Reign of Charles II. (Concluded) page 8

But his time was come. It was not likely that a man who had led the dissipated life that Charles had, would live to a very old age. He was now in his fiftieth year, and the twenty-fifth of his reign, that is, reckoning from the restoration, and not from the death of his father, as the royalists, who would never admit that a king could be unkinged, did. His health, or, more visibly, his spirits, had lately much failed - no doubt the consequence of that giving way of his debilitated system, which was soon to carry him off. His gaiety had quite forsaken him; he was gloomy, depressed, finding no pleasure in anything, and only at any degree of ease in sauntering away his time amongst his women. It was thought that his conscience began to trouble him for the profligacy of his life, and the blood that had been shed under his rule; but Charles was not a man much troubled with a conscience; he was sinking without being aware of it, and the heaviness of death was lying on him. On Monday, the 2nd of February, 1685, he rose at an early hour from a restless couch. Dr. King, a surgeon and chemist, who had been employed by him in experiments, perceived that he walked heavily, and with an unsteady gait. His face was ghastly, his head drooping, and his hand retained on his stomach. When spoken to he returned no answer, or a very incoherent one. King hastened out, and informed the earl of Peterborough that the king was in a strange state, and did not speak one word of sense. They returned instantly to the king's apartment, and had scarcely entered it when he fell on the floor in an apoplectic fit. As no time was to be lost, Dr. King, on his own responsibility, bled him. The blood flowed freely, and ho recovered his consciousness. When the physicians arrived,, they perfectly approved of what Dr. King had done, and applied strong stimulants to various parts of his body. The council ordered one thousand pounds to be, paid to Dr. King for his prompt services, which, however, never were paid.

As soon as the king rallied a little, he asked for the queen, who hastened to his bedside, and waited on him with the most zealous affection till the sight of his sufferings threw her into fits, and the physicians ordered her to her own apartment. Towards evening Charles had a relapse, but the next morning he rallied again, and was so much better, that the physicians issued a bulletin, expressing hope of his recovery; but the next day he changed again for the worse, and on the fourth evening it was clear that his end was at hand. The announcement of his dangerous condition spread consternation through the city; the momentary news of his improvement was received with unequivocal joy, the ringing of bells and making of bonfires. When the contrary intelligence of his imminent danger was made known, crowds rushed to the churches to pray for his recovery; and it is said the service was interrupted by the sobs and tears of the people. In the royal chapel prayers every two hours were continued during his remaining moments. These, say the royalist historians, were unmistakable signs that Charles was greatly beloved by his subjects. And there is, no doubt, considerable truth in the statement. The king, with all his faults, was of a free and easy disposition, excessively fond of gaiety and merriment, and insinuating in his manners and address; and the English people will love excessively any monarch who will let them, and who does not wantonly outrage their feelings and prejudices. The wit and pleasantry of Charles made his subjects forget his vices, and his inroads on their liberties. During his reign, too, though the national honour suffered in every way, the national prosperity increased. The trade, commerce, and general activity of the nation, had now arrived at that pitch, that if monarchs would let the people alone they could take good care of themselves; and the monarch who does this, is by the multitude thought a good monarch. But what gave energy and edge to the feelings of the people, was not so much affection for the king who was going, as dread of the one who was coming. There had been a long and fearful anticipation of the gloomy and remorseless bigotry and selfish despotism of James. The most strenuous and continued efforts had been made to prevent this cruel, unimpressible man from mounting the throne, and a direful apprehension of approaching evil now agitated the public.

James was never a moment from the dying king's bedside. He was afterwards accused of having poisoned him - a suspicion for which there does not appear the slightest foundation; but independent of natural brotherly regard, James was on the watch to guard the chances of his succession. Every precaution was taken to secure the tranquillity of the city, and to insure an uninterrupted proclamation of his accession. In the room, too, were as constantly a great number of noblemen and bishops. There were the archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of London, Durham, and Ely, and Bath and Wells, besides twenty-five lords and privy councillors. A bishop, with some of the nobles, took turns to watch each night. Early on the Thursday morning,

Ken, of Bath and Wells, ventured to warn the king of his danger, and Charles receiving the solemn intelligence with an air of resignation, he proceeded to read the office for the visitation of the sick. He asked Charles if he repented of his sins, and on replying that he did, Ken gave him absolution according to the prescribed form of the church of England, and then inquired whether he should administer the sacrament. To this there was no answer. Ken, supposing that the king did not clearly comprehend the question, repeated it more distinctly. Charles replied there was yet plenty of time. The bread and wine, however, were brought, and placed on a table near him; but though the question was again repeatedly asked by the bishop, Charles only replied, "he would think of it."

The mystery was, however, solved by the French mistress, who, drawing Barillon, the French ambassador, into her boudoir, said, "Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, I am going to tell you the greatest secret in the world, and my head would be in danger if it were known here. The king, in the bottom of his heart, is a catholic, and nobody tells him the state he is in, or speaks to him of God. I can no longer with propriety enter into his chamber, where the queen is almost constantly with him; the duke of York thinks about his own affairs, and has no time to take the care that he ought of the king's conscience. Go and tell him that I have conjured you to warn him to do what he can to save the soul of the king, his brother. He is master in the royal chamber, and can make any one withdraw from it as he lists. Lose no time, for if you delay ever so little, it may be too late."

When Barillon whispered this to James, he seemed to start as from a lethargy, and said, "You are right, there is no time to lose. I will rather hazard all than not do my duty." But there were no ordinary difficulties in the way. Who was to administer the catholic rites? It was death by the law for any priest of that faith to be on English ground, except the queen's expressly privileged confessors, and they were all too well known. There was another difficulty; notwithstanding Charles's years of life on the continent, he could not, it seems, understand any language but English, and where was an English priest to be found? Such, however, was found in Huddleston, who had been with the king in the battle of Worcester, and accompanied him in his flight. He had become a Benedictine monk, and had been appointed one of the chaplains of the queen. The duke, stooping to the king's ear, had inquired in a whisper whether he should bring him a catholic priest, and Charles instantly replied, "For God's sake, do!" The duke then requested, in the king's name, all the company to retire into an adjoining room, except the earl of Bath, lord of the bedchamber, and lord Feversham, captain of the guard, and as soon as this was done, Huddleston, disguised in a wig and gown, was introduced by the backstairs by Chiffinch, who for so many years had been employed to introduce very different persons. Barillon says that Huddleston was no great doctor, which is probably true enough, having originally been a soldier, but he managed to administer the sacrament to the king, and also the extreme unction. Charles declared he pardoned all his enemies, and prayed to be pardoned by God, and forgiven by all whom he had injured.

This ceremony lasted three-quarters of an hour, and the excluded attendants passed the time in much wonder and significant guesses. They looked at one another in amazement, but spoke only with their eyes or in whispers. The lords Bath and Feversham being both protestants, however, seemed to disarm the fears of the bishops. But when Huddleston withdrew, the news was speedily spread. That night he was in much pain; the queen sent to excuse her absence, and to beg that he would pardon any offence that she might at any time have given him. "Alas! poor woman!" he replied, "she beg my pardon? I beg hers with all my heart; take back to her that answer." He then sent for his illegitimate sons, except Monmouth, whom he never mentioned, and recommended them to James, and taking each by the hand, gave them his blessing. The bishops, affected by this edifying sight, threw themselves on their knees, and begged he would bless them too; whereupon he was raised up and blessed them all. Perhaps they did not know at the moment that they were receiving the blessing of a king who had just broken his coronation oath of adherence to their faith, and were solacing themselves with the benediction of a catholic head of the church. Having blessed the bishops, he next blessed the ladies of his harem, and particularly recommended to his successor the care of the duchess of Portsmouth, who had been pretty active for his exclusion, and also the duchess of Cleveland, hoping, moreover, that "poor Nelly " - Nell Gwynne, would not be left to starve. Three hours afterwards, in this pious, benedictory, paternal, and lover like style, this strange monarch breathed his last.

Upon a naturally easy, pleasure-loving disposition, Charles, In his wandering youth on the continent, had engrafted all the vices of the age. He was blessed with abilities which might have made him one of the most brilliant monarchs of the time; but he was too indolent to use them, except to add eclat and piquancy to a most profligate life and court. No man succeeded more completely in dishonouring and degrading his kingdom in the eyes of foreign nations, nor of enslaving his people, nor ever saddled this country with such a troop of bastards. He had no issue by his wife, but his children by other women were a little host - James, duke of Monmouth, by Lucy Walters; Charlotte, countess of Yarmouth, by lady Shannon; Charles, duke of Southampton, Henry, duke of Grafton, George, duke of Northumberland, and Charlotte, countess of Lichfield, by the duchess of Cleveland; Charles, duke of St. Albans, by Nell Gwynne; Charles, duke of Richmond, by the' duchess, of Portsmouth; and Mary, countess of Dumbarton, by Mary Davies. His grandfather, James I., was styled the British Solomon, for his imagined wisdom; Charles was far better entitled to the name by the extent of his seraglio and the number of his progeny. His blood still flows far and wide through the high places of this nation. All these sons were furnished with large estates, and the duke of Grafton endowed with fourteen thousand pounds a year for ever, out of the post-office, excise, and king's bench. As the king's mistresses were as free in their turn as Charles, the nation has still probably to maintain, through his profligacy, other men's descendants under the name of his.

But the incumbrances fixed on the nation were nothing to the virus of vice and loose principle infused by his example into society. What this was at court to the last, Evelyn, in his diary, gives us a striking idea of: - "I can never forget," he says, "the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gambling and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God, it being Sunday evening, which this day se'nnight I was witness of. The king sitting and toying with his concubines - Portsmouth, Cleveland, Mazarin, &c., a French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery; whilst about twenty of the greatest courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least two thousand pounds in gold before them. Six days after, all was dust."

This profligacy had spread from the court into every class and station, and poured such a flood of obscenity and vileness into our literature, especially that of the stage, as never cursed any nation besides, except the French.

But it had been well had the mischief stopped there; but to furnish the boundless demands of his harem, his pimps, and panders, and all their hangers-on, this un-English king sold himself, as we have seen, to the French monarch, avowing to the ambassador himself that this was the way for Louis "de mettre pour toute sa vie l'Angleterre dans sa dependence;" and so completely did it subject England to France, that while this country sunk in its influence, in its army, its navy, its power of asserting its rank amongst the nations, into utter insignificance, Louis had raised his navy from a force of small vessels to the finest fleet in Europe, manned by sixty thousand sailors, and with his army he lorded it over the continent from the Pyrenees to the frontier of Holland, across the Alps, and in the Mediterranean. He bombarded Genoa, and compelled the Italian princes to tremble at his name. We had thus a libidinous, utterly effeminate, and traitor king; a debauched court and aristocracy; a slavish parliament; a persecuting church; our arms used at home to destroy and enslave our countrymen; our fleets disgraced on the ocean - such was England under Charles II. of merry memory. Well did Rochester describe him in the impromptu epigram which he one day in sport wrote on his chamber-door, and at which, so far from resenting it, the king laughed, and said it was quite true: -

Here lies our sovereign lord the king,
Whose word no man relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.