence, and referred them to the
testimony of his neighbours, whereon they departed quietly.

It was feared, however, the house was no longer safe, and that another
refuge had best be sought for his majesty. Therefore, Father Huddlestone
informed the king of an honest gentleman, the owner of a fair estate
some six miles removed, who was generous and exceedingly beloved, and
the eldest justice of peace in the county of Stafford. This gentleman
was named Lane, "a very zealous Protestant, yet he lived with so much
civility and candour towards the Catholics, that they would all trust
him as much as they would any of their own profession." The king,
however, not being willing to surprise this worthy man, immediately
despatched the Benedictine to make certain of his welcome; receiving
due assurances of which he and Lord Willmot set out by night for Master
Lane's mansion, where they were heartily received, and where Charles
rested some days in blessed security. Knowing, however, in what risk he
placed those who sheltered him, and how vigilant the pursuit after him,
he became most anxious for his safe delivery out of the kingdom. To this
end it was desirable he should draw near the west coast, and await an
opportunity of sailing from thence for France.

The members of Master Lane's family then living with him consisted of a
son and a daughter: the former a man of fearless courage and integrity,
the latter a gentlewoman of good wit and discretion, as will be seen
hereafter. Consulting, amongst themselves as to the best means of
compassing the king's escape, it was resolved Mistress Lane should visit
a kinswoman of hers with whom she had been bred, that had married
one Norton, and was now residing within five miles of Bristol. It was
likewise decided she should ride on her journey thence behind the king,
he being habited in her father's livery, and acting as her servant; and
for greater safety her sister and her sister's husband were to accompany
them on the road. Mistress Jane Lane then procured from a colonel of the
rebel army a passport for herself and her servant, her sister and her
brother-in-law, to travel without molestation to her cousin Mistress
Norton, who was ready to lie in. With this security Jane set out, her
brother bearing them company part of the way, with a hawk upon his fist
and two or three spaniels at his heels, which warranted him keeping the
king and his friends in sight without seeming to be of their company.

The first day's journey was not accomplished without an exciting
incident. The horse ridden by Mistress Lane and the king--now bearing
the name of William Jackson--lost a shoe; and being come to Bromsgrove,
he must dismount and lead the animal to the village blacksmith.

"As I was holding my horse's foot," said his majesty, when narrating the
story to Mr. Pepys, "I asked the smith what news. He told me that there
was no news that he knew of, since the good news of the beating the
rogues of the Scots. I asked him whether there was none of the English
taken that joined with the Scots, He answered he did not hear if that
rogue, Charles Stuart, were taken; but some of the others, he said,
were taken. I told him that if that rogue were taken, he deserved to be
hanged more than all the rest, for bringing in the Scots. Upon which he
said I spoke like an honest man; and so we parted."

At the end of the first day's journey they were met by Lord Wilmot at
the inn; and he continued to join them wherever they rested at night,
without appearing to travel with them by day. Mistress Lane took all
possible care to guard the king against recognition, stating at every
house of accommodation where they tarried he was "a neighbour's son whom
her father had lent her to ride before her in hope that he would the
sooner recover from a quartan ague with which he had been miserably
afflicted, and was not yet free." Which story served as sufficient
excuse for his going to bed betimes, and so avoiding the company of
servants. At the end of three days they arrived at their destination.
Jane Lane was warmly received by her cousin, and the whole party made
heartily welcome. Jane, however, did not entrust her secret to Mistress
Norton's keeping, but repeated her tale of the good youth being newly
recovered from ague, and desired a chamber might be provided for him,
and a good fire made that he might retire early to bed. Her desires
being obeyed, the king withdrew, and was served with an excellent good
supper by the butler, a worthy fellow named Pope, who had been a trooper
in the army of Charles I., of blessed memory.

"The next morning" said the king continuing his strange story, "I arose
pretty early, having a very good stomach, and went to the buttery-hatch
to get my breakfast, where I found Pope and two or three other men in
the room, and we all fell to eating bread and butter, to which he gave
us very good ale and sack. And as I was sitting there, there was one
that looked like a country fellow sat just by me, who, talking, gave
so particular an account of the battle of Worcester to the rest of the
company that I concluded he must be one of Cromwell's soldiers. But I,
asking how he came to give so good an account of that battle, he told me
he was in the King's regiment, by which I thought he meant one Colonel
King's regiment. But questioning him further, I perceived he had been in
my regiment of Guards, in Major Broughton's company--that was my Major
in the battle. I asked him what kind of man I was; to which he answered
by describing exactly both my clothes and my horse, and then, looking
upon me, he told me that the king was at least three fingers taller than
I. Upon which I made what haste I could out of the buttery, for fear he
should indeed know me, as being more afraid when I knew he was one of
our own soldiers than when I took him for one of the enemy's. So Pope
and I went into the hall, and just as we came into it Mistress Norton
was coming by through it; upon which I, plucking off my hat and standing
with it in my hand as she passed by, Pope looked very earnestly in my
face. But I took no notice of it, but put on my hat again and went away,
walking out of the house into the field."

When he returned, however, the butler followed him into a private room,
and going down on his stiff knees, said, with tears in his old eyes, he
was rejoiced to see his majesty in safety. The king affected to laugh
at him, and asked him what he meant; but Pope told him he knew him well,
for before he was a trooper in his father's service he had been falconer
to Sir Thomas Jermyn, groom of the bedchamber to the king when he was
a boy. Charles saw it was useless longer to deny himself, and therefore
said he believed him to be a very honest man, and besought he would not
reveal what he knew to anyone. This the old man readily promised, and
faithfully kept his word. Having spent a couple of days at Norton's, the
king, by advice of Lord Wilmot, went to the house of a true friend
and loyal man, one Colonel Windham, who lived at Trent. This town was
notable as a very hotbed of republicanism; a proof of which was afforded
his majesty on the very day of his entrance. As he rode into the
principal street, still disguised as a waiting man to Mistress Lane, he
heard a great ringing of bells, and the tumult of many voices, and saw a
vast concourse of people gathered in the churchyard close by. On asking
the cause he was informed one of Cromwell's troopers was telling the
people he had killed Charles Stuart, whose buff coat he then wore;
whereon the rebels rang the church bells, and were about to make a great
bonfire for joy.

Having brought him to Trent, Mistress Lane returned home, carrying with
her the king's friendship and gratitude, of which he gave her ample
proof when he came unto the throne. Charles stayed at Colonel Windham's
over a week, whilst that gallant man was secretly striving to hire
a ship for his majesty's safe transportation into France. Presently
succeeding in this object, the king, yet wearing his livery, and now
riding before Mistress Judith Coningsby, cousin of Colonel Windham,
started with high hopes for Lyme; but at the last moment the captain
of the vessel failed him, and he was again left in a state of painful
uncertainty and danger. Lord Wilmot was sent to ascertain the cause of
this disappointment, and for greater safety the king rode on to Burport
with his friends. Being come to the outskirts of the town, they were
alarmed at finding the streets in a state of confusion, and full of
Cromwell's soldiers, fifteen hundred of whom were about to embark for
Jersey. His majesty's coolness and presence of mind did not fail him;
he resolved to ride boldly into the town, and hire a chamber at the best
inn. The yard of the hostelry was likewise crowded with troopers; but
this did not dismay his majesty.

"I alighted," said he, "and taking the horses, thought it the best way
to go blundering in among them, and lead them through the middle of the
soldiers into the stable; which I did, and they were very angry with me
for my rudeness. As soon as I came into the stable I took the bridle
off the horses, and called the ostler to me to help me, and to give the
horses some oats. And as the hostler was helping me to feed the horses,
'Sure, sir,' says he, 'I know your face?' which was no very pleasant
question to me. But I thought the best way was to ask him where he had
lived, or whether he had always lived there or no. He told me that he
was but newly come thither; that he was born in Exeter, and had been
ostler in an inn there, hard by one Mr. Potter's, a merchant in whose
house I had lain in the time of the war. So I thought it best to give
the fellow no further occasion of thinking where he had seen me, for
fear he should guess right at last; therefore I told him, 'Friend,
certainly you have seen me then at Mr. Potter's, for I served him a good
while above a year.' 'Oh,' says he, 'then I remember you a boy there;'
and with that was put off from thinking any more on it, but desired that
we might drink a pot of beer together, which I excused by saying that
I must go wait on my master, and get his dinner ready for him; but told
him that my master was going to London, and would return about three
weeks hence, when he would be there, and I would not fail to drink a pot
with him."

The king and his friends, having dined at the inn, got word that the
master of the ship, suspecting that it was some dangerous employment he
had been hired for, absolutely refused to fulfil his contract. Therefore
they, being sad at heart and fearful, retraced their steps to Trent, and
presently his majesty went further into Sussex, and abode with a
staunch Royalist, one Colonel Gunter, who resided within four miles
of Salisbury. This excellent man at last succeeded in hiring a ship
to carry away the king, and so Charles made another journey to
Brighthelmstone, where he met the captain of the vessel and the merchant
that had hired her on behalf of Colonel Gunter, both of whom had been
kept in ignorance of their future passenger's identity. Arriving at
Brighthelmstone, they entered an inn and ordered supper, during which
the captain more than once looked hard at the king. And the meal being
ended, the captain called the merchant aside and said he was not dealt
with fairly, inasmuch as he had not been told the king was the person to
be conveyed from thence. The merchant, not being so wise as the master,
denied such was the case; but the honest fellow told him not to be
troubled. "For I think," said he, "I do God and my country good service
in preserving the king: and by the grace of God I will venture my life
and all for him, and set him safely on shore, if I can, in France."

Nor was this the last of his majesty's numerous risks, for being
presently left alone, he stood thoughtful and somewhat melancholy by
the fire, resting one hand on a chair; and the landlord, coming in and
seeing him engaged in this manner, softly advanced, suddenly kissed
the king's hand, and said, "God bless you, wherever you go." Charles
started, and would have denied himself; but the landlord cried out,
"'Fore God, your majesty may trust me; and," he added, "I have no doubt,
before I die, to be a lord, and my wife a lady."

That night, the last his majesty was to spend in England for many years,
he was sad and depressed. The scenes of bloodshed he had witnessed, the
imminent dangers he had escaped, were vividly present to his mind. The
past was fraught with horror; the future held no hope. Though a king, he
was about to become an outcast from his realm. Surmising his thoughts,
his companions sought to cheer him. Now the long-desired moment of
escape was at hand, no one thought of repose. The little vessel in which
he intended sailing lay dry upon the shore, the tide being at low water.
The king and his friends, the merchant, the captain, and the landlord,
sat in the well-lighted cosy parlour of the seaport inn, smoking,
playing cards, telling stories and drinking good ale.

With all such diversions the hours wore heavily away. Their noisy
joviality had an undercurrent of sadness; jokes failed to amuse;
laughter seemed forced; words, mirthful in leaving the lips, sounded
ominous on reaching the ear. At four o'clock the captain rose to survey
his ship, and presently returned saying the tide had risen. Thereon the
king and his friends prepared to depart. A damp, chilly November
fog hung over the sea, hiding its wide expanse without deadening its
monotonous moan. A procession of black figures leaving the inn sped
noiselessly through darkness. Arriving at the shore, those who were not
to accompany his majesty, knelt and kissed his hand. Then he, with Lord
Wilmot and the captain, climbed on board the vessel and entered the
cabin. The fog had turned to rain. Four hours later, the tide being
favourable, the ship sailed out of port, and in due time the king was
safely landed in France.



CHAPTER III.

  Celebration of the Kings return.--Those who flocked to Whitehall My Lord
  Cleveland's gentlemen.--Sir Thomas Allen's supper.--Touching for King's
  evil.--That none might lose their labour.--The man with the fungus
  nose.--The memory of the regicides.--Cromwell's effigy.--Ghastly scene
  at Tyburn.--The King's clemency.--The Coronation procession.--Sights and
  scenes by the way.--His Majesty is crowned.

The return of the king and his court was a signal for universal joy
throughout the nation in general and the capital in particular. For
weeks and months subsequent to his majesty's triumphal entry, the town
did not subside from its condition of excitement and revelry to its
customary quietude and sobriety. Feasts by day were succeeded by
entertainments at night; "and under colour of drinking the king's
health," says Bishop Burnet, "there were great disorder and much riot."

It seemed as if the people could not sufficiently express their delight
at the presence of the young king amongst them, or satisfy their desire
of seeing him. When clad in rich velvets and costly lace, adorned with
many jewels and waving feathers, he walked in Hyde Park attended by an
"abundance of gallantry," or went to Whitehall Chapel, where "the organs
and singing-men in surplices" were first heard by Mr. Pepys, a vast
crowd of loyal subjects attended him on his way. Likewise, when,
preceded by heralds, he journeyed by water in his barge to open
Parliament, the river was crowded with innumerable boats, and the banks
lined with a great concourse anxious for sight of him. Nor were his
subjects satisfied by the glimpses obtained of him on such occasions;
they must needs behold their king surrounded by the insignia of royalty
in the palace of his ancestors, and flocked thither in numbers. "The
eagerness of men, women, and children to see his majesty, and kisse his
hands was so greate," says Evelyn, "that he had scarce leisure to eate
for some dayes, coming as they did from all parts of the nation: and the
king being as willing to give them that satisfaction, would have none
kept out, but gave free access to all sorts of people." Indeed his loyal
subjects were no less pleased with him than he with them; and in faith
he was sorry, he declared, in that delicate strain of irony that ran
like a bright thread throughout the whole pattern of his speech, he had
not come over before, for every man he encountered was glad to see him.

Day after day, week after week, the Palace of Whitehall presented
a scene of ceaseless bustle. Courtiers, ambassadors, politicians,
soldiers, and citizens crowded the antechambers, flocked through the
galleries, and tarried in the courtyards. Deputations from all the
shires and chief towns in the three kingdoms, bearing messages of
congratulation and loyalty, were presented to the king. First of all
came the worshipful lord mayor, aldermen and council of the city of
London, in great pomp and state; when the common-sergeant made a speech
to his majesty respecting the affection of the city towards him, and the
lord mayor, on hospitable thoughts intent, besought the honour of his
company to dinner, the which Charles promised him most readily. And the
same day the commissioners from Ireland presented themselves, headed by
Sir James Barry, who delivered himself of a fine address regarding
the love his majesty's Irish subjects bore him; as proof of which he
presented the monarch with a bill for twenty thousand pounds, that had
been duly accepted by Alderman Thomas Viner, a right wealthy man and
true. Likewise came the deputy steward and burgesses of the city of
Westminster, arrayed in the glory of new scarlet gowns; and the French,
Italian, and Dutch ministers, when Monsieur Stoope pronounced an
harangue with great eloquence. Also the vice-chancellor of the
University of Oxford, with divers doctors, bachelors of divinity,
proctors, and masters of arts of the same learned university, who,
having first met at the Temple Church, went by two and two, according to
their seniority, to Essex House, that they might wait on the most
noble the Marquis of Hertford, then chancellor. Accompanied by him, and
preceded by eight esquires and yeomen beadles, having their staves, and
three of them wearing gold chains, they presented themselves before
the king, and spoke him words of loyalty and greeting. The heads of
the colleges and halls of Cambridge, with some masters of arts, in like
manner journeyed to Whitehall, when Dr. Love delivered a learned Latin
oration, expressive of their devotion to royalty in the person of their
most illustrious monarch.

Amongst others came, one day, my Lord Cleveland at the head of a hundred
gentlemen, many of them being officers who had formerly served under
him, and other gentlemen who had ridden to meet the king when coming
unto his own; and having arrived at Whitehall, they knelt down in the
matted gallery, when his majesty "was pleased to walk along," says
MERCURIUS PUBLICUS, "and give everyone of them the honour to kiss his
hand, which favour was so highly received by them, that they could no
longer stifle their joy, but as his majesty was walking out (a thing
thought unusual at court) they brake out into a loud shouting."

Then the nobility entertained the king and his royal brothers with
much magnificence, his Excellency Lord General Monk first giving at his
residence in the Cockpit, a great supper, after which "he entertained
his majesty with several sorts of musick;" Next Earl Pembroke gave a
rare banquet; also the Duke of Buckingham, my Lord Lumley, and many
others. Nor was my lord mayor, Sir Thomas Allen, behindhand in extending
hospitality to the king, whom he invited to sup with him. This feast,
having no connection with the civic entertainments, was held at good Sir
Thomas's house. The royal brothers of York and Gloucester were likewise
bidden, together with several of the nobility and gentry of high degree.
Previous to supper being served, the lord mayor brought his majesty a
napkin dipped in rose-water, and offered it kneeling; when his majesty
had wiped his hands, he sat down at a table raised by an ascent, the
Duke of York on his right hand, and the Duke of Gloucester on his
left. They were served with three several courses, at each of which the
tablecloth was shifted, and at every dish which his majesty or the dukes
tasted, the napkins were moreover changed. At another table in the same
room sat his Excellency the Lord General, the Duke of Buckingham, the
Marquis of Ormond, the Earl of Oxford, Earl of Norwich, Earl of St.
Albans, Lords De la Ware, Sands, Berkeley, and several other of
the nobility, with knights and gentlemen of great quality. Sir John
Robinson, alderman of London, proposed his majesty's health, which was
pledged standing by all present. His majesty was the while entertained
with a variety of rare music. This supper was given on the 16th of June;
and a couple of weeks later, on the 5th of July, the king went "with as
much pompe and splendour as any earthly prince could do to the greate
Citty feast, the first they had invited him to since his returne."

But whilst entertainments were given, and diversions occupied the town,
Charles was called upon to touch for the evil, an affliction then most
prevalent throughout the kingdom. According to a time-honoured belief
which obtained until the coming of George I., when faith in the divinity
of kings was no longer possible to the most ignorant, the monarch's
touch was credited with healing this most grievous disease. Majesty in
those days was sacred, and superstition rife. Accordingly we read in
MERCURIUS PUBLICUS that, "The kingdom having for a long time, by reason
of his majesty's absence, been troubled with the evil, great numbers
flocked for cure. Saturday being appointed by his majesty to touch such
as were so troubled, a great company of poor afflicted creatures were
met together, many brought in chairs and baskets; and being appointed by
his majesty to repair to the banqueting house, the king sat in a chair
of state, where he stroked all that were brought to him, and then put
about each of their necks a white ribbon with an angel of gold on it.
In this manner his majesty stroked above six hundred; and such was his
princely patience and tenderness to the poor afflicted creatures, that
though it took up a long time, the king, being never weary of well
doing, was pleased to make inquiry whether there were any more that
had not been touched. After prayers were ended the Duke of Buckingham
brought a towel, and the Earl of Pembroke a basin and ewer, who, after
they had made their obeysance to his majesty, kneeled down till his
majesty had washed."

This was on the 23rd of June, a few days earlier than the date fixed by
Evelyn as that on which the king first began "touch for ye evil." A
week later we find he stroked as many as two hundred and fifty persons.
Friday was then appointed as the day for those suffering from this
disease to come before the king; it was moreover decided that only two
hundred persons should be presented each week and these were first to
repair to Mr. Knight, his majesty's surgeon, living at the Cross Guns,
in Russell Street, Covent Garden, over against the Rose tavern, for
tickets of admission. "That none might lose their labour." the same Mr.
Knight made it known to the public he would be at home on Wednesdays and
Thursdays, from two till six of the clock; and if any person of quality
should send for him he would wait upon them at their lodgings. The
disease must indeed have been rife: week after week those afflicted
continued to present themselves, and we read that, towards the end of
July, "notwithstanding all discouragements by the hot weather and the
multitude of sick and infirm people, his majesty abated not one of his
accustomed number, but touched full two hundred: an high conviction
of all such physicians, surgeons, and apothecaries that pretend
self-preservation when the languishing patient requires their
assistance." Indeed, there were some who placed boundless faith in the
king's power of healing by touch; amongst whom was one Avis Evans, whom
Aubrey, in his "Miscellanies," records "had a fungus nose, and said
it was revealed to him that the king's hand would cure him. And at the
first coming of King Charles II. into St. James's Park, he kissed the
king's hand, and rubbed his nose with it, which disturbed the king, but
cured him."

The universal joy which filled the nation at the restoration of his
majesty was accompanied, as might be expected, by bitter hatred towards
the leaders of Republicanism, especially towards such as had condemned
the late king to death. The chief objects of popular horror now,
however, lay in their graves; but the sanctity of death was neither
permitted to save their memories from vituperation nor their remains
from moltestation. Accordingly, through many days in June the effigy
of Cromwell, which had been crowned with a royal diadem, draped with
a purple mantle, in Somerset House, and afterwards borne with all
imaginable pomp to Westminster Abbey, was now exposed at one of the
windows at Whitehall with a rope fixed round its neck, by way of hinting
at the death which the original deserved. But this mark of execration
was not sufficient to satisfy the public mind, and seven months later,
on the 30th of January, 1661, the anniversary of the murder of Charles
I., the bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, and John Bradshaw
were taken from their resting places in Westminster Abbey, and drawn on
hurdles to Tyburn, the well-known site of public executions. "All the
way the universal outcry and curses of the people went along with them,"
says MERCURIUS PUBLICUS. "When these three carcasses arrived at Tyburn,
they were pulled out of their coffins, and hanged at the several angles
of that triple tree, where they hung till the sun was set; after which
they were taken down, their heads cut off; and their loathsome trunks
thrown into a deep hole under the gallows. The heads of those three
notorious regicides, Oliver Cromwell, John Bradshaw, and Ireton are
set upon poles on the top of Westminster Hall by the common hangman.
Bradshaw placed in the middle (over that part where the monstrous high
court of justice sat), Cromwell and his son-in-law Ireton on either side
of Bradshaw."

Before this ghastly execution took place, Parliament had brought to
justice such offenders against the late king's government and life as
were in its power. According to the declaration made by the king
at Breda, a full and general pardon was extended to all rebellious
subjects, excepting such persons as should be hereafter excepted by
Parliament. By reason of this clause, some who had been most violent
in their persecution of royalty were committed to the Tower before
the arrival of his majesty, others fled from the country, but had, on
another proclamation summoning them to surrender themselves, returned
in hope of obtaining pardon. Thirty in all were tried at the Old Bailey
before the Commissioners of Oyer and Terminer and a special jury of
knights and gentlemen of quality in the county of Middlesex. Twenty-nine
of these were condemned to death. The king was singularly free from
desires of revenge; but many of his council were strangers to clemency,
and, under the guise of loyalty to the crown, sought satisfaction for
private wrongs by urging severest measures. The monarch, however, shrank
from staining the commencement of his reign with bloodshed and advocated
mercy. In a speech delivered to the House of Lords he insisted that, as
a point of honour, he was bound to make good the assurances given in his
proclamation of Breda, "which if I had not made," he continued, "I am
persuaded that neither I nor you had now been here. I pray, therefore,
let us not deceive those who brought or permitted us to come together;
and I earnestly desire you to depart from all particular animosities and
revenge or memory of past provocations." Accordingly, but ten of those
on whom sentence of death had been passed were executed, the remainder
being committed to the Tower. That they were not also hung was,
according to the mild and merciful Dr. Reeves, Dean of Westminster, "a
main cause of God's punishing the land" in the future time. For those
destined to suffer, a gibbet was erected at Charing Cross, that the
traitors might in their last moments see the spot where the late king
had been executed. Having been half hung, they were taken down, when
their heads were severed from their trunks and set up on poles at the
south-east end of Westminster Hall, whilst their bodies were quartered
and exposed upon the city gates.

Burnet tells us that "the regicides being odious beyond all expression,
the trials and executions of the first who suffered were run to by
crowds, and all the people seemed pleased with the sight;" yet by
degrees these cruel and ghastly spectacles became distasteful and
disgusting. "I saw not their executions," says Evelyn, speaking of four
of the traitors who had suffered death on the 17th of October, "but met
their quarters mangled and cutt and reeking as they were brought from
the gallows in baskets on the hurdle. Oh the miraculous providence of
God!"

Seven months later, the people were diverted by the more cheerful
pageant of the king's coronation, which was conducted with great
magnificence. "Two days," as Heath narrates, "were allotted to the
consummation of this great and most celebrated action, the wonder,
admiration and delight of all persons, both foreign and domestick."
Early on the morning of the 22nd of May, the day being Monday, the
king left Whitehall, by water, for the Tower, in order that he might,
according to ancient custom, proceed through the city to Westminster
Abbey. It was noticed that it had previously rained for a month
together, but on this and the next day "it pleased God that not one
drop fell on the king's triumph." At ten o'clock the roaring of cannon
announced the procession had left the Tower on its way to Whitehall,
where his majesty was to rest the night. The splendour of the pageant
was such as had never before been witnessed. The procession was headed
by the king's council at law, the masters of chancery and judges, who
were followed by the lords according to their rank, so numerous in all,
that those who rode first reached Fleet Street, whilst the king was yet
in the Tower.

No expense was spared by those who formed part of that wonderful
cavalcade, towards rendering their appearance magnificent. Heath tells
us it was incredible to think "what costly cloathes were worn that day.
The cloaks could hardly be seen what silk or satin they were made of,
for the gold and silver laces and embroidery that was laid upon them;
the like also was seen on their foot-cloathes. Besides the inestimable
value and treasures of diamonds, pearls, and other jewels worn upon
their backs and in their hats, not to mention the sumptuous and rich
liveries of their pages and footmen, some suits of liveries amounting
to fifteen hundred pounds." Nor had the city hesitated in lavishing vast
sums towards decorating the streets through which the king was to pass.
Four triumphal arches were erected, that were left standing for a year
in memory of this joyful day. These were "composed" by John Ogilby,
Esquire; and were respectively erected in Leadenhall Street, the
Exchange on Cornhill, Wood Street, and Fleet Street.

The thoroughfares were newly gravelled, railed all the way on both
sides, and lined with the city companies and trained bands. The
"relation of his majesty's entertainment passing through the City of
London," as narrated by John Ogilby, and by the papers of the day, is
extremely quaint and interesting, but too long for detailed description.
During the monarch's progress through "Crouched Friers," he was diverted
with music discoursed by a band of eight waits, placed upon a stage. At
Aldgate, and at several other stages of his journey, he was received in
like manner. Arriving at the great arch in Leadenhall Street, his ears
were greeted by sounds of trumpets and drums playing marches; when they
had finishes, a short scene was enacted on a balcony of the arch, by
figures representing Monarchy, Rebellion, and Loyalty. Then the great
procession wended its way to the East India House, situate in the same
street, when the East India Company took occasion to express their
dutiful affections, in a manner "wholly designed by person of quality."
As the king advanced, a youth in an Indian habit, attended by two
blackamoors, knelt down before his majesty's horse, and delivered
himself of some execrable verse, which he had no sooner ended than
another youth in an Indian vest, mounted on a camel, was led forwards
and delivered some lines praying his majesty's subjects might never see
the sun set on his crown or dignity. The camel, it my be noticed, bore
panniers filled with pearls, spices, and silks, destined to be scattered
among the spectators. At Cornhill was a conduit, surmounted by eight
wenches representing nymphs--a sight which must have rejoiced the king's
heart; and on the tower of this same fountain sounded "a noise of seven
trumpets." Another fountain flowed with wine and water; and on his way
the king heard several speeches delivered by various symbolic figures.
One of these, who made a particularly fine harangue, represented the
River Thames, as a gentleman whose "garment loose and flowing, coloured
blue and white, waved like water, flags and ozier-like long hair falling
o'er his shoulders; his beard long, sea-green, and white." And so by
slow degrees the king came to Temple Bar, where he was entertained by
"a view of a delightful boscage, full of several beasts, both tame and
savage, as also several living figures and music of eight waits." And
having passed through Temple Bar into his ancient and native city of
Westminster, the head bailiff in a scarlet robe and the high constable,
likewise in scarlet, on behalf of the dean, chapter, city, and liberty,
received his majesty with great expressions of joy.

Never had there been so goodly a show so grand a procession; the
citizens, still delighted with their young king, had certainly excelled
in doing him honour, and some foreigners, Heaton says, "acknowledged
themselves never to have seen among all the great magnificences of the
world any to come near or equal this: even the vaunting French confessed
their pomps of the late marriage with the Infanta of Spain, at their
majesties' entrance into Paris, to be inferior in its state, gallantry,
and riches unto this most illustrious cavalcade." Amongst those who
witnessed the procession was Mr. Pepys, who has left us a realistic
description, without which this picture would be incomplete. He tells us
he arose early on this day; and the vain fellow says he made himself as
fine as could be, putting on his velvet coat for the first time, though
he had it made half a year before. "And being ready," he continues, "Sir
W. Batten, my lady, and his two daughters, and his son and wife, and
Sir W. Pen and his son and I, went to Mr. Young's, the flag-maker, in
Corne-hill; and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and
good cake, and saw the show very well. In which it is impossible to
relate the glory of this day, expressed in the clothes of them that rid,
and their horses and horses' clothes; among others, my Lord Sandwich's
embroidery and diamonds were ordinary among them. The Knights of the
Bath was a brave sight of itself. Remarquable were the two men that
represent the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitane. My Lord Monk rode bare
after the king, and led in his hand a spare horse, as being Master of
the Horse. The king, in a most rich embroidered suit and cloak, looked
most noble. Wadlow, the vintner, at the Devil, in Fleet Street, did
lead a fine company of soldiers, all young comely men in white doublets.
There followed the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir G. Carteret, and a company of
men all like Turkes. The streets all gravelled, and the houses hung with
carpets before them, made brave show; and the ladies out of the windows,
one of which over against us, I took much notice of, and spoke of her,
which made good sport among us. So glorious was the show with gold and
silver, that we were not able to look at it, our eyes at last being so
much overcome with it. Both the king and the Duke of York took notice
of us as they saw us at the window. The show being ended, Mr. Young
did give us a dinner, at which we were very merry and pleased above
imagination at what we have seen."

The next day, being the feast of St. George, patron of England, the king
went in procession from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey, where he was
solemnly crowned in the presence of a vast number of peers and bishops.
After which, surrounded by the same brilliant company, he passed from
the Abbey to Westminster Hall, the way being covered with blue cloth,
and lined with spectators to the number of ten thousand. Here his
majesty and the lords, spiritual and temporal, dined sumptuously, whilst
many fine ceremonies were observed, music of all sorts was played, and
a great crowd of pretty ladies looked down from the galleries. And when
the banquet was over, and a general pardon had been read by the lord
chancellor, and the champion had drank out of the king's gold cup,
Charles betook himself to Whitehall. Then, after two days of fair
weather, it suddenly "fell a-raining, and thundering and lightning,"
says Pepys, "as I have not seen it do for some years; which people did
take great notice of."



CHAPTER IV.

  The King's character.--His proverbial grace.--He tells a story well.--"A
  warmth and sweetness of the blood."--Beautiful Barbara Palmer.--Her
  intrigue with my Lord Chesterfield.--James, Duke of York.--His
  early days.--Escape from St. James's.--Fights in the service of
  France.--Marriage with Anne Hyde.--Sensation at Court.--The Duke of
  Gloucester's death.--The Princess of Orange.--Schemes against the
  Duke of York's peace.--The "lewd informer."--Anne Hyde is acknowledged
  Duchess of York.

Whilst the kingdom was absorbed by movements consequent on its change of
government, the court was no less engrossed by incidents relative to the
career it had begun. In the annals of court life there are no pages more
interesting than those dealing with Charles II, and his friends; in the
history of kings there is no more remarkable figure than that of the
merry monarch himself.

Returning to rule over a nation which, during his absence, had been
distracted by civil strife, King Charles, young in years, brave in
deeds, and surrounded by that halo of romance which misfortune lends its
victims, entirely gained the hearts of his subjects. Nature had endowed
him with gifts adapted to display qualities that fascinated, and
fitted to hide blemishes which repelled. On the one hand his expressive
features and shapely figure went far towards creating a charm which
his personal grace and courtesy of manner completed; on the other, his
delicate tact screened the heartlessness of his sensualism, whilst his
surface sympathies hid the barrenness of his cynicism.

With the coolness and courage he had shown in danger, the shrewdness
and wit he continually evinced, and the varied capacities he certainly
possessed, Charles II. might have made his reign illustrious, had not
his love of ease and detestation of business rendered him indifferent
to all things so long as he was free to follow his desires. But these
faults, which became grievous in the eyes of his subjects, commended him
to the hearts of his courtiers, the common purpose of whose lives was
pursuit of pleasure. Never was sovereign more gracious to those who came
in contact with him, or less ceremonious with his friends; whilst abroad
he had lived with his little band of courtiers more as a companion
than a king. The bond of exile had drawn them close together; an equal
fortune had gone far towards obliterating distinctions of royalty; and
custom had so fitted the monarch and his friends to familiarity, that on
his return to England neither he nor they laid aside a mutual freedom of
treatment which by degrees extended itself throughout the court. For all
that, "he was master," as Welwood says, "of something in his person and
aspect that commanded both love and admiration at once."

Among his many gifts was that of telling a story well--a rare one 'tis
true in all ages. Never was he better pleased than when, surrounded by
a group of gossips, he narrated some anecdote of which he was the hero;
and, though his tales were more than twice told, they were far from
tedious; inasmuch as, being set forth with brighter flashes of wit
and keener touches of irony, they were ever pleasant to hear. His
conversation was of a like complexion to his tales, pointed, shrewd, and
humorous; frequently--as became the manner of the times--straying far
afield of propriety, and taking liberties of expression of which nice
judgments could not approve. But indeed his majesty's speech was not
more free than his conduct was licentious. He could not think, he
gravely told Bishop Burnet, "God would make a man miserable for taking
a little pleasure out of the way." Accordingly he followed the free bent
of his desires, and his whole life was soon devoted to voluptuousness;
a vice which an ingenious courtier obligingly describes as a "warmth and
sweetness of the blood that would not be confined in the communicating
itself--an overflowing of good nature, of which he had such a stream
that it would not be restrained within the banks of a crabbed and
unsociable virtue."

The ease and freedom of his continental life had no doubt fostered this
lamentable depravity; for his misfortunes as an exiled king by no
means prevented him following his inclinations as an ardent lover.
Accordingly, his intrigues at that time were numerous, as may be judged
from the fact of Lady Byron being described as "his seventeenth mistress
abroad." The offspring of one of his continental mistresses was destined
to plunge the English nation into civil warfare, and to suffer a
traitor's death on Tower Hill in the succeeding reign.

"The profligacy which Charles practised abroad not being discontinued
at home, he resumed in England an intrigue commenced at Brussels a short
time before the restoration. The object of this amour was the beautiful
Barbara Palmer, afterwards, by reason of her lack of virtue, raised to
the peerage under the titles of Countess of Castlemaine, and Duchess of
Cleveland. This lady, who became a most prominent figure in the court of
the merry monarch, was daughter of William, second Viscount Grandison,
a brave gentleman and a loyal, who had early in life fallen in the civil
war whilst fighting for his king. He is described as having, among other
gifts, "a faultless person," a boon, which descended to his only child,
the bewitching Barbara. In the earliest dawn of her womanhood she
encountered her first lover in the person of Philip Stanhope, second
Earl of Chesterfield. My lord was at this time a youthful widower, and
is described as having "a very agreeable face, a fine head of hair, an
indifferent shape, and a pleasant wit. He was, moreover, an elegant beau
and a dissolute man--testimony of which latter fact may be gathered from
a letter written to him in 1658, by his sister-in-law, Lady Essex, to
prevent the "ruin of his soule." Writes her ladyship: "You treate
all the mad drinking lords, you sweare, you game, and commit all the
extravagances that are insident to untamed youths, to such a degree that
you make yourselfe the talke of all places, and the wonder of those who
thought otherwise of you, and of all sober people."

When Barbara was sixteen, my lord, then in his twenty-third year,
inherited the title and estates of his grandfather: he therefore became
master of his own fortune and could bestow his hand where he pleased.
That he was in love with Barbara is, indeed, most true; but that his
passion was dishonourable is likewise certain: for though he wrote her
letters full of tenderness, and kept assignations with her at Butler's
shop, on Ludgate Hill, he was the while negotiating a marriage with one
Mrs. Fairfax, to whom he was not, however, united. His intrigue with
Barbara continued for upwards of three years, when it was temporarily
suspended by her marriage to one Roger Palmer, a student of the Inner
Temple, the son of a Middlesex knight, and, moreover, a man of the most
obliging temper, as will hereafter be seen. Barbara's loyalty to her
husband was but of short duration. Before she had been nine months a
wife, we find her writing to her old lover she is "ready and willing
to goe all over the world" with him--a sacrifice he declined to accept!
though eager to take advantage of the affection which prompted it. A
little while later he was obliged to quit England; for it happened
in the first month of the year 1660 he quarrelled with and killed one
Francis Woolley, a student at law, to avoid the consequences of which
act he speedily fled the country.

Arriving at Calais, he wrote to King Charles, who was then preparing to
return, throwing himself on his mercy, and beseeching his pardon; which
the king granting, Lord Chesterfield sought his majesty at Brussels.
Soon afterwards Barbara Palmer and her complaisant husband, a right
loyal man, joined the king's court abroad, when the intrigue begun which
was continued on the night of the monarch's arrival in London. True the
loyal PARLIAMENTARY INTELLIGENCER stated "his majesty was diverted from
his pious intention of going to Westminster to offer up his devotions
of prayer and praise in publick according to the appointment of his
Majesty, and made his oblations unto God in the presence-chamber;" but
it is, alas, equally certain, according to Oldmixon, Lord Dartmouth, and
other reliable authorities, he spent the first night of his return
in the company of Barbara Palmer. From that time this abandoned woman
exercised an influence over the king which wholly disgraced his court,
and almost ruined his kingdom.

Another prominent figure, whose history is inseparable from the king's,
was that of his majesty's brother, James, Duke of York--a man of greater
ambition and lesser talents than the merry monarch, but one whose
amorous disposition equalled the monarch's withal. At an early period
of his life the Duke of York was witness of the strife which divided his
unhappy father's kingdom. When only eight years old he was sent for by
Charles I. to York, but was forbidden by the Parliament to leave St.
James's Palace. Despite its commands he was, however, carried to
the king by the gallant Marquis of Hereford. That same year the boy
witnessed the refusal of Sir John Hotham, Governor of Hull, to admit
his majesty within the gates; and James was subsequently present at the
siege of Bristol, and the famous battle of Edgehill, when his life at
one period of the engagement was in imminent peril.

Until 1646 he continued under the guardianship of his father, when, on
the entrance of Fairfax into Oxford, the young duke was found among
the prisoners, and by Cromwell's orders committed to the charge of
Sir George Ratcliffe. A few months later he was removed to St. James's
Palace, when in company with his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and
his sister, the Princess Elizabeth, he was placed under the care of Lord
Northumberland, who had joined the Republican cause.

Though by no means treated with unkindness, the young duke, unhappy at
the surveillance placed upon his actions and fearful of the troubles
quickly gathering over the kingdom, twice sought escape. This was a
serious offence in the eyes of Cromwell's Parliament; a committee was
accordingly sent to examine him, and he was threatened with imprisonment
in the Tower. Though only in his fourteenth year he already possessed
both determination and courage, by reason of which he resolved to risk
all danger, and make a third effort for freedom. Accordingly he laid his
plans with much ingenuity, selecting two men from those around him to
aid his undertaking. These were George Howard and Colonel Bamfield. The
latter had once served in the king's army, but when the fortunes of war
had gone against his royal master, had professed himself friendly to the
Republicans. No doubt the young duke saw the gallant colonel was still
true at heart to the Royalist cause, and therefore trusted him at this
critical juncture.

Now for a fortnight previous to the night on which he designed to
escape, James made it his habit to play at hide-and-seek every evening
after supper with his brother and sister, and the children of the
officers then located in the palace; and in such secure places did he
secrete himself that his companions frequently searched for over half an
hour without discovering him. This of course accustomed the household to
miss him, and was cunningly practised for the purpose of gaining time on
his pursuers when he came to be sought for in good earnest.

At last the eventful night fixed for his escape arrived; and after
supper a pleasant group of merry children prepared to divert themselves
in the long dark halls and narrow winding passages of the grim old
palace. James, as usual, proposed concealing himself, and leaving his
companions for the purpose, disappeared behind some arras; but, instead
of hiding, he hastened to his sister's chamber, where he locked up a
favourite dog that was in the habit of following his footsteps wherever
he went, and then noiselessly slipped down a back stairs which led to
an inner garden. Having taken care to provide himself with a key fitting
the garden door, he quickly slipped into the park. Here he found Colonel
Bamfield waiting, who, giving him a cloak and a wig for his better
disguise, hurried him into a hackney coach, which drove them as far
as Salisbury House in the Strand. From thence they went through Spring
Garden, and down Ivy Lane, when, taking boat, they landed close by
London Bridge. Here entering the house of a surgeon friendly to
their adventure, they found a woman named Murray awaiting them, who
immediately provided a suit of woman's wearing apparel for the young
duke, in which she helped to attire him. Dressed in this costume he,
attended by the faithful Bamfield, hastened to Lion Quay, where they
entered a barge hired for their conveyance to a Dutch frigate stationed
beyond Gravesend.

Meanwhile, the children not being able to discover their playfellow in
the palace, their elders became suspicious of the duke's escape, and
began to aid the search. Before an hour elapsed they were convinced
he had fled, and St. James's was thrown into a state of the utmost
excitement and confusion. Notice of his flight was at once despatched to
General Fairfax at Whitehall, who immediately gave orders have all the
roads from London guarded, especially those leading to the north; for it
was surmised he would in the first instance seek to escape into Wales.
The duke, however, had taken a safer course, but one which was not
unattended by danger. He had not sailed far in the barge when its master
became suspicious that he was aiding the escape of some persons of
consequence, and became frightened lest he should get into trouble by
rendering them his services. And presently his surmise was converted
into certainty; for looking through a cranny of the barge-room door, he
saw the young woman fling her leg on the table and pull up her stocking
in a most unmaidenly manner. He therefore at once peremptorily declared
to Colonel Bamfield they must land at Gravesend, and procure another
boat to carry them to the ship; for it would be impossible for the
barge to pass the block-house lower down without being observed, and
consequently inspected, as was the custom at this troubled time. On
hearing which Colonel Bamfield was filled with dismay; but, knowing
that at heart the people were loyal towards the Stuarts, he confided
the identity of his passenger, and begged him not to betray them in this
hour of peril. To give his appeal further weight, he promised the fellow
a considerable sum if they safely reached the frigate; for human nature
is weak, and greed of gold is strong. On this, the bargee, who was a
loyal man, promised he would help them to the best of his powers; the
lights were therefore extinguished, the oars drawn in, and, the tide
fortunately answering, the barge glided noiselessly down under cover of
night, and passed the block-house unobserved. In good time they reached
the frigate, which, the duke and Colonel Bamfield boarding, at once set
sail, and in a few days landed them at Middleburgh. James proceeded to
the court of his sister, the Princess of Orange, and later on joined his
mother in France.

At the age of twenty he served in the French army, under Turenne,
against the Spanish forces in Flanders, and subsequently in several
campaigns, where he invariably showed himself so brave and valiant that
the Prince de Conde declared that if ever there was a man without fear,
it was James, Duke of York. Now it happened that in 1658 the Princess of
Orange went to Paris in order to visit the queen mother, as the widow of
Charles I. was called. The Duke of York was in the gay capital at this
time, and it soon became noticed that he fixed his attention overmuch on
one of his sister's maids of honour, Anne Hyde. This gentlewoman, then
in her twenty-first year, was the possessor of a comely countenance,
excellent shape, and much wit. Anne was daughter of Edward Hyde, a
worthy man, who had been bred to the law, and proved himself so faithful
a servant to Charles I., that his majesty had made him Privy Councillor
and Chancellor of the Exchequer. After the king's execution, in 1649,
the chancellor thought it wise for himself and his family to seek refuge
in exile, and accordingly joined Charles II., with whom he lived in the
closest friendship, and for whose return he subsequently negotiated with
General Monk.

Now James, after his fashion, made love to Mistress Hyde, who encouraged
his advances until they reached a certain stage, beyond which the
judicious maiden forbade them to proceed unless blessed by the sanction
of holy church. The Duke, impatient to secure his happiness, was
therefore secretly united to Mistress Hyde in the bonds of matrimony
on the 24th of November, in the year of grace 1659, at Breda, to which
place the Princess of Orange had returned. In a little while, the
restoration being effected, the duke returned to England with the
king, leaving his bride behind. And Chancellor Hyde being presently
re-established in his offices, and settled in his residence at Worcester
House in the Strand, sent for his wife and children; the more speedily
as he had received an overture from a noble family, on behalf of "a
hopeful, well-bred young gentleman," who expressed himself anxious to
wed with Mistress Anne.

The same young lady had not long returned, when she informed her husband
she was about to become a mother; whereon the duke, seeking the king,
fell upon his knees before him, laid bare his secret, and besought him
to sanction his union, "that he might publicly marry in such a manner as
his majesty thought necessary for the consequence thereof;" adding that,
if consent were refused, he would "immediately take leave of the kingdom
and spend his life in foreign parts." King Charles was astonished and
perplexed by this confession. James was heir, and as such it behoved him
to wed with one suited, by reason of her lineage, to support the dignity
of the crown, and calculated by her relation towards foreign powers
to strengthen the influence of the throne. The duke was fully aware
of this, and, moreover, knew he could without much difficulty have
his marriage annulled; but that he did not adopt this course was an
honourable trait in his character; and, indeed, his conduct and that of
the king was most creditable throughout the transactions which
followed; an account of which is set forth with great minuteness in the
"Continuation of Edward Hyde, Lord Clarendon's Life."

Without the advice of his council, the king could give no satisfactory
reply to his brother. He therefore summoned two of his trusty friends,
the Marquis of Ormond and the Earl of Southampton, whom he informed
of the duke's marriage, requesting them to communicate the same to the
chancellor, and return with him for private consultation. The good man's
surprise at this news concerning his daughter was, according to his own
account, exceeding great, and was only equalled by his vast indignation.
His loyalty towards the royal family was so fervent that it overlooked
his affection to his child. He therefore fell into a violent passion,
protested against her wicked presumption, and advised that the king
"should immediately cause the woman to be sent to the Tower, and to be
cast into a dungeon, under so strict a guard that no person should be
admitted to come to her; and then that an act of parliament should be
immediately passed for the cutting off her head, to which he would not
only give his consent, but would very willingly be the first man that
should propose it." All this he presently repeated to the king, and
moreover, assured him an example of the highest severity, in a case so
nearly concerning himself, would serve as a warning that others might
take heed of offences committed against his regal dignity.

News of this marriage spread throughout the court with rapidity, and
caused the utmost excitement; which in a little while was somewhat
abated by the announcement that the king's youngest brother, Henry, Duke
of Gloucester, was taken ill of small-pox. This young prince, who is
described as "a pretty boy," possessed parts which bade fair to
surpass his brothers. He was indeed associated by his family with their
tenderest memories, inasmuch as he had been with his father on the sad
day previous to his execution. On that melancholy occasion, Charles I.
had taken him upon his knee, and said to him very tenderly, "Sweetheart,
they will cut off thy father's head," at which the boy shuddered and
turned pale. "Mark, child, what I say," continued the unhappy king,
"they will cut off my head, and, perhaps, make thee a king; but mark
what I say, you must not be made king as long as your brothers Charles
and James are alive, for they will cut off thy brothers' heads when they
catch them, and cut off thy head at last; and therefore I charge you not
to be made a king by them." To which the lad replied very earnestly, "I
will be torn in pieces first." Sometime after the death of his father he
was allowed to join his family in France, and, like his brother James,
entered the army of that country. On the restoration, he had
returned with the king, and, three months later, this "prince of
very extraordinary hopes" died, grievously lamented by the court, and
especially by his majesty, who declared he felt this loss more than any
other which had previously fallen upon him.

Scarcely had he been laid to rest in the vault containing the dust
of Mary Queen of Scots and Lady Arabella Stuart, when the Princess of
Orange arrived in England to pay the king a visit of ceremony. No sooner
was she settled at court, than rumour of her brother's marriage reached
her; on which she became outrageous; but her wrath was far exceeded by
that of the queen mother, who, on hearing the news, wrote to the duke
expressing her indignation "that he should have such low thoughts as to
marry such a woman." The epistle containing this sentence was at once
shown by James to his wife, whom he continually saw and spent much time
with, unknown to her father, who had given orders she should keep her
chamber. Parliament now sat, but no mention was made of the duke's
marriage by either House; and, inasmuch as the union so nearly concerned
the nation, this silence caused considerable surprise. It was surmised
the delay was made in deference to the feelings of the queen mother, who
at this juncture set out for England, to prevent what she was pleased
to term "so great a stain and dishonour to the crown." The king regarded
his brother's alliance in a lenient spirit, and not only spoke of it
frequently before the court, but expressed his desire of bringing the
indiscretion to a happy conclusion by a public acknowledgment.

The queen mother, being an ambitious woman, had cherished certain
schemes for extending the power of her family by the respective
marriages of her sons, which the duke's union was, of course, calculated
to curtail. She therefore regarded his wife with the bitterest disdain.
Whenever that woman should be brought into Whitehall by one door, her
majesty declared she would leave it by another and never enter it
again. The marriage was rendered all the more disagreeable to the
queen, because the object of her son's choice was daughter of the lord
chancellor, whose influence over Charles II. had frequently opposed her
plans in the past, and threatened to prevent their realization in the
future. The monarch, however, paid little attention to his mother's
indignation. He was resolved no disgrace which he could hinder should
fall upon the family of one who had served him with disinterested
loyalty; and, by way of proving his friendship towards the chancellor on
the present occasion, he, before setting out to meet his mother on her
arrival at Dover, presented him with twenty thousand pounds, and left
a signed warrant for creating him a baron, which he desired the
attorney-general to have ready to pass the seals at his return.

In the meantime a wicked plot, for the purpose of lessening James's
affection for his wife, and ultimately preventing the acknowledgment of
his marriage, was promoted by the chancellor's enemies and the duke's
friends, principal amongst whom were the Princess of Orange and Sir
Charles Berkley, "a fellow of great wickedness," Sir Charles was his
royal highness's most trusted friend, and was, moreover, devoted to
the service of the princess and her mother. He therefore determined to
hinder the duke from taking a step which he was of opinion would
injure him irretrievably. Accordingly, when James spoke in confidence
concerning his marriage, Sir Charles told him it was wholly invalid,
inasmuch as it had taken place without the king's consent; and that a
union with the daughter of an insignificant lawyer was not to be thought
of by the heir to the crown. Moreover, he hinted he could a tale unfold
regarding her behaviour. At this the duke became impatient to hear what
his good friend had to say; whereon that valiant gentleman boasted, with
an air of bravery and truth, of certain gallantries which had passed
between him and the lady. On hearing this, James, being credulous was
sorely depressed. He ceased to visit his wife, withdrew from general
company; and so well did Sir Charles's scheme succeed, that before the
queen's arrival, the duke had decided on denying his marriage with one
who had brought him dishonour. The king, however, put no faith in these
aspersions; he felt sure "there was a wicked conspiracy set on foot by
villains."

It therefore happened the queen was spared the trouble she had
anticipated with her son; indeed, he humbly begged her pardon for
"having placed his affections so unequally, of which he was sure there
was now an end"--a confession most gratifying to her majesty. The duke's
bitter depression continued, and was soon increased by the death of his
sister, the Princess of Orange, which was occasioned by smallpox on the
23rd of December, 1660. In her last agonies Lord Clarendon says "she
expressed a dislike of the proceedings in that affair, to which she had
contributed too much." This fact, together with his royal highness's
unhappiness, had due weight on Sir Charles Berkley, who began to repent
of the calumnies he had spoken. Accordingly, the "lewd informer" went
to the duke, and sought to repair the evil he had wrought. Believing, he
said, such a marriage would be the absolute ruin of his royal highness,
he had made the accusation which he now confessed to be false, and
without the least ground; for he was very confident of the lady's honour
and virtue. He then begged pardon on his knees for a fault committed
out of pure devotion, and trusted the duke would "not suffer him to be
ruined by the power of those whom he had so unworthily provoked, and
of which he had so much shame that he had not confidence to look upon
them."

James was so much relieved by what he heard that he not only forgave
Sir Charles, but embraced him, and promised him protection. Nor did his
royal highness longer withhold the reparation due to his wife, who, with
the approval of the king and the reluctant consent of the queen, was
received at court as Duchess of York. Such was the romance connected
with the marriage of her who became mother of two English queens--Mary,
wife of William of Orange, and Anne, of pious memory.



CHAPTER V.

  Morality of the Restoration.--Puritan piety.--Conduct of women under
  the Republic.--Some notable courtiers.--The Duke of Ormond and his
  family.--Lord St. Albans and Henry Jermyn.--His Grace of Buckingham
  and Mistress Fairfax.--Lord Rochester.--Beautiful Barbara Palmer.--The
  King's Projected marriage.--Catherine of Braganza.--His Majesty's
  speech.--A Royal love-letter.--The new Queen sets sail.

A general idea obtains that the libertine example set forth by Charles
II. and his courtiers is wholly to blame for the spirit of depravity
which marked his reign. That it was in part answerable for the spread
of immorality is true, inasmuch as the royalists, considering sufficient
aversion could not be shown to the loathsome hypocrisy of the puritans,
therefore fell into an opposite extreme of ostentatious profligacy.
But that the court was entirely responsible for the vice tainting all
classes of society whilst the merry monarch occupied the throne, is
false.

Other causes had long been tending to produce this unhappy effect.
The reign of the Commonwealth had not been, remarkable for its virtue,
though it had been notable for its pharisaism. With the puritan, words
of piety took place of deeds of grace; the basest passions were often
hidden under sanctimonious exteriors. Even Cromwell, "a man of long and
dark discourses, sermons, and prayers," was not above reproach. Bishop
Burnet, who has no harsh words for him, and few gentle ones for Charles,
states the Protector's intrigue with Lady Dysart was "not a little taken
notice of;" on which, the godly man "broke it off." He therefore, Heath
records, began an amour with a lady of lesser note--Mrs. Lambert, the
wife of a puritan, herself a lady devoted to psalm singing and audible
prayer when, not otherwise pleasantly engaged.

The general character of many news-sheets of the day proves that
morality under the Republic was at a low ebb. Anarchy in a kingdom
invariably favours dissoluteness in a people, inasmuch as the
disturbance of civil order tends to unsettle moral law. Homes being
divided amongst themselves by political strife, paternal care was
suspended, and filial respect ignored. In the general confusion which
obtained, the distinction of social codes was overlooked. Lord Clarendon
states that; during this unhappy period, young people of either sex
were "educated in all the liberty of vice, without reprehension
or restraint." He adds, "The young women conversed without any
circumspection or modesty, and frequently met at taverns and common
eating-houses." An additional description of the ways and manners of
young maidens under the Republic is given in a rare and curious pamphlet
entitled "A Character of England as it was lately presented in a Letter
to a Nobleman of France"; printed in the year 1659, for Jo. Crooke,
and sold at the Ship in St. Paul's Yard. Having spoken of taverns where
"fury and intemperance" reign, and where, "that nothing may be wanting
to the height of luxury and impiety, organs have been translated out of
the churches for the purpose of chanting their dithyrambics and bestiall
bacchanalias to the tune of those instruments which were wont to assist
them in the celebration of God's praises," the writer continues: "Your
lordship will scarce believe me that the ladies of greatest quality
suffer themselves to be treated in one of those taverns, where a
curtezan in other cities would scarcely vouchsafe to be entertained;
but you will be more astonish't when I shall assure you that they drink
their crowned cups roundly, strain healths through their smocks, daunce
after the fiddle, kiss freely, and tearm it an honourable treat." He
furthermore says they were to be found until midnight in company with
their lovers at Spring Garden, which seemed to be "contrived to all the
advantages of gallantry." From which evidences it may be gathered, that
London under the Commonwealth was little less vicious than under the
merry monarch.

The court Charles speedily gathered round him on his restoration was
the most brilliant the nation had ever witnessed. Those of birth and
distinction who had sought refuge abroad during the late troubles, now
joyfully returned: whilst the juvenile branches of noble families living
in retirement in England, to whom royalty had been a stranger, no less
eagerly flocked to the presence of the gay young king. The wit and
politeness of the men, the grace and beauty of the women, who surrounded
Charles II. have become proverbial; whilst the gallantries of the one,
and the frailties of the other, savour more of romance than reality.

That the condition of the court on its establishment may be realized, it
is necessary, at this stage of its history, to introduce briefly some of
the chief personages who surrounded his majesty, and occupied prominent
attention in the annals of his reign. Notably amongst them were the
gallant Duke of Ormond and his family. His grace, now in his fiftieth
year, was distinguished for his commanding appearance, gracious manner,
and excellent wit. During the troubles of the civil war, he had proved
himself a most loyal subject, inasmuch as he had vested his fortune and
ventured his person in service of the late king. Subsequently refusing
liberal offers made him by Cromwell, on condition of living in peaceful
retirement, he, after the execution of Charles I., betook himself to
France, and shared exile with the young king until the restoration. In
consequence of his proven fealty, honours were then deservingly showered
upon him: he was made grand steward of the household, first lord of the
bedchamber, and subsequently lord lieutenant of Ireland. The duchess,
who had participated in her husband's misfortunes with a courage equal
to his own, was a high-minded and most virtuous lady, who had brought
up her family with great care. Scarcely less distinguished in mien and
manner than the duke, were his two sons, Thomas, Earl of Ossory, and
Lord Richard Butler, afterwards Earl of Arran. My lord of Ossory was no
less remarkable for his beauty than famous for his accomplishments:
he rode and played tennis to perfection, performed upon the lute to
entrancement, and danced to the admiration of the court; he was moreover
a good historian, and well versed in chronicles of romance. No less was
the Earl of Arran proficient in qualifications befitting his birth, and
gifted with attributes aiding his gallantry.

A third member of this noble family played a more remarkable part in
the history of the court during her brief career than either of her
brothers. This was the Lady Elizabeth Butler, eldest daughter of
the duke, who, unfortunately for her own happiness, married my Lord
Chesterfield at the Hague, when, a few months before the restoration,
that nobleman fled to the continent to escape the consequences of
Francis Woolley's murder. In Lely's picture of the young Countess of
Chesterfield, her piquancy attracts at a glance, whilst her beauty
charms on examination. Her cousin, Anthony Hamilton, describes her
as having large blue eyes, very tempting and alluring, a complexion
extremely fair, and a heart "ever open to tender sentiments," by reason
of which her troubles arose, as shall be set down in proper sequence.

Henry Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans, and his nephew, "the little Jermyn,"
were also notable as figuring in court intrigues. The earl was member
of the privy council to his majesty, and moreover held a still closer
connection to the queen mother; for, according to Sir John Reresby,
Madame Buviere, and others, her majesty had privately married his
lordship abroad--an act of condescension he repaid with inhumanity.
Madame Buviere says he never gave the queen a good word; and when
she spoke to him he used to say, "Que me veut cette femme?" The same
authority adds, he treated her majesty in an extremely ill manner,
"so that whilst she had not a faggot to warm herself, he had in
his apartments a good fire and a sumptuous table." [This testimony
concerning the queen's poverty is borne out by Cardinal de Retz. In his
interesting Memoirs he tells of a visit he paid the queen mother, then
an exile in Paris. He found her with her youngest daughter, Henrietta,
in the chamber of the latter. "At my coming in," says the Cardinal, "she
(the queen) said, 'You see, I am come to keep Henrietta company; the
poor child could not rise to-day for want of a fire.' The truth is, that
the Cardinal (Mazarin) for six months together had not ordered her any
money towards her pension; that no tradespeople would trust her for
anything and there was not at her lodgings a single billet. You will do
me the justice to think that the princess of England did not keep her
bed the next day for want of a faggot... Posterity will hardly believe
that a princess of England, grand-daughter to Henry the Great, hath
wanted a faggot in the month of January, in the Louvre, and in the eyes
of the French court."] Pepys records that the marriage of her majesty
to the earl was commonly talked of at the restoration; and he likewise
mentions it was rumoured "that they had a daughter between them in
France. How true," says this gossip, "God knows."

The earl's nephew, Henry Jermyn, is described as having a big head and
little legs, an affected carriage, and a wit consisting "in expressions
learned by rote, which he occasionally employed either in raillery or
love." For all that, he being a man of amorous disposition, the number
of his intrigues was no less remarkable than the rank of those who
shared them. Most notable amongst his conquests was the king's eldest
sister, widow of the Prince of Orange--a lady possessing in no small
degree natural affections for which her illustrious family were
notorious. During the exile of Charles II., Henry Jermyn had made a
considerable figure at her court in Holland by reason of the splendour
of his equipage, entirely supported by his uncle's wealth; he had
likewise made a forcible impression on her heart by virtue of the ardour
of his addresses, wholly sustained by his own effrontery. The effect of
his presence on the princess soon became visible to the court. Rumour
whispered that as Lord St. Albans had already made an alliance with
royalty, his nephew had likewise followed his example; but scandal
declared that young Jermyn and the princess had omitted the ceremony
which should have sanctioned their happiness. The reputation of such an
amour gained him the immediate attention of many women, whose interest
in his character increased with the knowledge of his abilities, and
helped to associate him in their memories with tenderest emotions.

Another figure prominent in this gay and goodly assembly was George
Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. The faultless beauty of his
face, and graceful symmetry of his figure, would have rendered him
distinguished in a court less sensuously impressionable to physical
perfection, even if his talents had not dazzled, and his wit amused. On
the death of the first Duke of Buckingham, "styled the handsomest bodied
man in England," the late king of pious memory undertook the charge of
the young duke, and had him educated with his own sons. Subsequently
he was sent to Cambridge, and then travelled into France, the better to
acquire that polish of manner and grace of bearing for which he became
distinguished. But, whilst abroad, word was brought him of the distress
of his master, the king; on which the young duke hastened back into
England, became a cavalier, and fought his majesty's battles with
great gallantry. Soon after Charles I. had been beheaded, his faithful
servitor went abroad; but being loyal to the Stuart cause, he journeyed
with Charles II. to Scotland, and afterwards fought beside him in the
bloody battle of Worcester. Whilst the monarch was hiding in Boscobel
Wood, the duke betook himself to London, where, donning a wizard's
mask, a jack-pudding coat, a hat adorned with a fox's tail and cock's
feathers, he masqueraded as a mountebank, and discoursed diverting
nonsense from a stage erected at Charing Cross. After running several
risks, he escaped to France. But alas for the duke, who was born as
Madame Dunois avows, doubtless from experience--"for gallantry and
magnificence," he was now penniless, his great estates being confiscated
by Cromwell. However, conceiving a scheme that might secure him part of
his fortune, he hastened to put it into execution.

It happened that my Lord Fairfax, one of Cromwell's great generals, had
allotted to him by the Protector a portion of the Buckingham estates
that returned five thousand pounds a year. The general was, moreover,
placed in possession of York House, which had likewise belonged to his
grace.

Now it happened Lord Fairfax, a generous-tempered man and brave soldier,
had an only child, a daughter destined to become his heiress; aware
of which the duke resolved to marry her, that he might in this manner
recover portion of his estate. The fact of the lady never having seen
him did not interfere with his plans; that she would reject his suit
seemed an impossibility; that she would succumb to the fascination he
invariably exercised over woman was a certainty. Nor did it matter that
Mistress Fairfax was no beauty; for the duke, being grateful for past
favours liberally bestowed by the opposite sex, had no intention of
becoming under any circumstances churlish enough to limit his devotion
to one lady, though she were his wife.

Carefully disguising himself, he journeyed to London, where he was met
by a faithful friend, who promised he would aid him in winning Mistress
Fairfax, towards which end he promptly introduced the duke to that
estimable gentlewoman. Having once obtained speech of her, the remainder
of his scheme was comparatively easy of accomplishment. She loved the
gay and graceful gallant at first sight, and through years of bitter
wrong and cruel neglect continued his faithful and devoted slave.

Though she had become clandestinely acquainted with him, she was too
good a daughter to wed without her father's consent. But this she had
not much difficulty in obtaining. Though Lord Fairfax had fought against
his king, he was not sufficiently republican to scorn alliance with
nobility, nor so thoroughly puritan as to disdain connection with
the ungodly. Accordingly he gave his sanction to the union, which was
celebrated at his mansion at Nun Appleton, within six miles of York.
Now, my Lord Fairfax had not consulted Cromwell's goodwill concerning
this alliance, the news of which reaching the Protector in due time,
made him exceedingly wroth. For he had daughters to marry, and, that he
might strengthen his power, was desirous of wedding them to scions of
nobility; Buckingham being one of those whom he had mentally selected to
become a member of his family. His anger was therefore at once directed
against Fairfax and his grace. The former he could not molest, but the
latter he committed to the Tower; and if the great Protector had not
been soon after seized by fatal illness, the duke would have made his
last journey from thence to Tower Hill. As it fell out he remained a
prisoner until within a year of the coming of Charles, whom he welcomed
with exceeding joy. Being bred with the merry monarch, he had from
boyhood been a favourite of his majesty, with whom he shared a common
love for diversion. He was, therefore, from the first a prominent figure
at Whitehall; his handsome person and extravagant dress adorned the
court; his brilliant wit and poignant satire amused the royal circle.

His grace, however, had a rival, the vivacity of whose temper and
piquancy of whose humour went far to eclipse Buckingham's talent in
these directions. This was the young Earl of Rochester, son of my Lord
Wilmot, who had so successfully aided the king's escape after the battle
of Worcester, for which service he had been created Earl of Rochester
by Charles in Paris. That worthy man dying just a year previous to the
restoration, his son succeeded to his titles, and likewise to an estate
which had been preserved for him by the prudence of his mother. Even in
his young days Lord Rochester gave evidence of possessing a lively wit
and remarkable genius, which were cultivated by his studies at Oxford
and his travels abroad. So that at the age of eighteen, when he returned
to England and presented himself at Whitehall, his sprightly parts won
him the admiration of courtiers and secured him the favour of royalty.
Nor was the young earl less distinguished by his wit and learning than
by his face and figure; the delicate beauty of his features and natural
grace of his person won him the love of many women, whom the tenderness
of his heart and generosity of his youth did not permit him to leave
unrequited.

Soon surfeited by his conquests in the drawing-room, he was anxious to
extend his triumphs in another direction; and, selecting the sea as a
scene of action, he volunteered to sail under my Lord Sandwich in quest
of the Dutch East Indian fleet. At the engagements to which this led he
exhibited a dauntless courage that earned him renown abroad, and covered
him with honour on his return to court. From that time he, for many
years, surrendered himself to a career of dissipation, often abandoning
the paths of decency and decorum, pursuing vice in its most daring and
eccentric fashion, employing his genius in the composition of lampoons
which spared not even the king, and in the writing of ribald verses, the
very names of which are not proper to indite. Lord Orford speaks of him
as a man "whom the muses were fond to inspire, and ashamed to avow; and
who practised, without the least reserve, that secret which can make
verses more read for their defects than for their merits." More of my
Lord Rochester and his poems anon.

Thomas Killigrew, another courtier, was a poet, dramatist, and man of
excellent wit. He had been page in the service of his late majesty, and
had shared exile with the present monarch, to whose pleasures abroad and
at home he was ever ready to pander. At the restoration he was appointed
a groom of the bedchamber, and, moreover, was made master of the
revels--an office eminently suited to his tastes, and well fitted to
exercise his capacities. His ready wit amused the king so much, that
he was occasionally led to freedoms of speech which taxed his majesty's
good-nature. His escapades diverted the court to such an extent, that he
frequently took the liberty of affording it entertainment at the expense
of its reputation. The "beau Sidney," a man "of sweet and caressing
temper," handsome appearance, and amorous disposition; Sir George
Etherege, a wit and a playwright; and Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset,
a poet and man of sprightly speech, were likewise courtiers of note.

Among such congenial companions the merry monarch abandoned himself
wholly to the pursuit of pleasure, and openly carried on his intrigue
with Barbara Palmer. According to the testimony of her contemporaries,
she was a woman of surpassing loveliness and violent passions. Gilbert
Burnet, whilst admitting her beauty, proclaims her defects. She was, he
relates, "most enormously vicious and ravenous, foolish but imperious,
very uneasy to the king, and always carrying on intrigues with other
men, while she yet pretended she was jealous of him." Pepys testifies
likewise to her physical attractions so long as she reigned paramount
in the king's affections; but when another woman, no less fair, came
betwixt my lady and his majesty's favour, Mr. Pepys, being a loyal
man and a frail, found greater beauty in the new love, whose charms he
avowed surpassed the old. To his most interesting diary posterity is
indebted for glimpses of the manner in which the merry monarch and his
mistress behaved themselves during the first months of the restoration.
Now he tells of "great doings of musique," which were going on at Madame
Palmer's house, situated in the Strand, next Earl Sandwich's, and of
the king and the duke being with that lady: again, in the Chapel
Royal, Whitehall, he observed, whilst Dr. Herbert Croft prayed and
preached, "how the Duke of York and Mrs. Palmer did talk to one another
very wantonly through the hangings that part the king's closet and
the closet where the ladies sit." And later on, when he witnessed "The
Humorous Lieutenant" performed before the court, he noted the royal
favourite was likewise present, "with whom the king do discover a great
deal of familiarity."

Presently, in February, 1661, exactly nine months after his majesty's
return, Mrs. Palmer gave birth to a daughter. To the vast amusement
of the court, no less than three men claimed the privilege of being
considered father of this infant. One of these was my Lord Chesterfield,
whom the child grew to resemble in face and person; the second was Roger
Palmer, who left her his estate; the third was King Charles, who had
her baptized Anne Palmer Fitzroy, adopted her as his daughter, and
eventually married her to the Earl of Sussex.

Soon after the restoration the subject of his majesty's marriage was
mooted by his councillors, who trusted a happy union would redeem him
from vice, and, by bringing him heirs, help to establish him more firmly
in the affections of his people. The king lending a willing ear to this
advice, the sole difficulty in carrying it into execution rested in
the selection of a bride congenial to his taste and equal to his
sovereignty. King Louis of France had no sisters, and his nieces had
not commended themselves to the merry monarch's favour during his
stay abroad. Spain had two infantas, but one was wedded to the King
of France, and the other betrothed to the heir of the royal house of
Austria. Germany, of course, had princesses in vast numbers, who awaited
disposal; but when they were proposed to King Charles, "he put off the
discourse with raillery," as Lord Halifax narrates. "Odd's fish," he
would say, shrugging his shoulders and making a grimace, "I could not
marry one of them: they are all dull and foggy!"

Catherine of Braganza, daughter of Don Juan IV. of Portugal, was
unwedded, and to her Charles ultimately addressed himself. Alliance with
her commended itself to the nation from the fact that the late king,
before the troubled times began, had entered into a negotiation with
Portugal concerning the marriage of this same infanta and his present
majesty; and such was the esteem in which the memory of Charles I. was
now held, that compliance with his desires was regarded as a sacred
obligation. The Portuguese ambassador assured the merry monarch that the
princess, by reason of her beauty, person, and age, was most suited to
him. To convince him of this, he showed his majesty a portrait of the
lady, which the king examining, declared "that person could not be
unhandsome." The ambassador, who was of a certainty most anxious for
this union, then said it was true the princess was a catholic, and would
never change her faith; but she was free from "meddling activity;" that
she had been reared by a wise mother, and would only look to the freedom
of practising her own religion without interfering with that of others.
Finally, he added that the princess would have a dowry befitting
her high station, of no less a sum than five hundred thousand pounds
sterling in ready money.

Moreover, by way of addition to this already handsome portion, the Queen
of Portugal was ready to assign over and annex to the English crown,
the Island of Bombay, in the East Indies, and Tangier on the African
coast--a place of strength and importance, which would be of great
benefit and security to British commerce. Nor was this all. Portugal
was likewise willing to grant England free trade in Brazil and the East
Indies, a privilege heretofore denied all other countries. This was
indeed a dower which none of the "dull and foggy" German princesses
could bring the crown. The prospect of obtaining so much ready money
especially commended the alliance to the extravagant taste of his
majesty, who had this year complained to Parliament of his poverty, by
reason of which he "was so much grieved to see many of his friends come
to him at Whitehall, and to think they were obliged to go somewhere else
for a dinner."

The merry monarch was therefore well pleased at the prospect of his
union, as were likewise the chancellor and four or five "competent
considerers of such an affair" whom he consulted. These worthy
counsellors and men of sage repute, who included in their number the
Duke of Ormond and Sir Edward Nicholas, Secretary of State, the Earl
of Manchester, and the Earl of Southampton, after regretting it was not
agreeable to his majesty to select a queen who professed the protestant
religion, gave it as their opinion there was no catholic princess in
Europe whom he, with so much reason and advantage, could marry as the
infanta of Portugal. They, moreover, added that the sum promised as
part of her portion, setting aside the places, "was much greater--almost
double to what any king had ever received in money by any marriage."
The council, therefore, without a dissenting voice, advised him to the
marriage.

On the 8th of May, 1661, his majesty, being clad in robes of state,
and wearing the crown, rode in great pomp to open Parliament, which he
addressed from the throne. In the course of his speech, he announced his
approaching marriage in a singularly characteristic address. "I will
not conclude without telling you some news," he said, "news that I think
will be very acceptable to you, and therefore I should think myself
unkind, and ill-natured if I did not impart it to you. I have been put
in mind by my friends that it was now time to marry, and I have
thought so myself ever since I came into England. But there appeared
difficulties enough in the choice, though many overtures have been made
to me; and if I should never marry until I could make such a choice
against which there could be no foresight of any inconvenience that may
ensue, you would live to see me an old bachelor, which I think you do
not desire to do. I can now tell you, not only that I am resolved to
marry, but with whom I am resolved to marry. If God please, it is with
the daughter of Portugal. And I will make all the haste I can to fetch
you a queen hither, who, I doubt not, will bring great blessings with
her to me and you."

Next day addresses of congratulation were presented to his majesty
by both Houses. This gratifying news was made known to the Portuguese
ambassador, Count da Ponte, by the lord high chancellor, who visited his
excellency for the purpose, attended by state befitting such a great
and joyful occasion; two gentlemen preceded him, bearing respectively
a gilded mace and a crimson velvet purse embroidered with the arms
of Great Britain, and many others following him to the ambassador's
residence. A month later, the marriage articles were signed; the new
queen being guaranteed the free exercise of her faith, and the sum
of thirty thousand a year during life; whilst the king was assured
possession of her great dowry, together with the territories already
mentioned, one of which, Bombay, ultimately became of such vast
importance to the crown.

Charles then despatched the Portuguese ambassador to Catherine--from
this time styled queen--in order to make arrangements for her journey
into England. Likewise he wrote a letter, remarkable for the fervour
of its sentiments and elegance of its diction, which da Ponte was
commissioned to convey her. This courtly epistle, addressed by Charles
to "The Queen of Great Britain, my wife and lady, whom God preserve," is
dated July 2nd, 1661, and runs as follows:

"MY LADY AND WIFE,

"Already, at my request, the good Count da Ponte has set off for Lisbon;
for me the signing of the marriage act has been great happiness;
and there is about to be despatched at this time after him one of my
servants, charged with what would appear necessary, whereby may
be declared, on my part, the inexpressible joy of this felicitous
conclusion, which, when received, will hasten the coming of your
majesty.

"I am going to make a short progress into some of my provinces; in the
meantime, whilst I go from my most sovereign good, yet I do not complain
as to whither I go, seeking in vain tranquillity in my restlessness;
hoping to see the beloved person of your majesty in these kingdoms
already your own, and that with the same anxiety with which, after my
long banishment, I desired to see myself within them, and my subjects,
desiring also to behold me amongst them, having manifested their most
ardent wishes for my return, well known to the world. The presence of
your serenity is only wanting to unite us, under the protection of God,
in the health and content I desire. I have recommended to the queen, our
lady and mother, the business of the Count da Ponte, who, I must here
avow, has served me in what I regard as the greatest good in this world,
which cannot be mine less than it is that of your majesty; likewise not
forgetting the good Richard Russell, who laboured on his part to the
same end. [Richard Russell was Bishop of Portalegre, in Portugal, and
Almoner to Catherine of Braganza.]

"The very faithful husband of your majesty, whose hand he kisses,

                    "CHARLES REX."

London, 2nd of July, 1661.


During many succeeding months preparations were made in England to
receive the young Queen. The "Royal Charles," a stately ship capable
of carrying eighty cannon and six hundred men, was suitably fitted to
convey her to England.

The state room and apartments destined for use of the future bride were
furnished and ornamented in most luxuriant manner, being upholstered
in crimson velvet, handsomely carpeted, and hung with embroideries and
taffeties. Lord Sandwich was made commander of the gallant fleet which
in due time accompanied the "Royal Charles." He was likewise appointed
ambassador extraordinary, and charged with safely conducting the bride
unto her bridegroom.

In due time, my lord, in high spirits, set sail with his gallant fleet,
and on arriving at Portugal was received with every remark of profound
respect, and every sign of extravagant joy. Stately ceremonies at court
and brilliant rejoicings in public made time speed with breathless
rapidity. But at length there came a day when my Lord Sandwich
encountered a difficulty he had not foreseen. According to instructions,
he had taken possession of Tangier before proceeding for the queen; and
he had likewise been directed to see her dowry put on board one of his
ships, before receiving her on the "Royal Charles."

Now the Queen of Portugal, who acted as regent since the death of her
husband, being strongly desirous of seeing her daughter the consort of a
great sovereign, and of protecting her country from the tyranny of Spain
by an alliance with England, had gathered the infanta's marriage
portion with infinite trouble; which had necessitated the selling of her
majesty's jewels and much of her plate, and the borrowing of both plate
and jewels from churches and monasteries all over the land. The sums
accumulated in this manner she had carefully stowed away in great
sacks; but, alas, between the date on which the marriage treaty had been
signed, and arrival of the English ambassador to claim the bride, Spain
had made war upon Portugal, and the dowry had to be expended in arming
the country for defence. Therefore, when my Lord Sandwich mentioned the
dowry, her majesty, with keen regrets and infinite apologies, informed
him so great were the straits of poverty to which her kingdom was
reduced, that she could pay only half the stipulated sum at present,
but promised the remaining portion should be made up the following year.
Moreover, the part which she then asked him to accept was made up of
jewels, sugars, spices and other commodities which she promised to have
converted by arrangement into solid gold in London.

The ambassador was therefore sorely perplexed, and knew not whether
he should return to England without the bride, or take her and the
merchandise which represented half her dowry on board his ship. He
decided on the latter course, and the queen, with her court and retinue,
set sail for merry England on the 23rd of April, 1662.



CHAPTER VI.

  The king's intrigue with Barbara Palmer.--The queen arrives at
  Portsmouth.--Visited by the Duke of York.--The king leaves town,--First
  interview with his bride.--His letter to the lord chancellor.--Royal
  marriage and festivities.--Arrival at Hampton Court Palace.--Prospects
  of a happy union.--Lady Castlemaine gives birth to a second child.--The
  king's infatuation.--Mistress and wife.--The queen's misery.--The king's
  cruelty.--Lord Clarendon's messages.--His majesty resolves to break the
  queen's spirit.--End of the domestic quarrel.

Whilst the king conducted the negotiations of his marriage with
Catherine of Braganza, he likewise continued the pursuit of his intrigue
with Barbara Palmer. The unhappy fascination which this vile woman
exercised over his majesty increased with time; and though his ministers
declared a suitable marriage would reform his ways, his courtiers
concluded he had no intention of abandoning his mistress in favour of
his wife. For Barbara Palmer, dreading the loss of her royal lover and
the forfeiture of wealth accruing from this connection, had firmly bound
him in her toils. Moreover, in order that he might continually abide
under her influence, she conceived a scheme which would of necessity
bring her into constant intercourse with him and the young queen.
She therefore demanded he would appoint her one of the ladies of the
bedchamber to her majesty, to which he, heedless of the insult this
would fix upon his wife, readily consented.

In order to qualify Barbara Palmer for such a position, it was necessary
she should be raised to the peerage. This could only be accomplished by
ennobling her husband, unless public decency were wholly ignored,
and she was created a peeress in her own right, whilst he remained a
commoner. After some faint show of hesitation, Roger Palmer accepted the
honours thrust upon him by reason of his wife's infamy. On the 11th of
December, 1661, he was created Earl of Castlemaine, and Baron Limerick
in the peerage of Ireland, when the royal favourite became a countess.

And now the merry month of May being arrived, the queen was speedily
expected; and on the night of the 13th joyful tidings reached London
that the "Royal Charles," accompanied by the fleet, was in sight of
Portsmouth. At which news there was great rejoicing throughout the town,
church bells ringing merrily, and bonfires blazing brightly; but before
the Countess of Castlemaine's house, where the king, according to his
custom was at supper, there was no fire, though such signs of joy burned
"at all the rest of the doors almost in the streets, which was much
observed."

Next day the fleet arrived in the harbour of Portsmouth, about four in
the afternoon. Heath says the people gathered to receive the bride with
all possible demonstrations of honour, "the nobility and gentry and
multitudes of Londoners, in most rich apparel and in great numbers,
waiting on the shore for her landing; and the mayor and aldermen and
principal persons of that corporation being in their gowns, and with a
present and a speech ready to entertain her; the cannon and small shot,
both from round that town and the whole fleet echoing to one another
the loud proclamations of their joy." These good people were, however,
destined to disappointment; for though the bride was impatient to land,
because suffering from prostration consequent on a rough voyage and
severe illness, she was not, in observance of court etiquette, permitted
to leave the ship until the king arrived. This did not take place
until six days later, Charles being detained in town by reason of some
important bills then passing in Parliament, which it was necessary for
him to sign. He had, however, despatched his royal brother of York, then
Lord High Admiral of England, to meet her at sea, and give her greeting
in his name. Accordingly the duke had encountered the fleet at the Isle
of Wight, and gone on board the queen's ship, when she received him in
her cabin seated under a canopy on a chair of state. His royal highness
expressed his joy at her arrival, presented "his majesty's high respects
and his exceeding affection for her," and paid her many compliments.
Lord Chesterfield, who had been appointed chamberlain to the queen,
tells us: "Although James, in consequence of his near connection with
the sovereign, might have saluted the royal bride, he did not avail
himself of this privilege, out of a delicate regard to his majesty's
feelings, that he might be the first man to offer that compliment to his
queen; she coming out of a country where it was not the fashion." The
Duke of York presented some noblemen who had accompanied him; after
which she introduced the members of her suite. The queen and her
brother-in-law then held a conversation in the Spanish language, when
James assured her of his affection, and besought her to accept his
services. To these compliments she replied in like manner, when he arose
to depart. The queen advanced three paces with him, not withstanding
that he protested against such courtesy, bidding her remember her rank.
At this she smiled, and answered with much sweetness, "She wished to do
that out of affection, which she was not obliged to do"--a reply which
made a favourable impression on his mind. Whilst she continued on
board, the duke and his suite visited her daily, entering freely into
conversation with her, and finding her "a most agreeable lady." Probably
at the desire of the king, she left the ship before his arrival, and was
conveyed to his majesty's house at Portsmouth, where she was received
by the Countess of Suffolk, first lady of the bedchamber, and four other
ladies who had been appointed members of her household. One of her first
requests to these was--as may be learned from a letter of Lord Sandwich,
preserved in the Bodleian library--"that they would put her in that
habit they thought would be most pleasing to the king." Before leaving
the "Royal Charles" she spoke to all the officers of the ship, thanked
them for their services, and permitted them to kiss her hand. She
then presented a collar of gold to the captain, and gave money to be
distributed among the crew.

When at length the parliamentary business was concluded, the king found
himself in readiness to depart. The last words he addressed to his
faithful commons before starting are worth recording: "The mention of my
wife's arrival," said he, in the pleasant familiar tone it was his wont
to use, "puts me in mind to desire you to put that compliment upon her,
that her entrance into this town may be made with more decency than
the ways will now suffer it to be; and to that purpose I pray you would
quickly pass such laws as are before you, in order to the mending those
ways, that she may not find Whitehall surrounded with water."

At nine o'clock on the night of the 19th of May, his majesty left London
in Lord Northumberland's carriage, on his way to Portsmouth. Arriving
at Kingston an hour later, he entered Lord Chesterfield's coach, which
awaited him there by appointment, and drove to Guildford, at which town
he slept the night. In the morning he was up betimes, and posted to
Portsmouth, where he arrived at noon. The queen, being ill of a slight
fever, was yet in bed: but the king, all impatient to see the bride
which heaven had sent him, sought admittance to her chamber. The poor
princess evidently did not look to advantage; for his majesty told
Colonel Legg he thought at first glance "they had brought him a bat
instead of a woman." On further acquaintance, however, she seemed to
have afforded more pleasure to the king's sight, for the next day he
expressed the satisfaction he felt concerning her, in a letter addressed
to the lord chancellor, which is preserved in the library of the British
Museum, and runs as follows:

"PORTSMOUTH, 21st May (Eight in the Morning).

"I arrived here yesterday about two in the afternoon, and, as soon as I
had shifted myself, I went into, my wife's chamber, whom I found in
bed, by reason of a little cough and some inclination to a fever: but I
believe she will find herself very well in the morning when she wakes.
I can now only give you an account of what I have seen abed, which, in
short, is, her face is not so exact as to be called a beauty, though her
eyes are excellent good, and not anything in her face that in the least
degree can shock one: on the contrary, she hath as much agreeableness
in her looks altogether as ever I saw; and if I have any skill in
physiognomy, which I think I have, she must be as good a woman as ever
was born. Her conversation, as much as I can perceive, is very good, for
she has wit enough, and a most agreeable voice. You would wonder to
see how well acquainted we are already. In a word, I think myself very
happy; for I am confident our two humours will agree very well together.
I have no more to say: my Lord Lieutenant will give you an account of
the rest."

The king was attended by Lord Sandwich during this interview, and his
lordship, in a letter addressed to the lord chancellor, informed him
the meeting between his majesty and the infanta, "hath been with much
contentment on both sides, and that we are like to be very happy in
their conjunction." Next morning the Countess of Suffolk, and other
ladies appointed to wait upon the bride, dressed her according to the
English fashion, in "a habit they thought would be most pleasing to
the king," in which she was married. The ceremony was first performed
according to the rites of the Catholic Church, by the Rev. Lord Aubigny,
brother to the Duke of Richmond, in the queen's bedchamber; that
apartment being selected for the purpose, as affording a privacy
necessary to be maintained, by reason of the prejudice then existing
towards Catholicism. There were present the Duke of York, Philip,
afterwards Cardinal Howard, and five Portuguese, all of whom were bound
over to keep the strictest secrecy concerning what they witnessed.
Later in the day, Dr. Sheldon, Bishop of London, married their majesties
according to the form prescribed by the Church of England. The latter
ceremony took place in the presence chamber. A rail divided the
apartment, at the upper part of which the king and queen, the bishops,
the Spanish Ambassador, and Sir Richard Fanshaw stood; the lower
portion being crowded by the court. When Dr. Sheldon had declared their
majesties married, the Countess of Suffolk, according to a custom of the
time, detached the ribbons from the bride's dress, and, cutting them in
pieces, distributed them amongst those present.

Feasting, balls, and diversions of all kinds followed the celebration
of the royal nuptials, and for a time the king was delighted with
his bride. Four days after the marriage he writes again to the lord
chancellor in most cheerful tone:

"My brother will tell you of all that passes here, which I hope will
be to your satisfaction. I am sure 'tis so much to mine that I cannot
easily tell you how happy I think myself, and must be the worst
man living (which I hope I am not) if I be not a good husband. I am
confident never two humours were better fitted together than ours are.
We cannot stir from hence till Tuesday, by reason that there is not
carts to be had to-morrow to transport all our GUARDE INFANTAS, without
which there is no stirring: so you are not to expect me till Thursday
night at Hampton Court."

They did not reach the palace until the 29th of May, that being the
king's birthday, and, moreover, the anniversary of his entrance into
London; a date which the Queen's arrival now caused to be celebrated
with triple magnificence and joy. When the coach that conveyed
their majesties drew near, the whole palace seemed astir with happy
excitement. Double lines of soldiers, both horse and foot, lined the way
from the gates to the entrance. In the great hall the lord chancellor,
foreign ambassadors, judges, and councillors of state awaited to
pay homage to their majesties; whilst in various apartments were the
nobility and men of quality, with their ladies, ranged according to
their rank, being all eager to kiss the new queen's hand. Sure never was
such show of gladness. Bells rang people cheered, bonfires blazed.

In the evening news was brought that the Duchess of York was being rowed
to Hampton from town; hearing which, the king, with a blithe heart,
betook his way to meet her through the garden, now bright with spring
flowers and fragrant with sweet scents, till he arrived at the gate
by which the silver streak of the pleasant Thames flowed past. And
presently on this calm May eve the sound of oars splashing in the tide
was heard, and anon a barge came in sight, hung with silken curtains
and emblazoned with the arms of royalty. From this the Duchess of York
disembarked, aided by the king. When she had offered her congratulations
to him, he, taking her hand, led her to his bride, that such fair
speeches might be repeated to her majesty. And coming into the queen's
presence the duchess would have gone upon her knees and kissed her
majesty's hand; but Catherine raised her in her arms, and kissed her on
the cheek. Then amidst much joy the happy evening waned to night.

The royal palace of Hampton Court, in which Charles had decided on
spending his honeymoon, had been raised by the magnificent Wolsey in the
plenitude of his power as a place of recreation. Since his downfall
it had been used by royalty as a summer residence, it being in truth a
stately pleasure house. The great pile contained upwards of four
hundred rooms. The principal apartments had cedar or gilded and frescoed
ceilings, and walls hung with rare tapestries and curtains heavy with
gold. Moreover, these rooms contained furniture of most skilful design
and costly manufacture, and were adorned by the choice works of such
masters of their art as Holbein, Bellini, Vansomer, Rubens, and Raphael;
and withal enriched with Indian cabinets, such as never were seen in
England before, which the queen had brought with her from Portugal.

The great hall had been the scene of many sumptuous banquets. The chapel
was rich in carved designs. Her majesty's bedroom, with its curtains of
crimson silk, its vast mirror and toilet of beaten and massive gold, was
a splendid apartment--the more so from its state bed, which Evelyn says
was "an embroidery of silver on crimson velvet, and cost L8,000, being
a present made by the States of Holland, when his majesty returned, and
had formerly been given by them to our king's sister, ye Princess of
Orange, and being bought of her againe, was now presented to ye king."
Around this noble residence, where the court was wont to tarry in summer
months, stretched broad and flowerful gardens, with wide parterres,
noble statues, sparkling fountains, and marble vases; and beyond lay the
park, planted "with swete rows of lime-trees."

And here all day long, in the fair summer time of this year, pleasure
held boundless sway. Sauntering in balmy gardens, or seeking shelter
from sun-rays in green glades and leafy groves, their majesties,
surrounded by their brilliant court, chased bright hours away in frolic
and pleasantry from noon till night. Then revelry, gaining new life,
began once more, when courtly figures danced graceful measures to sounds
of mirthful strains, under the lustre of innumerable lights.

For a while it seemed as if a brave prospect of happiness was in store
for the young queen. Her love for her husband, her delight in his
affection, her pride in his accomplishments, together with her
simplicity, innocence, and naivete, completely won his heart. These
claims to his affection were, moreover, strengthened by the charms of
her person. Lord Chesterfield, a man whom experience of the sex had
made critical, writes that she "was exactly shaped, has lovely hands,
excellent eyes, a good countenance, a pleasing voice, fine hair, and,
in a word, what an understanding man would wish for in a wife."
Notwithstanding the attractions of her majesty's person which he
enumerates, he adds his fears that "all these will hardly make things
run in the right channel; but, if it should, our court will require a
new modelling." In this note of alarm he forebodes danger to come. A man
of his majesty's character, witty and careless, weak and voluptuous, was
not likely to reconstruct his court, or reclaim it from ways he loved.
Nor was his union calculated to exercise a lasting impression on him.
The affection he bore his wife in the first weeks of their married
life was due to the novelty he found in her society, together with the
absence of temptation in the shape of his mistress. Constancy to the
marriage vow was scarcely to be expected from a man whose morals had
never been shackled by restraint; yet faithlessness to a bride was
scarcely to be anticipated ere the honeymoon had waned. This was,
however, the unhappy fate which awaited Catherine of Braganza.

It happened early in the month of June, whilst the court was at Hampton,
my Lady Castlemaine, who had remained in town through illness, gave
birth to a second child. The infant was baptized Charles Palmer,
adopted by the king as his own, and as such subsequently created Duke
of Southampton. This event seemed to renew all his majesty's tenderness
towards her. Wearied by the charm of innocence in the person of his
wife, his weak nature yielded to the attraction of vice in that of his
mistress. He, therefore, frequently left Hampton Court that he might
ride to London, visit the countess, and fritter away some hours in her
presence; being heedless alike of the insult he dealt the queen, and the
scandal he gave the nation.

The while my Lord Castlemaine lived with the lady who shared his title,
and whom he called his wife; but their continuance to abide in harmony
and goodwill was, soon after the birth of this child, interrupted for
ever. My lord was certainly a loyal subject, but he was likewise a
religious man, as may be judged, not by that which has been recorded,
but from the narration which follows. Having been bred a Catholic,
he was anxious his wife's son should be enrolled a member of the same
community. To this end he had him baptized by a priest, a proceeding of
which the king wholly disapproved; not because his majesty was attached
to any religion in particular, but rather that he resented interference
with the infant whom he rested satisfied was his own child. Accordingly,
by the king's command, Lady Castlemaine's son was rebaptized by the
rector of St. Margaret's, Westminster, in the presence of his majesty,
the Earl of Oxford, and the Countess of Suffolk, first lady of the
bedchamber to the queen and aunt to the king's mistress.

This exasperated my Lord Castlemaine to such a degree that high words
passed between him and his lady: on which he resolved to part from her
for ever. However, she was more prompt to act in the matter than he;
for, taking advantage of his absence one day, she packed up her jewels,
plate, and household treasures, and departed to the residence of her
uncle, Colonel Edward Villiers, at Richmond. This step was probably
taken, if not by his majesty's suggestion, at least with his full
approval; for the house she selected brought her within an easy distance
of Hampton Court, into which the king designed promptly to introduce
her.

Now rumour of the king's liason had spread beyond the English nation,
and had been whispered even at the secluded court of Portugal, into the
ears of the bride elect. And the queen regent, dreading the trouble
this might draw upon her daughter, had counselled her never to admit
his majesty's mistress into her presence. This advice the young queen
determined to act upon; and accordingly when Charles, a couple of days
after their marriage, presented her with a list of those appointed to
her household--amongst whom was my Lady Castlemaine--her majesty drew a
pen across the name of the dreaded favourite. The king, if surprised
or indignant, made no remark at the time, but none the less held to
the resolution he had taken of appointing the countess a lady of the
bedchamber. No further attempt of intruding his mistress's presence upon
his wife was made until Lady Castlemaine came to Richmond.

It happened on the afternoon of the day on which the favourite arrived
her majesty sat in the great drawing-room, surrounded by a brilliant
throng of noble and beautiful women and gay and gallant men. The windows
of the apartment stood open; outside fountains splashed in the sun;
music played in a distant glade: and all the world seemed glad. And
as the queen listened to pleasant sounds of wit and gossip, murmuring
around her, the courtiers, at sound of a well-known footstep, suddenly
ceasing their discourse, fell back on either side adown the room. At
that moment the king entered, leading a lady apparelled in magnificent
attire, the contour of whose face and outline of whose figure
distinguished her as a woman of supreme and sensuous loveliness.

His majesty, suceedingly rich in waving feathers, glittering satins, and
fluttering ribbons, returned the gracious bows of his courtiers to
right and left; and, unconscious of the curious and perplexed looks they
interchanged, advanced to where his wife sat, and introduced my
Lady Castlemaine. Her majesty bowed and extended her hand, which the
countess, having first courtesyed profoundly, raised to her lips. The
queen either had not caught the name, or had disassociated it from that
of her husband's mistress; but in an instant the character of the woman
presented, and the insult the king had inflicted, flashed upon her mind.
Coming so suddenly, it was more than she could bear; all colour fled
from her face, tears rushed to her eyes, blood gushed from her nostrils,
and she fell senseless to the floor.

Such strong evidence of the degree in which his young wife felt the
indignity forced upon her, by no means softened his majesty's heart
towards her, but rather roused his indignation at what he considered
public defiance of his authority. But as his nature was remote from
roughness, and his disposition inclined to ease, he at first tried to
gain his desire by persuasion, and therefore besought the queen she
would suffer his mistress to become a lady of the bedchamber. But
whenever the subject was mentioned to her majesty, she burst into tears,
and would not give heed to his words. Charles therefore, incensed on his
side, deserted her company, and sought the society of those ever ready
to entertain him. And as the greater number of his courtiers were fully
as licentious as himself, they had no desire he should become subject to
his wife, or alter the evil tenor of his ways.

Therefore in their conversation they cited to him the example of his
grandfather, King James I., of glorious memory, who had not dissembled
his passions, nor suffered the same to become a reproach to those who
returned his love; but had obliged his queen to bear with their company,
and treat them with grace and favour; and had, moreover, raised his
natural children to the degree of princes of the blood. They told
Charles he had inherited the disposition of his grandsire, and they were
sure he would treat the objects of his affection in like manner as that
king had done. Lady Castlemaine, her friends moreover argued, had, by
reason of her love for his majesty, parted from her husband; and now
that she had been so publicly made an object of the queen's indignation,
she would, if abandoned by him, meet with rude contempt from the world.
To such discourses as these the king lent a willing ear, the more as
they encouraged him to act according to his desires. He was therefore
fully determined to support his mistress; and firmly resolved to subdue
his wife.

Meanwhile, all joyousness vanished from the court; the queen seemed
thoroughly dejected, the king bitterly disappointed, and the courtiers
grievously disturbed. Moreover, rumours of the trouble which had risen
between their majesties became noised abroad, and gave the people
occasion of speaking indifferently of their lord the king. Now Charles
in his unhappiness betook himself to the chancellor, who was not only
his sage adviser and trusted friend, but who had already gained the
esteem and confidence of the queen. My lord, by reason of his services
to the late king, and his friendship towards his present majesty, took
to himself the privilege of speaking with freedom and boldness whenever
his advice was asked by the monarch. As Burnet tells us, the worthy
chancellor would never make any application to the king's mistress, nor
allow anything to pass the seal in which she was named; nor would he
ever consent to visit her, which the bishop considered "was maintaining
the decencies of virtue in a very solemn manner." The king knowing my
lord was the only one of all the strangers surrounding the queen whom
she believed devoted to her service, and to whose advice she would
hearken with trust, therefore bade him represent to her the advisability
of obedience.

Whereon the chancellor boldly pointed out to him "the hard-heartedness
and cruelty of laying such a command upon the queen, which flesh and
blood could not comply with." He also begged to remind the monarch of
what he had heard him say upon the occasion of a like indignity
being offered by a neighbouring king to his queen, inasmuch as he
had compelled her to endure the presence of his mistress at court. On
hearing which King Charles avowed it was "a piece of ill-nature that he
could never be guilty of; and if ever he should be guilty of having a
mistress after he had a wife, which he hoped he should never be, she
should never come where his wife was; he would never add that to the
vexation, of which she would have enough without it." Finally my lord
added that pursuit of the course his majesty had resolved on, was a most
certain way to lose the respect and affections of his people; that the
excesses he had already fallen into had in some degree lost him ground
in their good esteem, but that his continuance of them would "break the
hearts of all his friends, and be grateful only to those who desired the
destruction of monarchy."

Charles heard him with some impatience, but in his reply betrayed that
graciousness of manner which, never forsaking him, went far in securing
the favour of those with whom he conversed. He commenced by telling the
chancellor he felt assured his words were prompted by the affection in
which he held him; and then having by a pathway of courteous speeches
found his way to the old man's heart, his majesty broached the subject
uppermost in his mind. His conscience and his honour, he said, for
he laid claim to both, led him to repair the ruin he had caused Lady
Castlemaine's reputation by promoting her to the position of a lady of
the bedchamber; and his gratitude prompted him to avow a friendship for
her, "which he owed as well to the memory of her father as to her own
person," and therefore he would not be restrained from her company and
her conversation.

Moreover, he had proceeded so far in 

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