The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1, Thomas Babington Macaulay [ebook pc reader txt] 📗

been early removed from her native Italy to the court

where her uncle was supreme. His power and her own attractions

had drawn a crowd of illustrious suitors round her. Charles

himself, during his exile, had sought her hand in vain. No gift

of nature or of fortune seemed to be wanting to her. Her face was

beautiful with the rich beauty of the South, her understanding

quick, her manners graceful, her rank exalted, her possessions

immense; but her ungovernable passions had turned all these

blessings into curses. She had found the misery of an ill

assorted marriage intolerable, had fled from her husband, had

abandoned her vast wealth, and, after having astonished Rome and

Piedmont by her adventures, had fixed her abode in England. Her

house was the favourite resort of men of wit and pleasure, who,

for the sake of her smiles and her table, endured her frequent

fits of insolence and ill humour. Rochester and Godolphin

sometimes forgot the cares of state in her company. Barillon and

Saint Evremond found in her drawing room consolation for their

long banishment from Paris. The learning of Vossius, the wit of

Waller, were daily employed to flatter and amuse her. But her

diseased mind required stronger stimulants, and sought them in

gallantry, in basset, and in usquebaugh.212 While Charles.

flirted with his three sultanas, Hortensia's French page, a

handsome boy, whose vocal performances were the delight of

Whitehall, and were rewarded by numerous presents of rich

clothes, ponies, and guineas, warbled some amorous verses.213 A

party of twenty courtiers was seated at cards round a large table

on which gold was heaped in mountains.214 Even then the King had

complained that he did not feel quite well. He had no appetite

for his supper: his rest that night was broken; but on the

following morning he rose, as usual, early.


To that morning the contending factions in his council had,

during some days, looked forward with anxiety. The struggle

between Halifax and Rochester seemed to be approaching a decisive

crisis. Halifax, not content with having already driven his rival

from the Board of Treasury, had undertaken to prove him guilty of

such dishonesty or neglect in the conduct of the finances as

ought to be punished by dismission from the public service. It

was even whispered that the Lord President would probably be sent

to the Tower. The King had promised to enquire into the matter.

The second of February had been fixed for the investigation; and

several officers of the revenue had been ordered to attend with

their books on that day.215 But a great turn of fortune was at

hand.


Scarcely had Charles risen from his bed when his attendants

perceived that his utterance was indistinct, and that his

thoughts seemed to be wandering. Several men of rank had, as

usual, assembled to see their sovereign shaved and dressed. He

made an effort to converse with them in his usual gay style; but

his ghastly look surprised and alarmed them. Soon his face grew

black; his eyes turned in his head; he uttered a cry, staggered,

and fell into the arms of one of his lords. A physician who had

charge of the royal retorts and crucibles happened to be present.

He had no lances; but he opened a vein with a penknife. The blood

flowed freely; but the King was still insensible.


He was laid on his bed, where, during a short time, the Duchess

of Portsmouth hung over him with the familiarity of a wife. But

the alarm had been given. The Queen and the Duchess of York were

hastening to the room. The favourite concubine was forced to

retire to her own apartments. Those apartments had been thrice

pulled down and thrice rebuilt by her lover to gratify her

caprice. The very furniture of the chimney was massy silver.

Several fine paintings, which properly belonged to the Queen, had

been transferred to the dwelling of the mistress. The sideboards

were piled with richly wrought plate. In the niches stood

cabinets, the masterpieces of Japanese art. On the hangings,

fresh from the looms of Paris, were depicted, in tints which no

English tapestry could rival, birds of gorgeous plumage,

landscapes, hunting matches, the lordly terrace of Saint

Germains, the statues and fountains of Versailles.216 In the

midst of this splendour, purchased by guilt and shame, the

unhappy woman gave herself up to an agony of grief, which, to do

her justice, was not wholly selfish.


And now the gates of Whitehall, which ordinarily stood open to

all comers, were closed. But persons whose faces were known were

still permitted to enter. The antechambers and galleries were

soon filled to overflowing; and even the sick room was crowded

with peers, privy councillors, and foreign ministers. All the

medical men of note in London were summoned. So high did

political animosities run that the presence of some Whig

physicians was regarded as an extraordinary circumstance.217 One

Roman Catholic, whose skill was then widely renowned, Doctor

Thomas Short, was in attendance. Several of the prescriptions

have been preserved. One of them is signed by fourteen Doctors.

The patient was bled largely. Hot iron was applied to his head. A

loathsome volatile salt, extracted from human skulls, was forced

into his mouth. He recovered his senses; but he was evidently in

a situation of extreme danger.


The Queen was for a time assiduous in her attendance. The Duke of

York scarcely left his brother's bedside. The Primate and four

other bishops were then in London. They remained at Whitehall all

day, and took it by turns to sit up at night in the King's room.

The news of his illness filled the capital with sorrow and

dismay. For his easy temper and affable manners had won the

affection of a large part of the nation; and those who most

disliked him preferred his unprincipled levity to the stern and

earnest bigotry of his brother.


On the morning of Thursday the fifth of February, the London

Gazette announced that His Majesty was going on well, and was

thought by the physicians to be out of danger. The bells of all

the churches rang merrily; and preparations for bonfires were

made in the streets. But in the evening it was known that a

relapse had taken place, and that the medical attendants had

given up all hope. The public mind was greatly disturbed; but

there was no disposition to tumult. The Duke of York, who had

already taken on himself to give orders, ascertained that the

City was perfectly quiet, and that he might without difficulty be

proclaimed as soon as his brother should expire.


The King was in great pain, and complained that he felt as if a

fire was burning within him. Yet he bore up against his

sufferings with a fortitude which did not seem to belong to his

soft and luxurious nature. The sight of his misery affected his

wife so much that she fainted, and was carried senseless to her

chamber. The prelates who were in waiting had from the first

exhorted him to prepare for his end. They now thought it their

duty to address him in a still more urgent manner. William

Sancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury, an honest and pious, though

narrowminded, man, used great freedom. "It is time,' he said, "to

speak out; for, Sir, you are about to appear before a Judge who

is no respecter of persons." The King answered not a word.


Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, then tried his powers of

persuasion. He was a man of parts and learning, of quick

sensibility and stainless virtue. His elaborate works have long

been forgotten; but his morning and evening hymns are still

repeated daily in thousands of dwellings. Though, like most of

his order, zealous for monarchy, he was no sycophant. Before he

became a Bishop, he had maintained the honour of his gown by

refusing, when the court was at Winchester, to let Eleanor Gwynn

lodge in the house which he occupied there as a prebendary.218

The King had sense enough to respect so manly a spirit. Of all

the prelates he liked Ken the best. It was to no purpose,

however, that the good Bishop now put forth all his eloquence.

His solemn and pathetic exhortation awed and melted the

bystanders to such a degree that some among them believed him to

be filled with the same spirit which, in the old time, had, by

the mouths of Nathan and Elias, called sinful princes to

repentance. Charles however was unmoved. He made no objection

indeed when the service for the visitation of the sick was read.

In reply to the pressing questions of the divines, he said that

he was sorry for what he had done amiss; and he suffered the

absolution to be pronounced over him according to the forms of

the Church of England: but, when he was urged to declare that he

died in the communion of that Church, he seemed not to hear what

was said; and nothing could induce him to take the Eucharist from

the hands of the Bishops. A table with bread and wine was brought

to his bedside, but in vain. Sometimes he said that there was no

hurry, and sometimes that he was too weak.


Many attributed this apathy to contempt for divine things, and

many to the stupor which often precedes death. But there were in

the palace a few persons who knew better. Charles had never been

a sincere member of the Established Church. His mind had long

oscillated between Hobbism and Popery. When his health was good

and his spirits high he was a scoffer. In his few serious moments

he was a Roman Catholic. The Duke of York was aware of this, but

was entirely occupied with the care of his own interests. He had

ordered the outports to be closed. He had posted detachments of

the Guards in different parts of the city. He had also procured

the feeble signature of the dying King to an instrument by which

some duties, granted only till the demise of the Crown, were let

to farm for a term of three years. These things occupied the

attention of James to such a degree that, though, on ordinary

occasions, he was indiscreetly and unseasonably eager to bring

over proselytes to his Church, he never reflected that his

brother was in danger of dying without the last sacraments. This

neglect was the more extraordinary because the Duchess of York

had, at the request of the Queen, suggested, on the morning on

which the King was taken ill, the propriety of procuring

spiritual assistance. For such assistance Charles was at last

indebted to an agency very different from that of his pious wife

and sister-in-law. A life of frivolty and vice had not

extinguished in the Duchess of Portsmouth all sentiments