J. Fitzgerald Molloy .................................................................................................................................1

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION............................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. ............................................................................................................................................3

CHAPTER II. .........................................................................................................................................10

CHAPTER III........................................................................................................................................18

CHAPTER IV........................................................................................................................................23

CHAPTER V.........................................................................................................................................28

CHAPTER VI........................................................................................................................................35

CHAPTER VII. ......................................................................................................................................44

CHAPTER VIII.....................................................................................................................................51

CHAPTER IX........................................................................................................................................56

CHAPTER X.........................................................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XI........................................................................................................................................71

CHAPTER XII. ......................................................................................................................................76

CHAPTER XIII.....................................................................................................................................84

CHAPTER XIV.....................................................................................................................................88

CHAPTER XV......................................................................................................................................95

CHAPTER XVI...................................................................................................................................101

CHAPTER XVII. .................................................................................................................................108

CHAPTER XVIII. ................................................................................................................................116

CHAPTER XIX...................................................................................................................................122

CHAPTER XX....................................................................................................................................130

CHAPTER XXI...................................................................................................................................138

CHAPTER XXII. .................................................................................................................................148

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

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

"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 BlewCoat 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

Cromwell is sick unto death.Fears and suspicions.Killing no Murder.A memorable storm.The end

dissatisfaction.Downfall of Richard.Charles Stuart proclaimed king.Rejoicement of the nation.The

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

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

The possession of life becomes dearest when its forfeiture is threatened, and therefore Cromwell took all

possible means to guard against treacherythe 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 lifeguard, 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

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 ambitionthe

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

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 soninlaw, 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 lightheaded, 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,'

"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

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

It was now the 2nd of September. As the evening of that day approached he fell into a stupor, and those who

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

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, cornstacks 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,

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 restingplace 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 without 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 Houseone of the late King's palacesand 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, shoestrings 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

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 lyinginstate 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

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

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 pleasureloving, 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 twentyeight 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

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 longdesired 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

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 menofwar," 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 whitewinged 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

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 Maywhich was, moreover, the anniversary of his

birthhe 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

From London Bridge even to Whitehall Palace the way was lined on one side by the trainbands 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

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 seagreen 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

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

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,

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

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

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

The Republicans were filled with dismay at the king's determined action, but were prompt to make a

countermove, Accordingly, additional troops were levied, London was left to be defended by volunteers,

and Cromwell, heading an army of thirtyfour 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 southeast 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 southeast 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 reentered 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

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

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 SurveyorGeneral 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

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

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

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 jumpcoat, 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

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;

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 watermill. "We could see the miller," said the king in relating the story, "as I believe, sitting at

the milldoor, 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: 'Roguesrogues!' And thereupon some men came out of the mill after us, which I

believe were soldiers; so we fell arunning, 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 uswhich

we did, and continued lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hearing nobody come, we

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 restingplace 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

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 hidingplace,

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 millhorse, 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,

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

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

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

brotherinlaw, 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

The first day's journey was not accomplished without an exciting incident. The horse ridden by Mistress Lane

and the kingnow bearing the name of William Jacksonlost a shoe; and being come to Bromsgrove, he

"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

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

"The next morning" said the king continuing his strange story, "I arose pretty early, having a very good

stomach, and went to the butteryhatch 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 companythat 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

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

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

"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,

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 longdesired

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 welllighted cosy parlour of the seaport inn, smoking, playing cards, telling stories and

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

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

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 singingmen 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

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 commonsergeant

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 vicechancellor 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

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

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 rosewater, 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 timehonoured 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

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,

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 wellknown 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 soninlaw 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. Twentynine 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 southeast 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

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

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 footcloathes. 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

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 nymphsa 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 ozierlike long hair falling o'er his shoulders; his beard

long, seagreen, 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 flagmaker, in

Cornehill; 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 ViceChamberlain, 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

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 araining, and thundering and lightning," says Pepys, "as I have not seen it do for some years; which

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

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

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

Among his many gifts was that of telling a story wella 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; frequentlyas became the manner of the

timesstraying 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 itselfan 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

"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 mantestimony of which latter fact may be gathered from a letter written to him in 1658, by his

sisterinlaw, 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

When Barbara was sixteen, my lord, then in his twentythird 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 hima 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

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 presencechamber;" 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 Yorka 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

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

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,

Now for a fortnight previous to the night on which he designed to escape, James made it his habit to play at

hideandseek 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

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

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

bargeroom 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 blockhouse 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 blockhouse 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

twentyfirst 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

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 reestablished 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, wellbred young

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

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 smallpox. 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

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

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

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

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

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

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 loveletter.The new Queen sets

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

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 noteMrs. 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 newssheets 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

eatinghouses." 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

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 highminded 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

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 abroadan 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 today 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, granddaughter 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 Orangea 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

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 jackpudding 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,

Now it happened Lord Fairfax, a generoustempered 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

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

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

Soon surfeited by his conquests in the drawingroom, 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

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 revelsan 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 goodnature. 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

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

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

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

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

coasta 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

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,

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

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

Charles then despatched the Portuguese ambassador to Catherine from this time styled queenin 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

"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

"The very faithful husband of your majesty, whose hand he kisses, "CHARLES REX." London, 2nd of July,

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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 brotherinlaw 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 wasas 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

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

"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,

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

"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 tomorrow to

transport all our GUARDE INFANTAS, without which there is no stirring: so you are not to expect me till

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

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

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 apartmentthe 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 limetrees."

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 sunrays 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

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

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

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 householdamongst whom was my Lady

Castlemaineher 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

It happened on the afternoon of the day on which the favourite arrived her majesty sat in the great

drawingroom, 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 wellknown 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

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

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

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 illnature 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

Moreover, he had proceeded so far in the business, that if not successful Lady Castlemaine would be

subjected to all imaginable contempt, and be exposed to universal ridicule. If, he added, the queen conformed

to his wishes in this regard, it would be the only hard thing he should ever require of her; and, indeed, she

might make it very easy, for my lady must behave with all possible respect in her presence, otherwise she

should never see his face again. Then he begged the chancellor to wait upon her majesty, lay bare his

arguments, and urge her to receive the countess with some show of favour. The chancellor, though not

pleased with his mission, yet in hope of healing private discord and averting public scandal, undertook to

counsel the queen to obedience, and accordingly waited on her in her private apartments.

Now her majesty's education had been such as kept her in complete ignorance of the world's ways. The

greater part of her life had been spent in the peaceful retirement of a convent, which she left for her mother's

country palace, a home scarcely less secluded. Maynard, in a letter preserved in the State Paper Office,

written from Lisbon when the royal marriage was proposed, says the infanta, "as sweete a disposition

princess as everr was borne," was "bred hugely retired. She hath," he continues, "hardly been tenn tymes out

of the palace in her life. In five years tyme she was not out of doores, untill she hurde of his majestie's

intentions to make her queen of Ingland, since which she hath been to visit two saintes in the city; and very

From a life of innocence she was brought for the first time face to face with vice, by one who should have

been foremost in shielding her from its contact. All her training taught her to avoid the contamination sought

to be forced upon her; all her newborn love for her husband prompted her to loathe the mistress who shared

his affections. A stranger in a strange land, a slighted queen, a neglected wife, an outraged woman, her

sufferings were bitter, Her wrongs were hard to bear. Therefore when my lord chancellor came and made

known the object of his visit, she broke into a passion of tears, and could not speak from force of sobs that

The chancellor then retired with some dismay, but waited on her again next day, when he found her more

calm. She begged he would excuse the outburst of feeling he had witnessed, but added very pitifully that

when she thought of her misfortunes "she sometimes gave vent to that passion which was ready to break her

heart." The advice, or, as he terms it, "the evidence of his devotion," which the chancellor gave was worthy of

a courtier and a philosopher. He told the young queen he doubted "she was little beholden to her education,

that had given her no better information of the follies and iniquities of mankind; of which he presumed the

climate from whence she came could have given more instances than this cold region would afford." Had she

been properly instructed, he furthermore hinted, she would never have thought herself so miserable, or her

condition so insupportable; and indeed he could not comprehend the reason of her loud complaint.

At this she could no longer suppress the tears which came into her dark eyes, and cried out she did not expect

to find her husband in love with another woman. Then my lord besought her submission to the king; but she

remained unshaken in the resolution she had formed. She was ready to ask his majesty's pardon for tiny

passion or peevishness she had been guilty of, but added, "the fire appearing in her eyes where the water

was," she would never endure the presence of his mistress; and rather than submit to such insult she would

Back went the chancellor, with a heavy heart and a troubled face, to the king. He softened the queen's words

as much as possible, and assured his majesty her resistance to his will proceeded "from the great passion of

love she had for him, which transported her beyond the limits of reason." But this excuse, which should have

rejoiced a husband's heart, only irritated his majesty's temper. That night a violent quarrel took place between

the husband and wife, yet scarce more than bride and bridegroom. When they had retired, the kingbeing

inflamed with the words of his courtiers, who assured him the dispute had now resolved itself into a question

of who should governreproached the queen with stubbornness and want of duty; upon which she answered

by charging him with tyranny and lack of affection. One word borrowed another, till, in his anger, he used

threats when she declared she would leave the kingdom. "The passion and noise of the night reached too

many ears to be a secret the next day," says the chancellor, "and the whole court was full of that which ought

When the royal pair met next morning, they neither looked at nor spoke to each other. Days passed full of

depression and gloom for the young wife, who spent most of her time in seclusion, whilst the king sought

distraction in the society of his courtiers. The chancellor, after his second interview with the queen, absented

himself from court, not wishing to be furthermore drawn into a quarrel which he saw himself powerless to

heal. During his absence the king wrote him a letter which evinced determination to carry out his design. This

"I forgot when you were here last to desire you to give Broderich good council not to meddle any more with

what concerns my Lady Castlemaine, and to let him have a care how he is the author of any scandalous

reports; for if I find him guilty of any such thing, I will make him repent it to the last moment of his life.

"And now I am entered on this matter, I think it very necessary to give you a little good council in it, lest you

may think that by making a farther stir in the business you may divert me from my resolution, which all the

world shall never do; and I wish I may be unhappy in this world and in the world to come, if I fail in the least

degree of what I have resolved, which is of making my Lady Castlemaine of my wife's bedchamber. And

whosoever I find in any endeavours to hinder this resolution of mine (except it be only to myself), I will be

his enemy to the last moment of my life. You know how true a friend I have been to you; if you will oblige

me eternally, make this business as easy to me as you can, of what opinion soever you are of; for I am

resolved to go through with this matter, let what will come on it, which again I solemnly swear before

"Therefore, if you desire to have the continuance of my friendship, meddle no more with this business except

it be to bear down all false and scandalous reports, and to facilitate what I am sure my honour is so much

concerned in. And whosoever I find is to be my Lady Castlemaine's enemy in this matter, I do promise, upon

my word, to be his enemy as long as I live. You may show this letter to my lord lieutenant, and if you have

The chancellor was, soon after the receipt of this letter, summoned to Hampton Court, when his majesty, with

some passion, declared the quarrel was spoken of everywhere, and wholly to his disadvantage. He was

therefore anxious to end it at once, and commanded my lord to wait again upon the queen, and persuade her

to his wishes. The chancellor informed the king he "had much rather spend his pains in endeavouring to

convert his majesty from pursuing his resolution, which he did in his conscience believe to be unjust, than in

persuading her majesty to comply with it, which yet he would very heartily do." Saying which, he departed

on his errand; to which the queen answered, her conscience would not allow her to consent that the king's

mistress should be one of her attendants. Then the chancellor besought his royal master, saying he hoped he

might be no more consulted with, nor employed concerning an affair, in which he had been so unsuccessful.

By reason of this opposition the king was now more resolved than ever to honour his mistress and humble his

wife; and, with a cruelty unusual to his nature, determined to break her majesty's spirit, and force her into

On coming to England the young bride had brought in her train some Portuguese gentlewomen and nobles,

whom she was anxious to employ in various offices about her person, that she might not feel quite in the

midst of strangers. These his majesty believed were in some measure answerable for the queen's resistance to

his desires, and therefore decided on sending them back to their own country; knowing moreover, this was an

act which would sorely grieve her majesty. Therefore, without first deigning to inform, the Queen of

Portugal, he named a day for them to embark. This was a sad blow to the hopes of the Portuguese, who had

entertained high expectations of being placed in advantageous circumstances about the court; nor did the king

by any show of liberality help to lessen their disappointment. The queen was indeed afflicted at the prospect

of their loss; and her mortification was the greater because, having received no money since she came into the

The thought of being deprived of her people in her present unhappy condition rendered her so miserable, that

she besought the king to allow some of them to remain; and, likewise, she employed others to make the same

petition on her behalf. Therefore one of her ladies, the Countess of Penalva, who had been her attendant since

childhood, and who now, because of weakness of sight and other infirmities, scarce ever left her apartments,

was allowed to stay, as were likewise "those necessary to her religion," and some servants employed in her

But these were not the only means the king took to thwart her majesty and all connected with her. He

upbraided the Portuguese ambassador for not having instructed the queen "enough to make her unconcerned

in what had been before her time, and in which she could not reasonably be concerned." Moreover he

reproached him with the fact of the queen regent having sent only half the marriage portion; and so harassed

was the ambassador by royal wrath, that he took to his bed, "and sustained such a fever as brought him to the

brink of the grave." Regarding that part of the dowry which had arrived, Charles behaved in an equally

ungracious and undignified manner. He instructed the officers of the revenue to use all strictness in its

valuation, and not make any allowances. And because Diego de Silvawhom the queen had designed for her

treasurer, and who on that account had undertaken to see the money paid in Londondid not make sufficient

haste in the settlement of his accounts, he was by the king's command cast into prison.

These various affronts grievously afflicted her majesty, but the insults she had to endure before the whole

court wounded her far more. For meanwhile the king lodged his mistress in the royal household, and every

day she was present in the drawingroom, when his majesty entered into pleasant conversation with her,

while his wife sat patiently by, as wholly unheeded as if unseen. When the queen occasionally rose and

indignantly left the apartment to relieve her anguish by a storm of tears, it may be one or two of the courtiers

followed her, but the vast number of the brilliant throng remained; and Lord Clarendon adds, "they, too, often

Charles no longer appeared with the grave and troubled expression his face had worn at the commencement

of the quarrel, but seemed full of pleasantry and eager for enjoyment. Those surrounding him took their tone

from the monarch, and followed his example the more because he "did shew no countenance to any that

belong to the queen." Her majesty, on the contrary, took her misery to heart, and showed dejection by the

sadness of her face and listlessness of her gait. There was universal diversion in all company but hers; sounds

of laughter rang all day and far into the night in every apartment of the palace but those appropriated to her

use. Charles steadily avoided her, and the attendants who replaced her countrywomen showed more

deference to the king's mistress than to his queen. The solitary condition to which the helpless foreigner and

forsaken wife was reduced increased day by day, her gloom deepened hour by hour, until, worn out by the

unequal conflict, her spirit broke. "At last," says Lord Clarendon, "when it was least expected or suspected,

the queen on a sudden let herself fall, first to conversation, and then to familiarity, and even, in the same

instant, to a confidence with the lady; was merry with her in public, talked kindly of her, and in private used

From that hour her majesty never interfered with the king's amours, and never again did a quarrel rise

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 ballLa belle Hamilton.The queen mother at Somerset House.The Duke of Monmouth's

On the 23rd of August, 1662, their majesties journeyed from Hampton Court to the palace of Whitehall by

water. The gay and goodly procession formed on that occasion has been described as "the most magnificent

triumph that ever floated on, the Thames." First came barges belonging to city companies, beginning with the

mercers and grocers, most of them being attended with a pageant, and all of them richly adorned as became

their affection and loyalty. Then followed barges of statesmen, nobility, and courtiers, with their retinues,

brave in numbers, gay in colours, and attended by bands of music. And finally came the king and queen,

seated side by side in a galley of antique shape, all draped with crimson damask, bearing a canopy of cloth of

gold, supported by Corinthian pillars, wreathed with ribbons, and festooned with garlands of fragrant flowers.

The whole city was abroad, watchful of their approach; the Thames was covered with boats to the number of

ten thousand; and the banks were crowded with spectators beyond reckoning. On this fair August day the sky

had not a single cloud to mar its universal blue; the sun shone gloriously bright, turning the river to sheets of

gleaming gold: whilst the air was filled with roaring of cannon, strains of music, and hearty shouts of a loyal

Mr. Samuel Pepys, though he offered as much as eight shillings for a boat to attend him that day, could not

obtain one, and was therefore obliged to view this gallant procession from the roof of the royal banqueting

hall, which commanded a glorious view of the Thames. But what pleased his erratic fancy best on this

occasion was, not the great spectacle he had taken such trouble to survey, but a sight of my Lady

Castlemaine, who stood over against him "upon a piece of Whitehall." The worthy clerk of the Admiralty

"glutted" himself with looking on her; "but methought it was strange," says he, "to see her lord and her upon

the same place walking up and down without taking notice of one another, only at first entry he put off his

hat, and she made him a very civil salute, but afterwards took no notice of one another; but both of them now

and then would take their child, which the nurse held in her arms, and dandle it. One thing more: there

happened a scaffold below to fall, and we feared some hurt, but there was none; but she of all the great ladies

only ran down among the common rabble to see what hurt was done, and did take care of a child that

received some little hurt, which methought was so noble. Anon there came one there booted and spurred,that

she talked long with. And byandby, she being in her haire, she put on her hat, which was but an ordinary

one, to keep the wind off. But methinks it became her mightily, as everything else do."

It was notable the countess did not accompany her majesty in the procession to Whitehall, as one of her

attendants; but in fact she had not obtained the position sought for, though she enjoyed all the privileges

pertaining to such an appointment. "Everybody takes her to be of the bedchamber," the lord chancellor writes

to the Duke of Ormond, "for she is always there, and goes abrode in the coach. But the queen tells me that the

king promised her, on condition she would use her as she doth others, that she should never live in court; yet

lodgings I hear she hath." Lodgings the countess certainly had provided for her in that block of the palace of

Whitehall, separated from the main buildings by the old roadway running between Westminster and the city.

A few days after their majesties' arrival at Whitehall, the queen mother returned to town, and established her

court at Somerset House, which had been prepared for her future abode. She had arrived in England before

the king and queen left Hampton Court, and had taken up her residence at Greenwich Palace. The avowed

object of her visit was to congratulate them upon their marriage. Charles and his bride therefore took barge to

Greenwich, one bright July day, followed by a brilliant and illustrious train, that they might wait upon her

majesty. And she, being made aware of their approach, met them at the portal of the palace. There Catherine

would have gone down upon her knees to this gracious ladythe survivor of great sorrowsbut she took

the young queen in her arms, and calling her beloved daughter, kissed her many times. Then she greeted her

sons Charles and James, likewise the Duchess of York, and led them to the presencechamber, followed by

the whole court. And presently when Catherine would, through her interpreter, have expressed her gratitude

and affection, the elder queen besought her to lay aside all ceremony, for she "should never have come to

England again except for the pleasure of seeing her, to love her as her daughter, and serve her as her queen."

At these sweet words the young wife, now in the first days of her grief, was almost overcome by a sense of

thankfulness, and could scarce restrain her tears; but she answered bravely, "Believe me, madam, that in love

The court of the merry monarch and that of the queen mother being now settled in town, a period of vast

brilliancy ensued, during which great festivity and much scandal obtained, by reason of intrigues in which the

king and his friends indulged. Whitehall, the scene of so much gaiety and gallantry, was a palace by no

means befitting the luxurious Charles. It consisted of a series of irregular houses built for different purposes

at various periods; these contained upwards of two thousand rooms, most of which were small, and many of

which were without doors. The buildings were intersected by grassy squares, where fountains played, statues

were grouped, and dials shadowed the passing hour. At hand stood St. James's Park, with its fair meadows

and leafy trees; close by flowed the placid Thames, bearing heavily laden lighters and innumerable barges.

Attached to these dwellings, and forming part of the palace, stood the great banquet hall, erected from

designs by Inigo Jones for James I. Here audiences to ambassadors, state balls, and great banquets were held.

The ceiling was painted by Rubens, and was, moreover, handsomely moulded and richly gilt. Above the

entrancedoor stood a statue of Charles I.,"whose majestic mien delighted the spectator;" Whilst close by one

of the windows were the ineradicable stains of blood, marking the spot near which he had been beheaded.

Now in the train of the queen mother there had travelled from France "a most pretty sparke of about fourteen

years," whom Mr. Pepys plainly terms "the king's bastard," but who was known to the court as young Mr.

Crofts. This little gentleman was son of Lucy Walters, "a brown, beautiful, bold creature," who had the

distinction of being first mistress to the merry monarch. That he was his offspring the king entertained no

doubt, though others did; inasmuch as young Mr. Crofts grew to resemble, "even to the wart on his face,"

Colonel Robert Sidney, whose paramour Lucy Walters had been a brief while before his majesty began an

intrigue with her. Soon after the boy's birth that beautiful woman abandoned herself to pleasures, in which the

king had no participation. He therefore parted from her; had her son placed under the guardianship of Lord

Crofts, whose name he bore, and educated by the Peres de l'Oratoire at Paris. The while he was continually at

the court of the queen mother, who regarded him as her grandson, and who, by the king's command, now

brought him into England. The beauty of his face and grace of his figure could not be exceeded, whilst his

manner was as winning as his air was noble. Moreover, his accomplishments were numerous; he danced to

perfection, sang with sweetness, rode with skill; and so gallant was his nature that he became at this early

The king betrayed the greatest affection for him, and took exceeding pride in being father of such a brave and

comely youth, at which my Lady Castlemaine was both wrathful and jealous, fearing he would avert the royal

favour from her own offspring; but these feelings she afterwards overcame, as will be duly shown. His

majesty speedily showered honours upon him, allotted him a suite of apartments in the royal palace of

Whitehall, appointed him a retinue befitting the heir apparent, created him Duke of Orkney and of

But, before this had been accomplished, there arrived in town some personages whose names it will be

necessary to mention here, the figure they made at court being considerable. These were Sir George Hamilton

and his family, and Philibert, Chevalier de Grammont. Sir George was fourth son of James, Earl of Abercorn,

and of Mary, sister to James, first Duke of Ormond. Sir George had proved himself a loyal man and a brave

during the late civil war, and had on the murder of his royal master sought safety in France, from which

country he, in the second year of the restoration, returned, accompanied by a large family; the women of

which were fair, the men fearless. The Hamiltons being close kin to the Ormond great intimacy existed

between them; to facilitate which they lived not far apartthe duke residing in Ormond Yard, St. James's

Square, and the Hamiltons occupying a spacious residence in King Street. James Hamilton, Sir George's

eldest son, was remarkable for the symmetry of his figure, elegance of his manner, and costliness of his dress.

Moreover, he possessed a taste shaped to pleasure, and a disposition inclined to gallantry, which commended

him so strongly to the king's favour, that he was made groom of the bedchamber and colonel of a regiment.

His brother George was scarcely less handsome in appearance or less agreeable in manner. Another brother,

Anthony, best remembered as the writer of Grammont's memoirs, was likewise liberally endowed by nature.

Elizabeth, commonly called "la belle Hamilton," shared in the largest degree the hereditary gifts of grace and

beauty pertaining to this distinguished family. At her introduction to the court of Charles II. she was in the

bloom of youth and zenith of loveliness. The portrait of her which her brother Anthony has set before the

world for its admiration is delicate in its colours, and finished in its details. "Her forehead," he writes, "was

open, white, and smooth; her hair was well set, and fell with ease into that natural order which it is so

difficult to imitate. Her complexion was possessed of a certain freshness, not to be equalled by borrowed

colours; her eyes were not large, but they were lovely, and capable of expressing whatever she pleased; her

mouth was full of graces, and her contour uncommonly perfect; nor was her nose, which was small, delicate,

and turned up, the least ornament of so lovely a face. She had the finest shape, the loveliest neck, and most

beautiful arms in the world; she was majestic and graceful in all her movements; and she was the original

Now, about the same time the Hamiltons arrived at court, there likewise appeared at Whitehall one whose

fame as a wit, and whose reputation as a gallant, had preceded him. This was the celebrated Chevalier de

Grammont, whose father was supposed to be son of Henry the Great of France. The chevalier had been

destined by his mother for the church, the good soul being anxious he should lead the life of a saint; but the

youth was desirous of joining the army, and following the career of a soldier. Being remarkable for ingenuity,

he conceived a plan by which he might gratify his mother's wishes and satisfy his own desires at the same

time. He therefore accepted the abbacy his brother procured for him; but on appearing at court to return

thanks for his preferment, comported himself with a military air. Furthermore, his dress was combined of the

habit and bands pertaining to an ecclesiastic, and the buskins and spurs belonging to a soldier. Such an

amalgamation had never before been witnessed, and caused general attention; the court was amazed at his

daring, but Richelieu was amused by his boldness. His brother regarded his appearance in the dual character

of priest and soldier as a freak, and on his return home asked him gravely to which profession he meant to

attach himself. The youth answered he was resolved "to renounce the church for the salvation of his soul,"

upon condition that he retained his beneficed abbacy. It may be added, he kept this resolution.

A soldier he therefore became, and subsequently a courtier. His valour in war and luck in gambling won him

the admiration of the camp; whilst his ardour in love and genius for intrigue gained him the esteem of the

court, but finally lost him the favour of his king. For attaching himself to one of the maids of honour,

Mademoiselle La Motte Houdancourt, whom his most Christian Majesty Louis XIV. had already honoured

Accordingly, in the second year of the merry monarch's reign he presented himself at Whitehall, and was

received by Charles with a graciousness that served to obliterate the memory of his late misfortune. Nor were

the courtiers less warm in their greetings than his majesty. The men hailed him as an agreeable companion;

the ladies intimated he need not wholly abandon those tender diversions for which he had shown such natural

talent and received such high reputation at the court of Louis XIV. He therefore promptly attached himself to

the king, whose parties he invariably attended, and whose pleasures he continually devised; made friends

with the most distinguished nobles, whom he charmed by the grace of his manner and extravagance of his

entertainments; and took early opportunities of proving to the satisfaction of many of the fairer sex that his

Amongst those to whom he paid especial attention were Mrs. Middleton, a woman of fashion, and Miss Kirk,

a maid of honour, to whom Hamilton, in his memoirs of Grammont, gives the fictitious name of Warmestre.

The former was at this time in her seventeenth summer, and had been two years a wife. Her exquisitely fair

complexion, light auburn hair, and dark hazel eyes constituted her a remarkably beautiful woman. Miss Kirk

was of a different type of loveliness, inasmuch as her skin was brown, her eyes dark, and her complexion

brilliant. As Mrs. Middleton was at this time but little known at court, Grammont found some difficulty in

obtaining an introduction to her as promptly as he desired; but feeling anxious to make her acquaintance, and

being no laggard in love, he without hesitation applied to her porter for admittance, and took one of her lovers

into his confidence. This latter gallant rejoiced in the name of Jones, and subsequently became Earl of

Ranelagh. In the fulness of his heart towards one who experienced a fellow feeling, he resolved to aid

Grammont in gaining the lady's favours. This generosity being prompted by the fact that the chevalier would

rid him of a rival whom he feared, and at the same time relieve him of an expense he could ill afford, the lady

having certain notions of magnificence which her husband's income was unable to sustain.

Mrs. Middleton received the chevalier with good grace; but he found her more ready to receive the presents

he offered, than to grant the privileges he required. Miss Kirk, on the other hand, was not only flattered by his

attentions, but was willing to use every means in her power to preserve a continuance of his friendship;

Therefore out of gratitude for graces received from one of the ladies, and in expectation of favours desired

from the other, Grammont made them the handsomest presents. Perfumed gloves, pocket lookingglasses,

apricot paste, came every week from Paris for their benefit; whilst more substantial offerings in the shape of

jewellery, diamonds, and guineas were procured for them in London, all of which they made no hesitation to

It happened one night, whilst Grammont was yet in pursuit of Mrs. Middleton, that the queen gave a ball. In

hope of winning her husband's affection, by studying his pleasures and suiting herself to his ways, her

majesty had become a changed woman. She now professed a passion for dancing, wore decollete costumes,

and strove to surpass those surrounding her in her desire for gaiety. Accordingly her balls were the most

brilliant spectacles the court had yet witnessed; she taking care to assemble the fairest women of the day, and

the most distinguished men. Now amongst the latter was the Chevalier de Grammont; and amidst the former,

Of all the court beauties, "la belle Hamilton" was one of whom Grammont had seen least and heard most; but

that which had been told him of her charms seemed, now that he beheld her, wholly inadequate to express her

loveliness. Therefore, his eyes followed her alone, as her graceful figure glided in the dance adown the

ballroom, lighted with a thousand tapers, and brilliant with every type of beauty. And when presently she

rested, it was with an unusual flutter at his heart that this gallant, heretofore so daring in love, sought her

company, addressed her, and listened with strange pleasure to the music of her voice. From that night he

courted Mrs. Middleton no more, but devoted himself to "la belle Hamilton," who subsequently became his

Meanwhile, the merry monarch behaved as if he had no higher purpose in life than that of following his

pleasures. "The king is as decomposed [dissipated] as ever," the lord chancellor writes to the Duke of

Ormond, in a letter preserved in the Bodleian library, "and looks as little after his business; which breaks my

heart, and makes me and other of your friends weary of our lives. He seeks for his satisfaction and delight in

other company, which do not love him so well as you and I do." His days were spent in pursuing love,

feasting sumptuously, interchanging wit, and enjoying all that seemed good to the senses. Pepys, who never

fails to make mention of the court when actual experience or friendly gossip enables him, throws many

For instance, he tells us that one Lord's daythe same on which this excellent man had been to Whitehall

chapel, and heard a sermon by the Dean of Ely on returning to the old ways, and, moreover, a most tuneful

anthem sung by Captain Cooke, with symphonies betweenwhom should he meet but the great chirurgeon,

Mr. Pierce, who carried him to Somerset House, and into the queen mother's presencechamber. And there,

on the left hand of Henrietta Maria, sat the young queen, whom Mr. Pepys had never seen before, and now

thought that "though she be not very charming, yet she hath a good, modest, and innocent look, which is

pleasing." Here, likewise, he saw the king's mistress, and the young Duke of Monmouth, "who, I perceive,"

Pepys continues, "do hang much upon my Lady Castlemaine, and is always with her; and I hear the queenes,

both of them, are mighty kind to him. Byand by in comes the king, and anon the duke and his duchesse; so

that, they being all together, was such a sight as I never could almost have happened to see with so much ease

and leisure. They staid till it was dark, and then went away; the king and his queene, and my Lady

Castlemaine and young Crofts, in one coach, and the rest in other coaches. Here were great stores of great

ladies. The king and queen were very merry; and he would have made the queene mother believe that the

queene was with child, and said that she said so. And the young queene answered, 'You lye,' which was the

Others besides Mr. Pepys had begun to notice that the young Duke of Monmouth hung much upon the

Countess of Castlemaine, and that her ladyship lavished caresses upon him. Whether this was to provoke the

uneasiness of his majesty, who she hoped might find employment for the lad elsewhere, or to express her

genuine affection for him, it is impossible to say. However, the duke being come to an age when the

endearments of such a woman might have undesired effects upon him, the king resolved to remove him from

He therefore selected a bride for him, in the person of Lady Anne Scott, a young gentlewoman of virtue and

excellence, who was only child of Francis, Earl of Buccleugh, and the greatest heiress in Great Britain. Their

nuptials were celebrated on the 20th of April, 1663, the bridegroom at this time not having reached his

fifteenth birthday, whilst the bride was younger by a year. The duke on his marriage assumed his wife's

family name, Scott; and some years laterin 1673both were created Duke and Duchess of Buccleugh.

From this union the family now bearing that title has descended. A great supper was given at Whitehall on

the marriagenight, and for many days there were stately festivities held to celebrate the event with becoming

Now at one of the court balls held at this time, the woman of all others who attracted most attention and

gained universal admiration was Frances Stuart, maid of honour to Queen Catherine. She was only daughter

of a gallant gentleman, one Walter Stuart, and granddaughter of Lord Blantyre. Her family had suffered sore

loss in the cause of Charles I., by reason of which, like many others, it sought refuge in France. This young

gentlewoman was therefore bred in that country, and was, moreover, attached to the court of the queen

mother, in whose suite she travelled into England. Her beauty was sufficient to attract the attention of Louis

XIV., who, loath to lose so fair an ornament from his court, requested her mother would permit her to remain,

saying, he "loved her not as a mistress, but as one that would marry as well as any lady in France."

No doubt Mrs. Stuart understood the motives of his majesty's interested kindness, of which, however, she

declined availing herself, and therefore departed with her daughter for England. At the time of her appearance

at Whitehall, Frances Stuart was in her fifteenth year. Even in a court distinguished by the beauty of women,

her loveliness was declared unsurpassed. Her features were regular and refined, her complexion fair as

alabaster, her hair bright and luxuriant, her eyes of violet hue; moreover, her figure being tall, straight, and

shapely, her movements possessed an air of exquisite grace. An exact idea of her lineaments may be gained

unto this day, from the fact that Philip Rotier, the medallist, who loved her true, represented her likeness in

the face of Britannia on the reverse of coins; and so faithful was the likeness, we are assured, that no one who

Soon after her arrival in England, she was appointed one of the maids of honour to Queen Catherine, and as

such was present at all festivities of the court. Now, at one of the great balls given in honour of the Duke of

Monmouth's nuptials, the fair Frances Stuart appeared in the full lustre of her charms. Her beauty, her grace,

and her youth completely eclipsed the more showy gifts of my Lady Castlemaine, who on this occasion

looked pale and thin, she being in the commencement of another pregnancy, "which the king was pleased to

place to his own account." The merry monarch had before this time been attracted by the fair maid of honour,

but now it was evident his heart had found a new object of admiration in her surpassing beauty. Henceforth

he boldly made love to her. The countess was not much disturbed by this, for she possessed great faith in her

own charms and implicit belief in her power over the king. Besides, she had sufficient knowledge of mankind

to comprehend that to offer opposition in pursuit of love is the most certain method to foster its growth. She

therefore resolved to seek Miss Stuart's society, cultivate her friendship, and constantly bring her into contact

with his majesty. This would not only prove to the satisfaction of the court she had no fear of losing her

sovereignty over the monarch, but, by keeping him engaged with the maid of honour, would likewise divert

his attention from an intrigue the countess was then carrying on with Henry Jermyn. Accordingly, she made

overtures of friendship to Miss Stuart, invited her to private parties, and appeared continually with her in

Concerning these ladies and the merry monarch, Pepys narrates a strange story which Captain Ferrers told

him as they "walked finely" in the park. This was, that at an entertainment given by my Lady Castlemaine,

towards the end of which his majesty played at being married with fair Frances Stuart, "with ring and all

other ceremonies of Church service, and ribbands, and a sack posset [A drink composed of milk, wine, and

spices.] in bed, and flinging the stocking. My Lady Castlemaine looked on the while, evincing neither anger

nor jealousy, but entering into the diversion with great spirit." Nor was this the only indiscretion of which she

was culpable, for, in the full confidence of her charms, she frequently kept Miss Stuart to stay with her. "The

king," says Hamilton, "who seldom neglected to visit the countess before she rose, seldom failed likewise to

find Miss Stuart with her. The most indifferent objects have charms in a new attachment; however, the

imprudent countess was not jealous of this rival's appearing with her, in such a situation, being confident that,

whenever she thought fit, she could triumph over all the advantages which these opportunities could afford

No doubt Lady Castlemaine's imprudences arose from knowledge that Miss Stuart was devoid of tact, and

incapable of turning opportunities to her own advantage in the king's regard. For though the maid of honour

was richly endowed with beauty, she was wholly devoid of wit. She was not only a child in years, but

likewise in behaviour. She laughed at every remark made her, delighted in playing blind man's buff, and was

never more happy than when building castles of cards. At this latter amusement she continually employed

herself whilst the deepest play was taking place in her apartments; being always attended by groups of

courtiers, who were either attracted by the charm of her beauty, or were eager to make court through her

favour. As she sat upon the floor, intent on her favourite occupation, they on their knees handed her cards,

Amongst those who attended her in this manner was the gay, graceful, and profligate Duke of Buckingham,

who became enamoured of her loveliness. Not only did he raise the most wonderful of card mansions for her

delight, but having a good voice, and she possessing a passion for music, he invented songs and sung them to

pleasure her. Moreover, he told her the wittiest stories, turned the courtiers into the greatest ridicule for her

entertainment, and made her acquainted with the most diverting scandals. Finally, he professed his ardent

love for her; but at this the fair Stuart either felt, or feigned, intense astonishment, and so repulsed him that he

abandoned the pursuit of an amour over which he had wasted so much time, and thenceforth deprived himself

His attentions were, however, soon replaced by those of the Earl of Arlington, a lord of the bedchamber, and

a man of grave address and great ambition. Owing to this latter trait his lordship was desirous of winning the

good graces of Miss Stuart in the present, in hopes of governing his majesty in the future, when she became

the king's mistress. But these sage and provident intentions of his were speedily overturned, for early in the

course of their acquaintance, when he had commenced to tell her a story, his manner so forcibly reminded her

of Buckingham's mimicry of him, that she burst out laughing in the earl's face. This being utterly uncalled for

by the circumstances of his tale, and still less by the manner of its narration, Lord Arlington, who was

serious, punctilious, and proud, became enraged, abruptly left her presence, and abandoned his schemes of

A man who had better chances of success in winning this beautiful girl was George Hamilton, whose name

has been already mentioned. It was not, however, his graceful person, or elegant manner, but his performance

of a trick which gained her attention. It happened one night that an Irish peer, old Lord Carlingford, was

diverting her by showing how she might hold a burning candle in her mouth a considerable time without its

being extinguished. This was a source of uncommon delight to her; seeing which, George Hamilton thought

he would give her still further entertainment. For being furnished by nature with a wide mouth, he placed

within it two lighted candles, and walked three times round the room without extinguishing them, whilst the

fair Stuart clapped her pretty hands in delight, and shouted aloud with laughter.

A man who could accomplish such a feat was worthy of becoming a favourite. She at once admitted him to

terms of familiarity; and he had a hundred chances of paying her the attentions he greatly desired, and which

she freely accepted. Grammont, foreseeing that Hamilton would incur the royal displeasure if his love for

Miss Stuart became known to the king, besought him to abandon his addresses; but this advice did not at first

sound pleasant to the lover's ears. "Since the court has been in the country," said he, "I have had a hundred

opportunities of seeing her, which I had not before. You know that the dishabille of the bath is a great

convenience for those ladies, who, strictly adhering to all the rules of decorum, are yet desirous to display all

their charms and attractions. Miss Stuart is so fully acquainted with the advantages she possesses over all

other women, that it is hardly possible to praise any lady at court for a wellturned arm, and a fine leg but she

is ever ready to dispute the point by demonstration; and I really believe that, with a little address, it would not

be difficult to induce her to strip naked, without ever reflecting upon what she was doing. After all, a man

must be very insensible to remain unconcerned and unmoved on such happy occasions."

Hamilton was therefore not willing to renounce Miss Stuart, but upon Grammont showing that attentions paid

the lady would certainly provoke the king's anger, he resolved on sacrificing love to interest, and abandoning

the company of the fair maid of honour for evermore. The truth was, his majesty loved her exceedingly, as

was indeed evident, for he constantly sought her presence, talked to her at the drawingrooms as if no one

else were by, and kissed her "to the observation of all the world." But though she allowed Charles such

liberties, she refused to become his mistress, notwithstanding the splendid settlements and high titles with

which the monarch engaged to reward the sacrifice of her virtue. And so, though a king, it was not given him

to be obeyed in all. And though generally loved for his easy ways and gracious manners, he was continually

harassed by his mistresses, reproved by his chancellor, and ridiculed by his courtiers. Indeed, they now spoke

of him in his absence as "Old Rowley;" the reason of which is given by Richardson. "There was an old goat,"

writes he, "in the privy garden, that they had given this name to; a rank lecherous devil, that everybody knew

and used to stroke, because he was goodhumoured and familiar; and so they applied this name to the king."

The Duke of York's intrigues.My Lady Chesterfield and his royal highnessThe story of Lady Southesk's

love.Lord Arran plays the guitar.Lord Chesterfield is jealous.The countess is taken from

court.Mistress Margaret Brooke and the king.Lady Denham and the duke.Sir John goes mad.My

The while his majesty devoted himself to pleasure and intrigue, neglectful of affairs of state, and heedless of

public scandal, his brother of York, whose disposition was not less amorous, likewise followed the bent of his

inclinations. Soon after her appearance at court he professed himself in love with the beautiful Elizabeth

Hamilton, whom to behold was to admire. But the duke being a married man, and she a virtuous woman, he

dared not address her on the subject of his affection, and was therefore obliged to confine the expression of

his feelings to glances. These she refused to interpret; and he, becoming weary of a pursuit which promised

no happy results, turned his attentions to the Countess of Chesterfield, who seemed in no way loath to receive

This charming woman had married my Lord Chesterfield in compliance with a family arrangement; and

discovered too soon she had no place in the heart of him whose life she shared. His coldness to her was only

equalled by his ardour for Lady Castlemaine, whose lover he continued to remain after his marriage. The

affection his wife had offered and he had repulsed, in the dawn of their wedded life, changed by degrees to

Now as chamberlain to the queen my Lord Chesterfield had, apartments in the palace, by reason of which the

countess became an habituee of the court. The moral atmosphere of Whitehall was not calculated to

strengthen her conjugal virtue, but its perpetual gaiety was destined to dissipate her sense of neglect. It was

not possible for a woman endowed with so much beauty, and possessed of such engaging manners, to be

disregarded, in a court entirely devoted to love and gallantry; and accordingly she soon became an object of

general admiration. This was by no means pleasing to my Lord Chesterfield, who, though he had wilfully

repulsed her affections, was selfishly opposed to their bestowal upon others. Accordingly he became watchful

Prominent amongst these were James Hamilton and the Duke of York. The former was her cousin, and her

husband's confidant, in consequence of which my lord failed to associate him with the suspicion he

entertained towards all other men who approached her: the latter he regarded with the uttermost distrust. His

royal highness had before now disturbed the happy confidence which husbands had placed in their wives, as

The story which hangs thereby had, a little while before the duke fell in love with Lady Chesterfield, afforded

vast amusement to the court, and was yet fresh in the recollection of many. It happened that his royal

highness became enamoured of my Lady Carnegy, daughter of the gallant Duke of Hamilton, and friend of

the gay Lady Castlemaine. Lady Carnegy loved pleasure mightily, painted her face "devilishly," and drove in

the park flauntingly. She was endowed with considerable beauty of form and great tenderness of heart, as

many gallants acknowledged with gratitude. Now when the Duke of York made advances to her, she received

them with all the satisfaction he could desire; an intimacy therefore followed, which she was the better able to

entertain on account of her husband's absence in Scotland. Whilst my Lord Carnegy was in that country, his

father, the Earl of Southesk, died, and he succeeded to the title and estates. In due time the new earl returned

to London and his wife, and was greeted by rumours of the friendship which in his absence had sprung up

between my lady and the duke. These, as became a good husband, he refused to believe, until such time as he

was enabled to prove their veracity. Now, though his royal highness did not cease to honour my lady with his

visits on her husband's return, yet out of respect to decorum, and in order to silence scandalous tongues, he

It therefore came to pass that one day he requested an honest, foolish Irishman, Dick Talbot, afterwards Duke

of Tyrconnel, to attend him in his visit to the lady. He could scarcely have selected a man more unfitted to the

occasion, inasmuch as Talbot was wholly devoid of tact, and possessed a mind apt to wander at large at

critical moments. He had but recently returned from Portugal, and was not aware my Lord Carnegy had in the

meantime become Earl of Southesk, nor had he ever met the lady who shared that title until introduced to her

by the duke. When that ceremony had been duly performed and a few sentences interchanged between them,

Talbot, acting on instructions previously received, retired into an anteroom and took his post at a window

that he might divert himself by viewing the street, and observing those who approached the house.

Here he remained for some time, but the study of mankind which the view admitted did not afford sufficient

interest to prevent him becoming absorbed in his own thoughts, and indifferent to all objects surrounding

him. From this mental condition he was presently aroused by seeing a carriage draw up to the door, and its

occupant descend and quickly enter the house. Talbot was so forgetful of his duty that he omitted apprising

the duke of this fact or making any movement until the door of the anteroom opened, when he turned round

to face the intruder. Then he started forward and cried out, "Welcome, Carnegy!" for it was no other than he.

"Welcome my good fellow! Where the devil have you been, that I have never been able to set eyes on you

since we were at Brussels! What business brought you here?" he continued in the same breath; and then

added in a tone of banter, "Do you likewise wish to see Lady Southesk; if this is your intention, my poor

friend, you may go away again; for I must inform you the Duke of York is in love with her, and I will tell you

My Lord Southesk was overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and not knowing how to act, immediately

returned to his coach, Talbot attending him to the door as his friend, and advising him to seek a mistress

elsewhere. He then went back to his post, and with some impatience awaited the Duke's return, that he might

tell him what had happened. And in due time, when he had narrated the story, he was much surprised that

neither his royal highness nor the countess saw any humour in the fact of Lord Carnegy's discomfiture. It

served, however, to make the duke break off his connection with the lady, and likewise to amuse the town.

Remembering this incident, my Lord Chesterfield kept a watchful eye upon the duke, who he observed made

advances towards the countess, which she, in her generosity, had not the heart to repulse. But, as his royal

highness could see her only in presence of the court, my lord derived some satisfaction from knowing he was

witness to such civilities as had yet passed between them. The duke was, however, anxious to have a more

particular occasion of conversing with my lady, and in accomplishing this desire her brother Lord Arran was

It happened about this time an Italian, named Francisco Corbeta, who played with great perfection on the

guitar, arrived at court. His performances excited the wonder and delight of all who heard him, and the

instrument which produced such melody speedily became fashionable at court, to such an extent, that a

universal strumming was heard by day and by night: throughout the palace of Whitehall. The Duke of York,

being devoted to music, was amongst those who strove to rival Signor Francisco's performance; whilst my

Lord Arran, by the delicacy of his execution, almost equalled the great musician. The while Francisco's

popularity increased, his fame reaching its zenith when he composed a saraband, to learn which became the

Now one day the duke, not thinking himself perfect in this piece, requested Lord Arran to play it over for

him. My lord being a courteous man, was anxious to oblige his royal highness, and in order that the saraband

might be heard to greatest advantage, was desirous of performing it upon the best instrument at court, which

it was unhesitatingly acknowledged belonged to my Lady Chesterfield. Accordingly, Lord Arran led the duke

to his sister's apartments. Here they found not only the guitar and my lady, but likewise my lord, who was no

less astonished than disturbed by their visit. Then my Lord Arran commenced the famous saraband, whilst

the duke commenced to ogle my lady, and she to return his glances in kind, as if both were unconscious of

her husband's presence. So delightful did they find the saraband, that Lord Arran was obliged to repeat it at

least twenty times, to the great mortification of the earl, who could scarcely contain his violent rage and

jealousy. His torture was presently increased to an immeasurable degree, by a summons he received from the

queen to attend her in his capacity of lord chamberlain, during an audience she was about, to give the

He had from the first suspected the visit, with which he was honoured, to have been preconcerted by his wife

and the duke; and he now began to think her majesty was likewise connected with a plot destined to rob him

of his peace and blight his honour. However, he was obliged to obey the queen's summons and depart. Nor

had he been many minutes absent when Lord Arran entered the presencechamber where the audience was

being held, unaccompanied by the duke, at which Lord Chesterfield's jealous fears were strengthened a

thousandfold. Before night came he was satisfied he held sufficient proof of his wife's infidelity.

This conviction caused him intense anxiety and pain; he walked about his apartments abstracted and brooding

on the wrongs from which he suffered; avoided all who came in his way; and maintained strict silence as to

that which disturbed his peace, until next day, when he met James Hamilton. To him he confided an account

of the troubles which beset him. After speaking of the visit paid by his royal highness, and the part enacted by

my Lord Arran, whom he described as "one of the silliest creatures in England, with his guitar, and his other

whims and follies," he went on to say that when Hamilton had heard him out, he would be enabled to judge

whether the visit ended in perfect innocence or not. "Lady Chesterfield is amiable, it must be acknowledged,"

said he, "but she is far from being such a miracle of beauty as she supposes herself: you know she has ugly

feet; but perhaps you are not acquainted that she has still worse legs. They are short and thick, and to remedy

these defects as much as possible, she seldom wears any other than green stockings. I went yesterday to Miss

Stuart's after the audience of those damned Muscovites: the king arrived there just before me; and as if the

duke had sworn to pursue me wherever I went that day, he came in just after me. The conversation turned

upon the extraordinary appearance of the ambassadors. I know not where that fool Crofts had heard that all

these Muscovites had handsome wives; and that all their wives had handsome legs. Upon this the king

maintained, that no woman ever had such handsome legs as Miss Stuart; and she to prove the truth of his

majesty's assertion, with the greatest imaginable ease, immediately showed her leg above the knee. Some

were ready to prostrate themselves in order to adore its beauty, for indeed none can be handsomer; but the

duke alone began to criticize upon it. He contended that it was too slender, and that as for himself he would

give nothing for a leg that was not thicker and shorter, and concluded by saying that no leg was worth

anything without green stockings; now this in my opinion was a sufficient demonstration that he had just seen

At hearing this story, Hamilton, being deeply in love with Lady Chesterfield, was scarcely less agitated or

less jealous than her lord; but he was obliged to conceal his feelings. Therefore, assuming the tone of an

impartial hearer, he shrugged his shoulders, declared appearances were often deceitful, and maintained that

even if she had given herself airs to encourage the duke, there were no grounds to show she had been

culpable of improprieties. My lord expressed himself much obliged to his friend for the interest he had shown

in his troubles, and after exchanging a few compliments they parted. Hamilton, full of wrath, returned home,

and wrote a letter replete with violent expostulations and tender reproaches to the woman he loved. This he

delivered to her secretly at the next opportunity. She received it from him with a smile, which scared all

doubts of her frailty from his mind, and with a pressure of his hand which awoke the tenderest feelings in his

He was now convinced her husband had allowed jealousy to blind him, and had magnified his unworthy

suspicions to assurances of guilt. Is this view Hamilton was fully confirmed by a letter he received from her

the following day in answer to his own. "Are you not," said she, "ashamed to give any credit to the visions of

a jealous fellow, who brought nothing else with him from Italy? Is it possible that the story of the green

stockings, upon which he has founded his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it is

with such pitiful circumstances? Since he has made you his confidant, why did not he boast of breaking in

pieces my poor harmless guitar? This exploit, perhaps, might have convinced you more than all the rest;

recollect yourself, and if you are really in love with me, thank fortune for a groundless jealousy, which

diverts to another quarter the attention he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and the most

Anointed by this flattering unction, such wounds as Hamilton had experienced were quickly healed; alas,

only to bleed afresh at the certain knowledge that this charming woman had been making him her dupe! For

soon after, in a moment of indiscretion, and whilst the whole court, including her majesty, was assembled in

the cardroom, my lady there permitted the duke a liberty which confirmed her husband in his suspicions of

their intimacy. Hamilton at hearing this was wild with fury, and advised Lord Chesterfield to carry her away

from the allurements of the court, and seclude her in one of his country mansions. This was an advice to

which the earl listened with complaisance, and carried out with despatch, to her intense mortification.

The whole court was amused by the story, but dismayed at the punishment my lord inflicted upon his lady.

Anthony Hamilton declares that in England "they looked with astonishment upon a man who could be so

uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to see a

husband have recourse to violent means to prevent what jealousy fears, and what it always deserves." He

adds, they endeavoured to excuse my lord by laying all the blame on his bad education, which made "all the

mothers vow to God that none of their sons should ever set a foot in Italy, lest they should bring back with

By the departure of Lady Chesterfield the court lost one of its most brilliant ornaments forever, for the

unhappy countess never again returned to the gay scene of her adventures. For three long years she endured

banishment at Bretby in Derbyshire, and then died, it was believed, from the effects of poison. For my lord,

never having his suspicions of her intrigue cleared, insisted on her taking the sacrament by way of pledging

her innocence; on which occasion he, in league with his chaplain, mixed poison in the sacred wine, as result

of which she died. This shocking story gained credence not only with the public, but with members of his

own family; inasmuch as his daughterinlaw, Lady Gertrude Stanhope, after she had quarrelled with him,

would, when she sat at his table, drink only of such wine and water as a trusty servant of hers procured.

This intrigue of the duke had given much uneasiness to his duchess, who had complained to the king and to

her father, and had, moreover, set a watch upon the movements of his royal highness. But such measures did

not avail to make him a faithful husband, and no sooner was Lady Chesterfield removed from his sight, than

Lady Denham took her place in his affections. This latter mentioned gentlewoman was daughter of a valiant

baronet, Sir William Brooke, and niece to a worthless peer, the Earl of Bristol. The earl had, on the king's

restoration, cherished ambitious schemes to obtain the merry monarch's favour; for which purpose he sought

Accordingly he entertained the king as became a loyal gentleman, giving him luxurious banquets and

agreeable suppers, to which, by way of adding to his majesty's greater satisfaction, the noble host invited his

nieces, Mistress Brooke and her sister. The wily earl had, indeed, conceived a plan the better to forward his

interests with the king, and was desirous one of these gentlewomen should subdue his majesty's heart, and

become his mistress. Margaret Brooke, the elder of the maidens, was at this time in her eighteenth year, and

was in the full flower of such loveliness as was presented by a fair complexion, light brown hair, and dark

grey eyes. The merry monarch's susceptible heart was soon won by her beauty; the charming lady's amorous

disposition was speedily conquered by his gallantry, and nothing prevented her becoming his mistress save

This, however, proved an insurmountable obstacle; for the countess, hearing rumours of the pleasures which

were enjoyed at my Lord Bristol's table, insisted on attending the king thither, and soon gave his gracious

majesty an intimation he dared not disregardthat she would not suffer Miss Brooke as a rival. Margaret

Brooke was grievously disappointed; but the Duke of York beginning his attentions at the point where his

majesty discontinued them, she was soon consoled for loss of the monarch's affection by the ardour of his

brother's love. But a short time after, probably foreseeing the ambiguous position in which she stood, she

This worthy knight was a man of parts; inasmuch as he was a soldier, a poet, and a gamester. At the time of

his marriage he had passed his fiftieth year; moreover, he limped painfully and carried a crutch. His

appearance, indeed, was far from imposing. According to Aubrey, he was tall, had long legs, and was

"incurvelting at his shoulders; his hair was but thin and flaxen, with a moist curl; his gait slow and rather

astalking; his eye was a kind of light goosegrey, not big, but it had a strange piercingness, not as to shining

and glory, but when he conversed he looked into your very thoughts." His personal defects, however, were to

a great degree compensated for by his great wealth. Moreover he was surveyorgeneral of his majesty's

works, had a town house in Scotland Yard, and a country residence at Waltham Cross in Essex. But there are

some deficiencies for which wealth does not atone, as no doubt Lady Denham promptly discovered; for,

before a year of her married life had passed, she renewed her intrigue with the Duke of York. His love for her

seemed to have increased a thousandfold since fate had given her to the possession of another. At royal

drawingrooms he took her aside and talked to her "in the sight of all the world," and whenever she moved

Indeed, he made no effort to screen his passion, for not only did he make love to her in presence of the court,

but he visited her at noonday, attended by his gentlemen, before all the town. Nor did Lady Denham desire to

conceal the honour with which, she considered, this amour covered her, but openly declared she would "not

be his mistress, as Mrs. Price, to go up and down the privy stairs, but will be owned publicly;" and in this

respect she obtained her desire. Meanwhile Sir John was rendered miserable; and, indeed, his desperation

soon overthrew his reason, and rendered him a lunatic. This affection first appeared during a journey he made

to the famous freestone quarries near Portland in Dorset. When he came within a mile of his destination, he

suddenly turned back, and proceeded to Hounslow, where he demanded rents for lands he had disposed of

years before; and then hastening to town sought out the king and informed him he was the Holy Ghost.

This madness lasted but a short time; and the first use he made of his recovered senses was to plot vengeance

on his wife. Now there was one honour which she coveted above all others, that of being appointed a lady of

the bedchamber to the Duchess of York. This her royal lover, following the example of his majesty, sought to

obtain for her; but the duchess, who had already suffered many indignities by reason of her husband's

improprieties, refused him this request, which would render her liable to continual insult in her own court.

The duke, however, had a strong will, and the duchess was on the point of yielding to his demand, when

rumour announced that Lady Denham had been taken suddenly ill, and scandal declared she had been

poisoned. The wildest sensation followed. His royal highness, stricken with remorse and terror, hastened to

Scotland Yard and sought his beloved mistress, who told him she believed herself poisoned, and felt she was

now dying. The most eminent physicians were speedily summoned, but their skill proved of no avail, for she

gradually became worse, and finally died, leaving instructions that her body should be opened after death, in

The surgeons followed these directions, as we learn from the Orrery state papers, but no trace of poison was

discovered. For all that the public had no doubt her husband had destroyed her life, and Hamilton tells us the

populace "had a design of tearing Sir John in pieces as soon as he should come abroad; but he shut himself up

to bewail her death, until their fury was appeased by a magnificent funeral, at which he distributed four times

As for the duke, he was sorely troubled for her loss, and declared he should never have a public mistress

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.

Views of court life during the first years of the merry monarch's reign, obtainable from works of his

contemporaries, present a series of brilliant, changeful, and interesting pictures. Scarce a day passed that their

majesties, attended by a goodly throng of courtiers, went not abroad, to the vast delight of the town: and

rarely a night sped by unmarked by some magnificent entertainment, to the great satisfaction of the court. At

noon it was a custom of the king and queen, surrounded by maids of honour and gentlemen in waiting, the

whole forming a gladsome and gallant crowd, to ride in coaches or on horseback in Hyde Park: which place

has been described as "a field near the town, used by the king and nobility for the freshness of the air, and

Here in a railedoff circle, known as the ring, and situated in the northern half of the park, the whole world of

fashion and beauty diverted itself. Noble gallants wearing broadbrimmed hats and waving plumes, doublets

of velvet, and ruffles of rich lace; and fair women with flowing locks and dainty patches, attired in satin

gowns, and cloaks wrought with embroidery, drove round and round, exchanging salutations and smiles as

they passed. Here it was good Mr. Pepys saw the Countess of Castlemaine, among many fine ladies, lying

"impudently upon her back in her coach asleep, with her mouth wide open." And on another occasion the

same ingenious gentleman observed the king and my lady pass and repass in their respective coaches, they

But Mr. Pepys gives us another picture, in which he shows us the king riding right gallantly beside his queen,

and therefore presents him to better advantage. This excellent gossip, sauntering down Pall Mall one bright

summer day, it being the middle of July, in the year 1663, met the queen mother walking there, led by her

supposed husband, the Earl of St. Albans. And, hearing the king and queen rode abroad with the ladies of

honour to the park, and seeing a great crowd of gallants awaiting their return, he also stayed, walking up and

down the while. "Byand by," says he, "the king and queene, who looked in this dress (a white laced

waistcoate and a crimson short pettycoate, and her hair dressed A LA NEGLIGENCE) mighty pretty; and the

king rode hand in hand with her. Here was also my Lady Castlemaine riding amongst the rest of the ladies;

but the king took, methought, no notice of her; nor when they light did anybody press (as she seemed to

expect, and staid for it) to take her down, but was taken down by her own gentlemen. She looked mighty out

of humour, and had a yellow plume in her hat (which all took notice of), and yet is very handsome. I followed

them up into Whitehall, and into the queene's presence, where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling with

their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by one another's heads, and laughing. But it

was the finest sight to me, considering their great beautys and dress, that ever I did see in my life. But, above

all, Mrs. Stuart in this dresse with her hat cocked and a red plume, with her sweet eye, little Roman nose, and

excellent taille, is now the greatest beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life; and, if ever woman can, do exceed

my Lady Castlemaine, at least in this dresse: nor do I wonder if the king changes, which I verily believe is the

Having returned from the park, dined at noon, walked in the palace gardens, or played cards till evening

came, their majesties, surrounded by a brilliant and joyous court, would in summer time descend the broad

steps leading from Whitehall to the Thames, and embark upon the water for greater diversion. Never was

there so goodly a sight, seldom so merry a company. The barges in which they sailed were draped to the

water's edge with bright fabrics, hung with curtains of rich silk, and further adorned with gay pennants. And,

as the long procession of boats, filled with fair women and gallant men, followed their majesties adown the

placid Thames towards pleasant Richmond, my Lord Arran would delight the ears of all by his performance

on the guitar; the fair Stuart would sing French songs in her sweet childlike voice; or a concert of music

would suddenly resound from the banks, being placed there to surprise by some ingenious courtier.

And presently landing on grassy meads, delightful to sight by freshness of their colour, and sweet to scent

from odour of their herbs, the court would sup right heartily; laugh, drink, and make love most merrily, until

early shadows stole across the summer sky, and nightdews fell upon the thirsty earth. Then king, queen, and

courtiers once more embarking, would sail slowly back, whilst the moon rose betimes in the heavens, and the

At other times magnificent entertainments filled the nights with light and revelry. Pepys tells us of a great

ball he witnessed in the last month of the year 1662 at the palace of Whitehall. He was carried thither by Mr.

Povy, a member of the Tangier Commission, and taken at first to the Duke of York's chambers, where his

royal highness and the duchess were at supper; and from thence "into a room where the ball was to be,

crammed with fine ladies, the greatest of the court. Byandby comes the king and queene, the duke and

duchess, and all the great ones; and, after seating themselves, the king takes out the Duchess of York; and the

duke the Duchess of Buckingham; the Duke of Monmouth my Lady Castlemaine; and so other lords other

ladies; and they danced the bransle. After that, the king led a lady a single coranto; and then the rest of the

lords, one after another, other ladies: very noble it was, and great pleasure to see. Then to country dances: the

king leading the first. Of the ladies that danced, the Duke of Monmouth's lady, and my Lady Castlemaine,

and a daughter of Sir Harry de Vicke's were the best. The manner was, when the king dances, all the ladies in

the room, and his queene herself, stand up: and indeed he dances rarely, and much better than the Duke of

PETIT SOUPERS were another form of entertainments, greatly enjoyed by Charles, and accordingly much in

vogue with his courtiers. The Chevalier de Grammont had principally helped to make them fashionable, his

suppers being served With the greatest elegance, attended by the choicest wits, and occasionally favoured

with the presence of majesty itself. Nor were Lady Gerrard's PETIT SOUPERS less brilliant, or her company

less distinguished. Her ladyship boasted of French parentage and understood the art of pleasing to perfection;

and accordingly at her board wine flowed, wit sparkled, and love obtained in the happiest manner. Now it

happened one of her delightful entertainments was destined to gain a notoriety she by no means coveted, and

concerning which the French ambassador, Count de Comminges, wrote pleasantly enough to the Marquis de

It came to pass that Lady Gerrard, who loved the queen, requested the honour of their majesties to sup with

her. She, moreover, invited some of the courtiers, amongst whom she did not include my Lady Castlemaine.

On the appointed night the king and queen duly arrived; the other guests had already assembled; and the hour

gave fair promise of entertainment. But presently, when supper was announced, his majesty was missing, and

on inquiry it was discovered he had left the house for Lady Castlemaine's lodgings, where he spent the

evening. Such an insult as this so openly dealt the queen, and such an indignity put upon the hostess, caused

the greatest agitation to all present; and subsequently afforded subject for scandalous gossip to the town. It

moreover showed that the monarch was yet an abject slave of his mistress, whose charms entangled him

irresistibly. At least four times a week he supped with her, returning at early morning from her lodgings, in a

stealthy way, through the privy gardens, a proceeding of which the sentries took much notice, joked

Now in order to avoid further observation at such times, and silence rumours which consequently obtained,

his majesty removed the countess from her lodgings in that part of the palace divided by the road leading to

Westminster from the chief block, and furnished her with apartments next his own chamber. The poor queen,

who had sought by every means in her power to win his affection, was sorely grieved at this action, and

moreover depressed by the neglect to which she was continually subjected. Sometimes four months were

allowed to pass without his deigning to sup with her, though the whole court was aware he constantly paid

that honour to her infamous rival. But knowing how unavailing reproach would be, she held her peace; and

feeling how obtrusive her sorrow would seem, she hid her tears. Now and again, however, a look would flash

in her eyes, and an answer rise to her lips, which showed how deeply she felt her bitter wrongs. "I wonder

your majesty has the patience to sit so long adressing," said my Lady Castlemaine to her one morning when

she found her yet in the dresser's hands. "I have so much reason to use patience," answered the neglected

And so the countess continued to reign paramount in his majesty's favour until the middle of July, 1663,

when a rumour spread through the town that she had quarrelled with the king, and had consequently fallen

from her high estate. The cause of disagreement between the monarch and his mistress is narrated by the

By this time the fair Stuart had so increased in his majesty's favour, that my Lady Castlemaine began to see

the indiscretion of which she had been guilty in bringing her so constantly into his presence, and moreover to

fear her influence over his fickle heart. Accordingly she refused to invite the maid of honour to her

apartments, or entertain her at her assemblies. At this the king became exceedingly wrathful, and told my

lady he would not enter her rooms again unless Miss Stuart was there. Thereon the charming countess flew

into a violent passion, roundly abused his majesty, called her carriage, and protesting she would never again

enter the palace of Whitehall, drove off in a rage to the residence of her uncle at Richmond. The monarch had

not expected his words would cause such fury, nor did he desire her departure; and no sooner had she gone

Therefore next morning he made pretence of hunting, and turning his horse's head in the direction of

Richmond, called on his mistress, when he apologized to and made friends with her. She therefore returned

and exercised her old ascendancy over him once more. It is probable his majesty was the more anxious to

pacify her, from the fact that she was now far advanced in her third pregnancy; for two months later she gave

birth to her second son, who was baptized Henry Fitzroy, and subsequently created Duke of Grafton.

And it happened about this time, that the queen, falling ill, drew near unto death. On Friday, the 14th

October, 1663, a fever took possession of her, when the doctors were summoned, her head shaven, and

pigeons put to her feet. Her illness, however, rapidly increased, and believing she was about to leave a world

in which her young life had known so much sorrow, she made her will, put her affairs in order, and received

extreme unction. Upon this the king, mindful of grievous injuries he had done her, was sorely troubled in his

heart, and going to her chamber, flung himself at the foot of her bed and burst into tears; as the French

It is said women love best men who treat them worst. If this be so, God, alone who made them knows

wherefore; for it is given no man to understand them in all. Now her majesty proved no exception to this rule

regarding the unreasonableness of her sex in placing their affections most on those who regard them least; for

she was devoted to the king. Therefore the evidence of his grief at prospect of her loss touched her deeper

than all words can say, and with much sweetness she sought to soothe and console him.

She told him she had no desire to live, and no sorrow to die, save, indeed, that caused by parting from him.

She hoped he would soon wed a consort more worthy of his love than she had been; one who would

contribute more to his happiness and the satisfaction of the nation than she had. And now they were about to

part, she had two requests to make: that he would never separate his interests from those of the king her

brother, or cease to protect her distressed nation; and that her body might be sent back to Portugal and laid in

the tomb of her ancestors. At this the king, yet on his knees beside her, interrupted her only by his sobs,

hearing which she wept likewise; and so overcome was he by grief that he was obliged to be led from her

The court was saddened by her majesty's illness, for she had won the goodwill of all by the kindness of her

disposition and gentleness of her manner; the city was likewise afflicted, for the people thought so good a

queen could not fail in time to reclaim even so erratic a husband; and trade became suddenly depressed.

Crowds gathered by night and by day outside the palace to learn the most recent change in her majesty's

condition many thinking her death inevitable, because the doctors had pronounced her recovery impossible.

On the night of the 19th, a fierce storm raged over England; and Mr. Pepys, being waked by the roaring of

mighty winds, turned to his wife and said: "I pray God I hear not of the death of any great person, this wind is

so high." And fearing the queen might have departed, he rose betimes, and took coach to the palace that he

might make inquiries concerning her, but found her majesty was still living. She was now, however,

unconscious; and gave free voice to the secret sorrow which underlay her life, because she had not borne

children to the king. Had she given him heirs, she felt assured he would certainly love her as well as he loved

his mistresses; and would feel as proud of her offspring as of those borne him by other women. But though

she had proved capable of becoming a mother on more than one occasion, it pleased heaven to leave her

childless, to her great grief. Therefore in her delirium, desires shaped themselves to realities, and she believed

she had given birth to three children, two boys and a girl. The latter she fancied much resembled the king, but

she was troubled that one of the boys was plain featured. And seeing her grief at this, his majesty, who stood

by, sought in pity to console her, saying the boy was indeed pretty; at which she brightened visibly, and

answering him said: "Nay, if it be like you, it is a fine boy indeed, and I would be very well pleased with it."

This delusion continued through her illness, and so strongly did it force itself upon her mind, that one

morning when she was on her way to recovery, on waking suddenly and seeing the doctor bending over her,

Now all this time, whilst the shadow of death lay upon the palace, and laughter and music were no longer

heard within its walls, there was one of its inmates who pondered much upon the great fortune which the

future might have in keeping for her. This was fair Frances Stuart, who, not having yielded to the king's

request by becoming his mistress, now entertained high hopes of being made his wife. In this dream she was,

moreover, flattered by an unusual deference and high respect paid her by the court since the beginning of her

majesty's illness. The king continued his attentions to her; for though he had proved himself "fondly

disconsolate" and wept sorely for her majesty, he never during her sickness omitted an opportunity of

conversing with Miss Stuart, or neglected supping with Lady Castlemaine. But the hopes entertained by the

maid of honour were speedily overthrown, for contrary to all expectation the queen recovered, and was so

And so the court remained unchanged, and life went on as before; the queen growing gradually stronger, the

king making love to Miss Stuart by day, and visiting Lady Castlemaine by night. And it happened one

evening when he went to sup with the latter there was a chine of beef to roast, and no fire to cook it because

the Thames had flooded the kitchen. Hearing which, the countess called out to the cook, "Zounds, you must

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

Prominent among the courtiers, and foremost amid the friends of his majesty, were two noblemen

distinguished alike for their physical grace, exceeding wit, and notable eccentricity. These were the Earl of

Rochester, and his Grace of Buckingham; gallants both, whose respective careers were so intimately

connected with the court as to make further chronicle of them necessary in these pages.

My Lord Rochester, though younger in years than the duke, was superior to him in wit, comeliness, and

attraction. Nor was there a more conspicuous figure observable in the palace of Whitehall than this same earl,

who was ever foremost in pursuit of such pleasures as wine begets and love appeases. His mirth was the most

buoyant, his conversation the most agreeable, his manner the most engaging in the world; whence he became

"the delight and wonder of men, the love and dotage of women." A courtier possessed of so happy a

disposition, and endowed with such brilliant talents, could not fail in pleasing the king; who vastly enjoyed

his society, but was occasionally obliged to banish his person from court, when his eccentric conduct

rendered him intolerable, or his bitter satire aimed at royalty. For it was given no other man in his age to

blend merry wit and caustic ridicule so happily together; therefore those who read his lines were forced to

Now in order to keep this talent in constant practice, he was wont to celebrate in inimitable verse such events,

be they private or public, as happened at court, or befell the courtiers; and inasmuch as his subjects were

frequently of a licentious nature, his lines were generally of a scandalous character. He therefore became the

public censor of court folly; and so unerringly did his barbed shafts hit the weaknesses at which they aimed,

that his productions were equally the terror of those he victimized, and the delight of those he spared.

This liberal use of satire he was wont to excuse on the plea there were some who could not be kept in order,

or admonished, by other means. Therefore, having the virtue of his friends keenly at heart, an ingenious plan

occurred to him by which he might secretly discover their vices, and publicly reprove them. In order that he

might fulfil this purpose to his greater satisfaction, he promptly sought and found a footman, who, by virtue

of his employment, was well acquainted with the courtiers. This man the "noble and beautiful earl" furnished

with a red coat and a musket, that he might pass as a sentinel, and then placed him every night throughout one

winter at the doors of certain ladies of quality whom he suspected of carrying on intrigues.

In this disguise the footman readily passed as a soldier stationed at his post by command of his officer, and

was thus enabled to note what gentlemen called on the suspected ladies at unreasonable but not unfashionable

hours. Accordingly, my lord made many surprising discoveries, and when he had gained sufficient

information on such delicate points, he quietly retired into the country, that he might with greater ease devote

himself to the composition of those lively verses which he subsequently circulated through the court, to the

To these lampoons no name was attached, and my lord took precautions that their authorship should not be

satisfactorily proved, no matter how sagely suspected. Moreover, in his conversation he was judicious enough

to keep the weapon of his satire in reserve; sheathing its fatal keenness in a bewitching softness of civility

until occasion required its use; when forth it flashed all the brighter for its covering, all the sharper for its rest.

And satire being absent from his speech, humour ever waited on his words; and never was he more

extravagantly gay than when assisting at the pleasant suppers given by the merry monarch to his choicest

Here, whilst drinking deep of ruddy wine from goblets of old gold, he narrated his strange experiences, and

illustrated them with flashes of his wit. for it was the habit of this eccentric earl, when refinements of the

court began to pall upon him, or his absence from Whitehall became a necessity, to seek fresh adventure and

intrigue disguised as a porter, a beggar, or a balladmonger. And so carefully did he hide his identity in the

character he assumed, that his most intimate friends failed to recognise his personality.

No doubt the follies in which he indulged were in some measure due to the eccentricity ever attendant upon

genius; but they were probably likewise occasioned by craving for excitement begotten of drink. For my lord

loved wine exceedingly; and when he drew near unto death in the dawn of his manhood, confessed to Bishop

Burnet that for five years he was continually drunk: "Not that he was all the while under the visible effects of

it, but his blood was so inflamed, that he was not in all that time cool enough to be perfectly master of

himself." Charles delighted in the society of this gay courtier, because of his erratic adventures, and his love

of wine. Moreover, the licentious verses which it was the earl's good pleasure to compose, the names of some

of which no decent lips would whisper in this age of happy innocence, afforded the monarch extravagant

enjoyment. Withal his majesty's satisfaction in Lord Rochester's wit was not always to be counted upon, as it

proved. For it came to pass one night at the close of a royal supper, during which the earl had drunk deep, that

with great goodwill to afford the king diversion, he handed his majesty what he believed was a satire on a

courtier, more remarkable for its humour than its decency. Whereon Charles, with anticipation of much

delight, opened the folded page, when he was surprised to see, not a copy of verses, but an unflattering

"Here lies our muttoneating king, Whose word no man relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, And never

Now the king, though the best tempered of men and most lenient of masters, was naturally wrathful at this

verbal character: the more so because recognising its faithfulness at a glance. He therefore upbraided

Nothing dismayed, my lord retired into the country; but in a short time, growing weary of pastoral solitude

which gave him an appetite for adventure it could not wholly supply, he returned privately to town, and

assuming a disguise, took up his residence in the city. Here exercising his characteristic tact, and great

capacity for pleasing, he speedily made friends with wealthy merchants and worthy aldermen, who

subsequently invited him to their hospitable tables, and introduced him to their gracious ladies.

And as his conversation had not failed to delight the husbands, neither were his charms unsuccessful in

affording satisfaction to their wives. To the one he railed against the impotence of the king's ministers, to the

other he declaimed upon the wickedness of his majesty's mistresses; and to both his denunciations were

equally sincere and acceptable. But his bitterest words were reserved for such courtiers as Rochester,

Buckingham, and Killigrew, whose dissipated lives were the scandal of all honest men, the terror of all

virtuous women: insolent fellows, moreover, who had the impudence to boast that city ladies were not so

faithful to their husbands as was generally supposed, and, moreover, the boldness to assert that they painted.

Indeed, he marvelled much, that since such men were frequenters of Whitehall, sacred fire from heaven had

not long since descended and consumed the royal palace to ashes. Such virtuous sentiments as these,

expressed by so gallant a man, made him acceptable in many homes: and the result was he speedily became

surfeited by banquets, suppers, and other hospitalities, to which the excellent but credulous citizens bade him

He therefore disappeared from their midst one day as suddenly and unaccountably as he had come amongst

them. He did not, however, take himself afar, but donning a new disguise, retreated to a more distant part of

the city: for an idea had occurred to him which he determined speedily to put in practice. This was to assume

the character and bearing of a sage astrologer and learned physician, at once capable of reading the past, and

laying bare the future of all who consulted him; also of healing diseases of and preventing mishaps to such as

visited him. Accordingly, having taken lodgings in Tower Street, at a goldsmith's house, situated next the

Black Swan, he prepared himself for practice, adopted the title of doctor, the name of Alexander Bendo, and

issued bills headed by the royal arms, containing the most remarkable and impudent manifesto perhaps ever

Copies of this may yet be seen in early editions of his works. It was addressed to all gentlemen, ladies, and

others, whether of the city, town, or country, to whom Alexander Bendo wished health and prosperity. He

had come amongst them because the great metropolis of England had ever been infested by numerous quacks,

whose arrogant confidence, backed by their ignorance, had enabled them to impose on the public; either by

premeditated cheats in physic, chymical and galenic, in astrology, physiognomy, palmistry, mathematics,

alchymy, and even government itself. Of which latter he did not propose to discourse, or meddle with, since it

in no way belonged to his trade or vocation, which he thanked God he found much more safe, equally honest,

and more profitable. But he, Alexander Bendo, had with unswerving faithfulness and untiring assiduity for

years courted the arts and sciences, and had learned dark secrets and received signal favours from them. He

was therefore prepared to take part against unlearned wretches, and arrant quacks, whose impudent addresses

However, in a wicked world like this, where virtue was so exactly counterfeited, and hypocrisy was generally

successful, it would be hard for him, a stranger, to escape censure. But indeed he would submit to be

considered a mountebank if he were discovered to be one. Having made which statement, he proceeded to

draw an ingenious comparison between a mountebank and a politician, suitable to all ages and dimes, but

especially to this century and country. Both, he intimated, are fain to supply the lack of higher abilities to

which they pretend, with craft; and attract attention by undertaking strange things which can never be

performed. By both the people are pleased and deluded; the expectation of good in the future drawing their

The sage Alexander Bendo then discoursed of miraculous cures which he could effect, but he would set down

no word in his bill which bore an unclean sound. It was enough that he made himself understood, but indeed

he had seen physicians' bills containing things of which no man who walked warily before God could

approve. Concerning astrological predictions, physiognomy, divination by dreams, and otherwise, he would

say, if it did not look like ostentation, he had seldom failed, but had often been of service; and to those who

came to him he would guarantee satisfaction. Nor would he be ashamed to avow his willingness to practise

rare secrets, for the help, conservation, and augmentation of beauty and comeliness; an endowment granted

for the better establishment of mutual love between man and woman, and as such highly valuable to both.

The knowledge of secrets like this he had gathered during journeys through France and Italy, in which

countries he had spent his life since he was fifteen years old. Those who had travelled in the latter country

knew what a miracle art there performs in behalf of beauty; how women of forty bear the same countenance

as those of fifteen, ages being in no way distinguished by appearances; whereas in England, by looking at a

horse in the mouth and a woman in the face, it was possible to tell the number of their years. He could,

therefore, give such remedies as would render those who came to him perfectly fair; clearing and preserving

them from all spots, freckles, pimples, marks of smallpox, or traces of accidents. He would, moreover, cure

A man who vouched to perform such wonders was not long without patients. At first these were drawn from

his immediate neighbourhood, but soon his fame reached the heart of the city. Accordingly, many ladies of

whose hospitality he had partaken, and of whose secrets he had become possessed, hurried to consult him;

and the marvellous insight he betrayed regarding their past, and strange predictions he pronounced

concerning their future, filled them with amazement, and occasionally with alarm. And they, proclaiming the

marvels of his wisdom, widened the circle of his reputation, until his name was spoken within the precincts of

Curiosity concerning so remarkable a man at once beset the minds of certain ladies at court, who either feared

or expected much from the future, and were anxious to peer into such secrets as it held concerning

themselves. But dreading the notoriety their presence would naturally cause in the vicinity of Tower Street, a

spot to them unknown, they, acting with a prudence not invariably characteristic of their conduct, sent their

maids to ascertain from personal experience if the astrologer's wisdom was in truth as marvellous as reported.

Now, when these appeared in fear and trembling before the great Alexander Bendo, the knowledge he

revealed concerning themselves, and their mistresses likewise, was so wonderful that it exceeded all

expectation. Accordingly, the maids returned to court with such testimonies concerning the lore of this

starreader, as fired afresh their mistresses' desires to see and converse with him in their proper persons.

It therefore came to pass that Miss Price and Miss Jennings, maids of honour boththe one to the queen, the

other to the Duchess of Yorkboldly resolved to visit Doctor Bendo, and learn what the future held for

them. Miss Price was a lady who delighted in adventure; Miss Jennings was a gentlewoman of spirit; both

looked forward to their visit with excitement and interest. It happened one night, when the court had gone to

the playhouse, these ladies, who had excused themselves from attending the queen and the duchess, dressed

as orange girls, and taking baskets of fruit under their arms, quickly crossed the park, and entered a

hackneycoach at Whitehall Gate. Bidding the driver convey them to Tower Street, they rattled merrily

enough over the uneven streets until they came close to the theatre, when, being in high spirits and feeling

anxious to test the value of their disguise, they resolved to alight from their conveyance, enter the playhouse,

Accordingly, paying the driver, they descended from the coach, and running between the lines of chairs

gathered round the theatre, gained the door. Now, who should arrive at that moment but the beau Sidney,

attired in the bravery of waving feathers, fluttering ribbons, and richhued velvets. And as he paused to

adjust his curls to his greater satisfaction before entering the playhouse, Miss Price went boldly forward and

asked him to buy her fine oranges; but so engaged was he in his occupation, that he did not deign to make

reply, but passed into the theatre without turning his glance upon her. Miss Jennings, however, fared

somewhat differently; and with less satisfaction to herself; for, perceiving another courtier, none other than

Tom Killigrew, a rare wit and lover of pleasure, she went up to him and offered her fruit for sale. These he

declined to buy; but chucking her under the chin, and glancing at her with an air of familiarity, invited her to

bring her oranges to his lodgings next morning. On this Miss Jennings, who was as virtuous as lovely, pushed

him away with violence, and forgetting the character she assumed, commenced rebuking his insolence, much

to the amusement and surprise of the bystanders. Fearing detection of their identity, Miss Price pulled her

Miss Jennings was after this incident anxious to forego her visit to the astrologer, and return to Whitehall, but

her companion declaring this would be a shameful want of spirit, they once more entered a hackneycoach,

and requested they might be driven to the lodgings of the learned Doctor Bendo. Their adventures for the

evening were unfortunately not yet at an end; for just as they entered Tower Street they saw Henry Brinker,

one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber to the Duke of York. Now it happened this courtier had been dining

with a citizen of worth and wealth, whose house he was about to leave the moment the maids of honour drove

by. They, knowing him to be a man remarkable for his gallantries, were anxious to avoid his observation, and

therefore directed the driver to proceed a few doors beyond their destination; but he, having caught sight of

two pretty orange wenches, followed the coach and promptly stepping up as they alighted, made some bold

observations to them. On this both turned away their heads that they might avoid his gaze, a proceeding

which caused him to observe them with closer scrutiny, when he immediately recognised them, without

however intimating his knowledge. He therefore fell to teasing them, and finally left them with no very

pleasant remarks ringing in their ears, concerning the virtue which obtained among maids of honour, for he

Overwhelmed with confusion, they walked towards the goldsmith's shop, over which the oracle delivered

wisdom; but being no longer in a humour to heed his words, they presently resolved on driving back to

Whitehall with all possible speed. But alas! on turning round they beheld their driver waging war with a

crowd which had gathered about his vehicle; for having left their oranges in the coach, some boys had

essayed to help themselves, whereon the man fell foul of them. But he, being one against many, was like to

fare badly at their hands; seeing which, the maids of honour persuaded him to let the crowd take the fruit and

drive them back at once. This conduct had not the effect of appeasing those who profited by its generosity;

for the gentlewomen were greeted with most foul abuse, and many unworthy charges were laid to their

account in language more vigorous than polished. And having at last arrived in safety at Whitehall, they

After various strange experiences in his character as doctor of medicine and teller of fortunes, of the

weakness of human nature and strength of common credulity, the learned Alexander Bendo vanished from

the city; and about the same time the gallant Earl of Rochester appeared at court, where he sought for and

obtained the merry monarch's pardon. The wonderful stories he was enabled to relate, piquant in detail, and

sparkling with wit, rendered it delightful to the king, in whose favour he soon regained his former supremacy.

Nay, Charles even determined to enrich and reward him, not indeed from the resources of his privy purse, his

majesty's income being all too little for his mistresses' rapacity, but by uniting him to a charming woman and

The lady whom his majesty selected for this purpose was Elizabeth Mallett, daughter of Lord Hawley of

Donamore. Now this gentlewoman had a fortune of two thousand five hundred a year, a considerable sum in

those days, and one which gained her many suitors; amongst whom Lord Hinchingbrook was commended by

her family, and Lord Rochester by the king. Now the latter nobleman, having but a poor estate, was anxious

to obtain her wealth, and fearful of losing his suit: and being uncertain as to whether he could gain her

consent to marry him by fair means, he resolved to obtain it by execution of a daring scheme.

This was to carry her off by force, an action which highly commended itself to his adventurous spirit.

Accordingly he selected a night on which the heiress supped at Whitehall with her friend Miss Stuart, for

conducting his enterprise. It therefore happened that as Elizabeth Mallett was returning home from the palace

in company with her grandfather, their coach was suddenly stopped at Charing Cross. Apprehending some

danger, Lord Hawley looked out, and by the red light of a score of torches flashing through darkness, saw he

was surrounded by a band of armed men, both afoot and on horse. Their action was prompt and decisive, for

before either my lord or his granddaughter was aware of their intention, the latter was seized, forcibly lifted

from the coach, and transferred to another which awaited close at hand. This was driven by six horses, and

occupied by two women, who received the heiress with all possible respect. No sooner had she been placed in

the coach than the horses were set to a gallop, and away she sped, surrounded by a company of horsemen.

Lord Hawley was cast into the uttermost grief and passion by this outrage; but his condition did not prevent

him speedily gathering a number of friends and retainers, in company with whom he gave chase to those who

had abducted his granddaughter; and so fast did they ride that Mistress Mallett was overtaken at Uxbridge,

and carried back in safety to town. For this outrageous attempt, my Lord Rochester was by the king's

command committed to the Tower, there to await his majesty's good pleasure. It seemed now as if the earl's

chance of gaining the heiress had passed away for ever; inasmuch as Charles regarded the attempted

But the ways of women being inexplicable, it happened in a brief while Mistress Mallett was inclined to

regret my Lord Rochester's imprisonment, and therefore moved to have him released; and, moreover, she was

subsequently pleased to regard his suit and accept him as her wedded lord. It speaks favourably for his

character that with all his faults she loved him well: nor did Rochester, though occasionally unfaithful, ever

treat her with unkindness. At times the old spirit of restlessness and passion for adventure would master him,

when he would withdraw himself from her society for weeks and months. But she, though sadly afflicted by

such conduct, did not resent it. "If I could have been troubled at anything, when I had the happiness of

receiving a letter from you," she writes to him on one occasion when he had absented himself from her for

long, "I should be so because you did not name a time when I might hope to see you, the uncertainty of which

very much afflicts me." And again the poor patient wife tells him, "Lay your commands upon me, what I am

to do, and though it be to forget my children, and the long hope I have lived in of seeing you, yet I will

endeavour to obey you; or in memory only torment myself, without giving you the trouble of putting you in

mind that there lives such a creature as your faithful humble servant." At length dissipation undermined his

naturally strong constitution; and for months this once most gay and gallant man, this "noble and beautiful

earl," lay dying of that cruel disease consumption. The while such thoughts as come to those who reason of

life's vanities beset him; and as he descended into the valley of shadows, the folly of this world's ways was

made clear to him. And repenting of his sins, he died in peace with God and man at the age of

George Villiers second Duke of Buckingham, was not less notable than my Lord Rochester. By turns he

played such diverse parts in life's strange comedy as that of a spendthrift and a miser, a profligate and a

philosopher, a statesman who sought the ruin of his country, and a courtier who pandered to the pleasures of

his king. But inasmuch as this history is concerned with the social rather than the political life of those

mentioned in its pages, place must be given to such adventures as were connected with the court and

courtiers. Buckingham's were chiefly concerned with his intrigues, which, alas! were many and strange; for

though his wife was loving and virtuous, she was likewise lean and brown, and wholly incapable of

controlling his erring fancies. Perhaps it was knowledge of her lack of comeliness which helped her to bear

the burden of his follies; for according to Madame Dunois, though the duchess knew he was continually

engaged in amours, she, by virtue of a patience uncommon to her sex, forbore mentioning the subject to him,

and "had complaisance enough to entertain his mistresses, and even lodge them in her house, all which she

The most remarkable of his intrigues was that which connected his name with the Countess of Shrewsbury.

Her ladyship, was daughter of the second Earl of Cardigan, and wife of the eleventh Earl of Shrewsbury. She

was married a year previous to the restoration, and upon the establishment of the court at Whitehall had

become one of its most distinguished beauties. Nor was she less famed for the loveliness of her person than

for the generosity of her disposition; inasmuch as none who professed themselves desirous of her affection

were ever allowed to languish in despair. She therefore had many admirers, some of whom were destined to

Now one of the first to gain her attachment was the young Earl of Arran, the grace of whose bearing and

ardour of whose character were alike notable to the court. The verses he sung her to an accompaniment of his

guitar, and the glances he gave her indicative of his passion, might have melted a heart less cold than hers.

Accordingly they gained him a friendship which, by reason of her vast benevolence, many were subsequently

destined to share. Now it chanced that the little Jermyn, who had already succeeded in winning the affections

of such notable women as the poor Princess of Orange and my Lady Castlemaine, and had besides conducted

a series of minor intrigues with various ladies connected with the court, was somewhat piqued that Lady

Shrewsbury had accepted my Lord Arran's attentions without encouraging his. For Henry Jermyn, by virtue

of the fascinations he exercised and the consequent reputation he enjoyed, expected to be wooed by such

But when, later on, Lord Arran's devotion to the lady was succeeded by that of Thomas Howard, brother to

the Earl of Carlisle, and captain of the guards, Jermyn was thoroughly incensed, and resolved to make an

exception in favour of the countess by beginning those civilities which act as preludes to intrigue. My lady,

who was not judicious enough to be off with the old love before she was on with the new, accepted Jermyn's

advances with an eagerness that gave promise of further favours. This was highly displeasing to Howard, a

brave and generous man, who under an exterior of passive calmness concealed a spirit of fearless courage.

Though not desirous of picking a quarrel with his rival, he was unwilling to suffer his impertinent

interference. Jermyn, on the other hand, not being aware of Howard's real character, sought an early

opportunity of insulting him. Such being their dispositions, a quarrel speedily ensued, which happened in this

One fair summer day Captain Howard gave an entertainment at Spring Gardens, in honour of the countess.

These gardens were situated close by Charing Cross, and opened into the spacious walks of St. James's Park.

Bounded on one side by a grove, and containing leafy arbours and numerous thickets, the gardens were

"contrived to all the advantages of gallantry." The scene of many an intrigue, they were constantly frequented

by denizens of the court and dwellers in the city, to whom they afforded recreation and pleasure. In the centre

of these fair gardens stood a cabaret, or house of entertainment, where repasts were served at exceeding high

prices, and much good wine was drunk. Here it was Captain Howard received my Lady Shrewsbury and a

goodly company, spread a delicate banquet for them, and for their better diversion provided some excellent

music played upon the bagpipes, by a soldier noted for his execution on that instrument.

Jermyn hearing of the great preparations Captain Howard made, resolved to be present on the occasion; and

accordingly, before the hour appointed for dinner, betook himself to the garden, and as if he had arrived there

by accident, strolled leisurely down the broad pleasant paths, bordered by pinks and fragrant roses clustering

in the hedgerows. And presently drawing nigh the cabaret, he tarried there until the countess, rich in physical

graces, with sunny smiles upon her lips, and amorous light in her eyes, stepped forth upon the balcony and

greeted him. Whereon his heart took fire: and entering the house, he joined her where she stood, and held

pleasant converse with her. Inflated by his success, he resolved on making himself disagreeable to the host,

and therefore ventured to criticize the entertainment, and ridicule the music, which he voted barbarous to

civilized ears. And to such an extent did he outrage Thomas Howard, that the gallant captain, being more of a

soldier than a courtier, and therefore preferring passages at arms to those of wit, could scarce refrain from

However, he subdued his wrath till the day was spent, and early next morning sent a challenge to his rival.

Accordingly they met with fierce intent, and the duel which followed ended almost fatally for Jermyn, who

was carried from the scene of encounter bleeding from three wounds caused by his antagonist's sword.

The unfortunate issue of this fight deprived Lady Shrewsbury of two lovers; for Howard, having rendered

Jermyn unable to perform the part of a gallant, was obliged to fly from the country and remain abroad some

In their stead the countess sought consolation in the companionship of Thomas Killigrew, a handsome man

and a notable courtier. She therefore had no regrets for the past: and he was entirely happy in the present, so

that he boasted of his felicities to all acquaintance, in general, and to his friend the Duke of Buckingham in

particular. It was Killigrew's constant habit to sup with his grace, on which occasions his conversation

invariably turned on her ladyship, when, his imagination being heated by wine, he freely endowed her with

the perfections of a goddess. To such descriptions the duke could not listen unmoved; and therefore resolved

to judge for himself if indeed the countess was such a model of loveliness as Killigrew represented.

Accordingly, at the first opportunity which presented itself, the duke made love to her, and she, nothing

averse to his attentions, encouraged his affections. Killigrew was much aggrieved at this unexpected turn of

affairs, and bitterly reproached the countess; but she, being mistress of the situation, boldly denied all

This was more than he expected or could endure, and he consequently abused her roundly in all companies,

characterizing the charms of which he once boasted as faults he could not endure; ridiculing her airs, and

denouncing her conduct. Reports of his comments and discourses speedily reached Lady Shrewsbury's ears;

and he was privately warned that if he did not desist means would be taken to silence him effectually. Not

being wise enough to accept this hint he continued to vilify her. The result was, one night when returning

from the Duke of York's apartments he was suddenly waylaid in St. James's Park, and three passes of a sword

made at him through his chair, one of which pierced his arm. Not doubting they had despatched him to a

better world, His assailants made their escape; and my Lady Shrewsbury, who singularly enough happened to

be passing at the time in her coach, and had stopped to witness the proceedings, drove off as speedily as six

Knowing it would be impossible to trace the villainy which had prompted this deed to its source, Killigrew

said not a word concerning the murderous attempt, and henceforth held his peace regarding his late mistress's

imperfections. For some time she continued her intrigue with the Duke of Buckingham without interference.

But in an evil hour it happened the Earl of Shrewsbury, who had long entertained a philosophical indifference

towards her previous amours, now undertook to defend his honour, which it was clear his Grace of

Accordingly he challenged the duke to combat, and in due time they met face to face in a field by Barnes

Elms. His grace had as seconds Sir Robert Holmes and Captain William Jenkins; the earl being supported by

Sir John Talbot and Bernard Howard, son of my Lord Arundel. The fight was brief and bloody; Lord

Shrewsbury, being run through the body, was carried from the field in an insensible condition. The duke

received but a slight wound, but his friend Captain Jenkins was killed upon the spot. The while swords

clashed, blood flowed, and lives hung in a balance, the woman who wrought this evil stood close by,

disguised as a page, holding the bridle of her lover's horse, as Lord Orford mentions.

In consequence of this duel the Duke of Buckingham absented himself from the capital; but two months after

its occurrence King Charles was pleased, "in contemplation of the services heretofore done to his majesty by

most of the persons engaged in the late duel or rencontre, to graciously pardon the said offence." Three

months after the day on which he fought, Lord Shrewsbury died from effects of his wounds, when the duke

boldly carried the widow to his home. The poor duchess, who had patiently borne many wrongs, could not

stand this grievous and public insult, and declared she would not live under the same roof with so shameless a

woman. "So I thought, madam," rejoined her profligate lord, "and have therefore ordered your coach to

The countess continued to live with her paramour; nor was the court scandalized. The queen, it is true, openly

espoused the cause of the outraged duchess, and sought to enlist sympathy on her behalf; but so low was the

tone of public morality that her words were unheeded, and no voice was raised in protest against this glaring

infamy. Nay, the duke went further still in his efforts towards injuring the wife to whom he owed so much,

and who loved him overwell; as he caused his chaplain, the Rev. Thomas Sprat, to marry him to my Lady

Shrewsbury; and subsequently conferred on the son to which she gave birth, and for whom the king stood

godfather, his second title of Earl of Coventry. His wife was henceforth styled by the courtiers Dowager

Duchess of Buckingham. It is worthy of mention that the Rev. Thomas Sprat in good time became Bishop of

Rochester, and, it is written, "an ornament to the church among those of the highest order."

One of the most extraordinary characters which figured in this reign was Thomas Blood, sometimes styled

colonel. He was remarkable for his great strength, high courage, and love of adventure. The son of an Irish

blacksmith, he had, on the outbreak of civil warfare in his native country, joined Cromwell's army; and for

the bravery he evinced was raised to the rank of lieutenant, rewarded by a substantial grant of land, and

finally made a justice of the peace. At the restoration he was deprived of this honour, as he was likewise of

the property he called his, which was returned to its rightful owner, an honest royalist. Wholly dissatisfied

with a government which dealt him such hardships, he organised a plot to raise an insurrection in Ireland,

storm Dublin Castle, and seize the Duke of Ormond, then lord lieutenant. This dark scheme was discovered

by his grace; the chief conspirators were accordingly seized, with the exception of Blood, who succeeded in

From Holland, Blood journeyed into England, where, becoming acquainted with some republicans, he

entered into projects with them calculated to disturb the nation's peace; which fact becoming known, he was

obliged to seek refuge in Scotland. Here he found fresh employment for his restless energies, and in the year

1666 succeeded in stirring up some malcontents to rebellion. The revolt being quelled, he escaped to Ireland;

and after a short stay in that country returned once more to England, where he sought security in disguise.

He lived here in peace until 1670, when he made an attempt no less remarkable for its ingenuity than notable

for its villainy. Towards the end of that year the Prince of Orange, being in London, was invited by the lord

mayor to a civic banquet. Thither the Duke of Ormond attended him, and subsequently accompanied him to

St. James's, where the prince then stayed. A short distance from the palace gates stood Clarendon House,

where the duke then resided, and towards which he immediately drove, on taking leave of his royal highness.

Scarce had he proceeded a dozen yards up St. James's Street, when his coach was suddenly stopped by a band

of armed and mounted men, who, hurriedly surrounding his grace, dragged him from the carriage and

mounted him on a horse behind a stalwart rider. Word of command being then given, the gang started at a

brisk pace down Piccadilly. Prompted by enemies of the duke, as well as urged by his own desires to avenge

his loss of property and the death of his fellowconspirators, Blood resolved to hang him upon the gallows at

Tyburn. That he might accomplish this end with greater speed and security, he, leaving his victim securely

buckled and tied to the fellow behind whom he had been mounted, galloped forward in advance to adjust the

No sooner did the echo of his horse's hoofs die away, than the duke, recovering the stupor this sudden attack

had caused, became aware that now was his opportunity to effect escape, if, indeed, such were possible. He to

whom his grace was secured was a burly man possessed of great strength; the which Lord Ormond, being

now past his sixtieth year, had not. However, life was dear to him, and therefore he began struggling with the

fellow; and finally getting his foot under the villain's, he unhorsed him, when both fell heavily to the ground.

Meanwhile his grace's coach having driven to Clarendon House, the footmen had given an account of the

daring manner in which his abduction had been effected. On this an alarm was immediately raised, and the

porter, servants, and others hastened down Piccadilly in search of their master, fast as good horses could

They had proceeded as far as the village of Knightsbridge, when reports of muskets, cries for help, and

sounds of a scuffle they could not see for darkness, fell upon their ears, and filled them with alarm. The

whole neighbourhood seemed startled, lights flashed, dogs barked, and many persons rushed towards the

scene of encounter. Aware of this, the miscreants who had carried off the duke discharged their pistols at him,

and leaving him, as they supposed, for dead, fled to avoid capture, and were seen or heard of no more. His

grace was carried in an insensible condition to a neighbouring house, but not having received serious hurt,

recovered in a few days. The court and town were strangely alarmed by this outrage; nor as time passed was

there any clue obtained to its perpetrators, though the king offered a thousand pounds reward for their

The duke and his family, however, had little doubt his grace of Buckingham was instigator of the deed; and

Lord Ossory was resolved the latter should be made aware of their conviction. Therefore, entering the royal

drawingroom one day, he saw the duke standing beside his majesty, and going forward addressed him. "My

lord," said he in a bold tone, whilst he looked him full in the face, "I know well that you are at the bottom of

this late attempt upon my father; and I give you fair warning, if my father comes to a violent end by sword or

pistol, or if he dies by the hand of a ruffian, or by the more secret way of poison, I shall not be at a loss to

know the first author of it: I shall consider you as the assassin; I shall treat you as such; and wherever I meet

you I shall pistol you, though you stood behind the king's chair; and I tell you it in his majesty's presence, that

you may be sure I shall keep my word." No further attempt was made upon the Duke of Ormond's life.

Scarce six months elapsed from date of the essayed abduction, before Blood endeavoured to steal the regalia

and royal jewels preserved in the Tower. The courage which prompted the design is not more remarkable

than the skill which sought to effect it; both were worthy a man of genius. In the month of April, 1671,

Blood, attired in the cassock, cloak, and canonical girdle of a clergyman, together with a lady, whom he

represented as his wife, visited the Tower on purpose to see the crown. With their desire Mr. Edwards, the

keeper, an elderly man and a worthy, readily complied. It chanced they were no sooner in the room where the

regalia was kept, than the lady found herself taken suddenly and unaccountably ill, and indeed feared she

must die; before bidding adieu to life, she begged for a little whisky. This was promptly brought her, and

Mrs. Edwards, who now appeared upon the scene, invited the poor gentlewoman to rest upon her bed. Whilst

she complied with this kind request, the clergyman and Edwards had time to improve their acquaintance,

And presently the lady recovering, she and her spouse took their leave with many expressions of gratitude

and respect. Four days later, the good parson called on Mrs. Edwards, in order to present her with four pairs

of fine new gloves, which she was pleased to receive. This gracious act paved the way to further friendship,

which at last found its climax in a proposal of marriage made by the parson on behalf of his nephew, for the

hand of young Mistress Edwards. "You have a pretty gentlewoman for your daughter," said the clergyman,

"and I have a young nephew, who has two or three hundred pounds a year in land, and is at my disposal; if

your daughter be free, and you approve of it, I will bring him hither to see her, and we will endeavour to

To this project Edwards readily consented, and invited the clergyman and the young man to spend a day with

him when they could discourse on the subject with greater leisure and more satisfaction. This was cordially

agreed to by the parson, who, with the bridegroom elect and two of his friends, presented themselves on the

appointed date, as early as seven of the clock in the morning. Edwards was up betimes; but the good

clergyman, apologizing for the untimely hour of their arrival, which he attributed to his nephew's eagerness

for sight of his mistress, declared he would not enter the keeper's apartments until Mrs. Edwards was ready to

receive them. However, in order to pass the time, he begged his host might show the jewels to their young

With this petition Edwards complied readily enough. One of the men, protesting he did not care to see the

treasures, waited at the door; the other three entered with the keeper, who was no sooner inside the room than

a cloak was thrown over his head, a gag, constructed of wood with a hole in it by which he might breathe,

clapped into his mouth, and the more effectually to prevent him making a noise, an iron ring was fastened to

his nose. He was told if he attempted an alarm he would be instantly killed, but if he remained quiet his life

should be spared. Blood and his two accomplices then seized upon the crown, orb, and sceptre, seeing which,

Edwards made as much noise as he possibly could by stamping on the floor, whereon the robbers struck him

with a mallet on the head, stabbed him with a short sword in the side, and left him, as they thought, for dead.

Blood then secured the regalia under his cloak, one of his companions put the orb into his breeches pocket,

whilst the other proceeded to file the sceptre that it might be more conveniently carried.

Now, at this moment it happened the keeper's son, who had been absent in Flanders, returned to his father's

home. He who stood sentinel asked him with whom he would speak, whereon young Edwards said he

belonged to the house, and so passed to the apartments where his family resided. The other giving notice of

his arrival, the robbers hastened to depart, leaving the sceptre behind them. No sooner had they gone, than the

old man struggled to his feet, dragged the gag from his mouth, and cried out in fright:

"Treasonmurdermurdertreason!" On this his daughter rushed down, and seeing the condition of her

father, and noting the absence of the regalia, continued his cry, adding, "The crown is

Young Edwards and another who heard her, Captain Beekman, now gave pursuit to the robbers, who had

already got beyond the main guard. Word was instantly shouted to the warder of the drawbridge to stop the

villains, but Blood was equal to this emergency; coolly advancing, he discharged his pistol at the man, who

instantly fell. The thieves then crossed the bridge, passed through the outward gate, and made for the street

close by, where their horses awaited them, crying the while, "Stop thief! stop thief!" Before they advanced

far, Captain Beekman came up with Blood, who, turning quickly round, fired his second pistol at the head of

his pursuer; but Beekman, suddenly stooping, escaped injury, and sprang at the throat of his intended

assassin. A struggle then ensued. Blood was a man of powerful physique, but Beekman was lithe and

vigorous, and succeeded in holding the rogue until help arrived. In the contest, the regalia fell to the ground,

when a fair diamond and a priceless pearl were lost; they were, however, eventually recovered. The other

Certain death now faced Blood; but the wonderful luck which had befriended him during life did not desert

him now. At this time the Duke of Buckingham was high in favour with the king, and desirous of saving one

who had secretly served him; or fearing exposure if Blood made a full confession, his grace impressed

Charles with a desire to see the man who had perpetrated so daring a deed, saying he must be one possessed

of extraordinary spirit. Giving ready ear to his words, the monarch consented to have an interview with the

Those who heard of the king's resolution felt satisfied Blood need not despair of life; "for surely," said Sir

Robert Southwell, on becoming aware of his majesty's design, "no king should wish to see a malefactor but

with intentions to pardon him." Now Blood, being a man of genius, resolved to play his part during the

audience in a manner which would favourably impress the king. Therefore when Charles asked him how he

had dared attempt so bold a robbery, Blood made answer he had lost a fine property by the crown, and was

resolved to recover it with the crown. Diverted by his audacity his majesty questioned him further, when

Blood confessed to his attempted abduction of the Duke of Ormond, but refused to name his accomplices.

Nay, he narrated various other adventures, showing them in a romantic light; and finally concluded by telling

the king he had once entered into a design to take his sacred life by rushing upon him with a carbine from out

of the reeds by the Thames side, above Battersea, when he went to swim there; but he was so awed by

majesty his heart misgave him, and he not only relented, but persuaded the remainder of his associates from

This strange interview resulted in Charles pardoning Blood his many crimes. The Duke of Ormond, at his

majesty's request, likewise forgave him. Nor did the king's interest in the villain end here; for he gave him a

pension of five hundred pounds a year, and admitted him to his private friendship. Blood was therefore

constantly at court, and made one of that strange assembly of wits and profligates which surrounded the

throne. "No man," says Carte the historian, "was more assiduous than he. If anyone had a business at court

that stuck, he made his application to Blood as the most industrious and successful solicitor; and many

gentlemen courted his acquaintance, as the Indians pray to the devil, that he may not hurt them. He was

perpetually in the royal apartments, and affected particularly to be in the same room where the Duke of

Ormond was, to the indignation of all others, though neglected and overlooked by his grace."

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

It came to pass during the fifth month of the year 1665, that a great terror fell upon the city of London; even

as a sombre cloud darkens the midday sky. For it was whispered abroad a plague had come amongst the

people, fears of which had been entertained, and signs of which had been obvious for some time. During the

previous November a few persons had fallen victims to this dreaded pestilence, but the weather being cold

and the atmosphere clear, it had made no progress till April. In that month two men had died of this most foul

disease; and in the first week of May its victims numbered nine; and yet another fortnight and it had hurried

Now the memory of their wickedness rising before them, dread took up its abode in all men's hearts; for none

knew but his day of reckoning was at hand. And their consternation was greater when it was remembered that

in the third year of this century thirty six thousand citizens of London had died of the plague, while

twentyfive years later it had swept away thirtyfive thousand; and eleven years after full ten thousand

persons perished of this same pestilence. Moreover, but two years previous, a like scourge had been rife in

Holland; and in Amsterdam alone twenty four thousand citizens had died from its effects.

And the terror of the citizens of London was yet more forcibly increased by the appearance in April of a

blazing star or comet, bearing a tail apparently six yards in length, which rose betimes in a lurid sky, and

passed with ominous movement from west to east. [It is worthy of notice that Lilly in his "Astrological

Predictions," published in 1648, declared the year 1656 would be "ominous to London, unto her merchants at

sea, to her traffique at land, to her poor, to her rich, to all sorts of people inhabiting in her or her Liberties, by

reason of sundry fires and a consuming plague."] The king with his queen and court, prompted by curiosity,

stayed up one night to watch this blazing star pass above the silent city; the Royal Society in behalf of science

embodied many learned comments regarding it in their "Philosophical Transactions;" but the great body of

the people regarded it as a visible signal of God's certain wrath. They were more confirmed in this opinion, as

some amongst them, whose judgments were distorted by fears, declared the comet had at times before their

eyes assumed the appearance of a fiery sword threatening the sinful city. It was also noted in the spring of

this year that birds and wild fowls had left their accustomed places, and few swallows were seen. But in the

previous summer there had been "such a multitude of flies that they lined the insides of houses; and if any

threads of strings did hang down in any place, they were presently thickset with flies like ropes of onions;

and swarms of ants covered the highways that you might have taken up a handful at a time, both winged and

creeping ants; and such a multitude of croaking frogs in ditches that you might have heard them before you

saw them," as is set down by one William Boghurst, apothecary at the White Hart in St. Gilesin

theFields, who wrote a learned "Treatis on the Plague" in 1666, he being the only man who up to that time

had done so from experience and observation. [This quaint and curious production, which has never been

printed, and which furnishes the following pages with some strange details, is preserved in the Sloane

Collection of Manuscripts in the British Museum.] And from such signs, as likewise from knowledge that the

pestilence daily increased, all felt a season of bitter tribulation was at hand.

According to "Some Observations of the Plague," written by Dr. Hedges for use of a peer of the realm, the

dread malady was communicated to London from the Netherlands "by way of contagion." It first made its

appearance in the parishes of St. Giles and St. Martin's, Westminster, from which directions it gradually

spread to Holborn, Fleet Street, the Strand, and the city, finally reaching to the east, bringing death invariably

The distemper was not only fatal in its termination, but loathsome in its progress; for the blood of those

affected being poisoned by atmospheric contagion, bred venom in the body, which burst forth into nauseous

sores and uncleanness; or otherwise preyed with more rapid fatality internally, in some cases causing death

before its victims were assured of disease. Nor did it spare the young and robust any more than those weak of

frame or ripe with years, but attacking stealthily, killed speedily. It was indeed the "pestilence that walketh in

darkness, and the destruction that wasteth in the noonday." In the month of May, when it was yet uncertain if

the city would be spared even in part, persons of position and wealth, and indeed those endowed with

sufficient means to support themselves elsewhere, resolved to fly from the capital; whilst such as had neither

home, friends, nor expectation of employment in other places, remained behind. Accordingly great

preparations were made by those who determined on flight; and all day long vast crowds gathered round my

lord mayor's house in St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, seeking certificates of health, so that for some weeks it was

difficult to reach his door for the throng that gathered there, as is stated by John Noorthouck. Such official

testimonies to the good health of those leaving London had now become necessary; for the inhabitants of

provincial towns, catching the general alarm, refused to shelter in their houses, or even let pass through their

streets, the residents of the plaguestricken city, unless officially assured they were free from the dreaded

distemper. Nay, even with such certificates in their possession, many were refused admittance to inns, or

houses of entertainment, and were therefore obliged to sleep in fields by night, and beg food by day, and not a

And now were the thoroughfares of the capital crowded all day long with coaches conveying those who

sought safety in flight, and with waggons and carts containing their household goods and belongings, until it

seemed as if the city mould be left without a soul. Many merchants and shipowners together with their

families betook themselves to vessels, which they caused to be towed down the river towards Greenwich, and

in which they resided for months; whilst others sought refuge in smacks and fishing boats, using them as

shelters by day, and lodging on the banks by night. Some few families remaining in the capital laid in stores

of provisions, and shutting themselves up securely in their houses, permitted none to enter or leave, by which

means some of them escaped contagion and death. The court tarried until the 29th of June, and then left for

Hampton, none too soon, for the pestilence had reached almost to the palace gates. The queen mother

All through the latter part of May, and the whole of the following month, this flight from the dread enemy of

mankind continued; presenting a melancholy spectacle to those who remained, until at last the capital seemed

veritably a city of the dead. But for the credit of humanity be it stated, that not all possessed of health and

wealth abandoned the town. Prominent amongst those who remained were the Duke of Albemarle, Lord

Craven, the lord mayor, Sir John Laurence, some of his aldermen, and a goodly number of physicians,

chirurgeons, and apothecaries, all of whom by their skill or exertions sought to check the hungry ravages of

death. The offices which medical men voluntarily performed during this period of dire affliction were

loathsome to a terrible degree. "I commonly dressed forty sores in a day," says Dr. Boghurst, whose simple

words convey a forcible idea of his nobility; "held the pulse of patients sweating in their beds half a quarter of

an hour together; let blood; administered clysters to the sick; held them up in their beds to keep them from

strangling and choking, half an hour together commonly, and suffered their breathing in my face several

times when they were dying; eat and drank with them, especially those that had sores; sat down by their

bedsides and upon their beds, discoursing with them an hour together. If I had time I stayed by them to see

them die. Then if people had nobody to help them (for help was scarce at such time and place) I helped to lay

them forth out of the bed, and afterwards into the coffin; and last of all, accompanied them to the ground."

Of the physicians remaining in the city, nine fell a sacrifice to duty. Amongst those who survived was the

learned Dr. Nathaniel Hodges, who was spared to meet a philanthropist's fate in penury and neglect. [Dr.

Hodges subsequently wrote a work entitled "Loimologia; or, an Historical Account of the Plague of London,"

first published in 1672; of which, together with a collection of the bills of mortality for 1665, entitled

"London's Dreadful Visitation," and a pamphlet by the Rev. Thomas Vincent, "God's Terrible Voice in the

City," printed in 1667, De Foe largely availed himself in writing his vivid but unreliable "Journal of the

Plague Year," which first saw the light in 1722.] The king had, on outbreak of the distemper, shown

solicitude for his citizens by summoning a privy council, when a committee of peers was formed for

"Prevention and Spreading of the Infection." Under their orders the College of Physicians drew up "Certain

necessary Directions for the Prevention and Cure of the Plague, with Divers remedies for small Change,"

which were printed in pamphlet form, and widely distributed amongst the people. [We learn that at this time

the College was stored with "men of learning, virtue, and probity, nothing acquainted with the little arts of

getting a name by plotting against the honesty and credulity of the people." The prescriptions given by this

worthy body were consequently received with a simple faith which later and more sceptical generations

might deny them. Perhaps the most remarkable of these directions, given under the heading of "Medicines

External," was the following: "Pull off the feathers from the tails of living cocks, hens, pigeons, or chickens,

and holding their bills, hold them hard to the botch or swelling, and so keep them at that part until they die,

and by that means draw out the poison. It is good to apply a cupping glass, or embers in a dish, with a handful

The lord mayor, having likewise the welfare of the people at heart, "conceived and published" rules to be

observed, and orders to be obeyed, by them during this visitation. These directed the appointment of two

examiners for every parish, who were bound to discover those who were sick, and inquire into the nature of

their illness: and finding persons afflicted by plague, they, with the members of their family and domestics,

were to be confined in their houses. These were to be securely locked outside, and guarded day and night by

watchmen, whose duty it should be to prevent persons entering or leaving those habitations; as likewise to

perform such offices as were required, such as conveying medicines and food. And all houses visited by the

distemper were to be forthwith marked on the door by a red cross a foot long, with the words LORD HAVE

MERCY UPON US set close over the same sacred sign. Female searchers, "such as are of honest reputation,

and of the best sort as can be got of the kind," were selected that they might report of what disease people

died; such women not being permitted during this visitation to use any public work or employment, or keep

shop or stall, or wash linen for the people. Nurses to attend the afflicted deserted by their friends were also

appointed. And inasmuch as multitudes of idle rogues and wandering beggars swarming the city were a great

means of spreading disease, the constables had orders not to suffer their presence in the streets. And dogs and

cats, being domestic animals, apt to run from house to house, and carry infection in their fur and hair, an

order was made that they should be killed, and an officer nominated to see it carried into execution. It was

computed that, in accordance with this edict, forty thousand dogs, and five times that number of cats, were

All plays bearbaitings, exhibitions, and games were forbidden; as were likewise "all public feasting, and

particularly by the companies of the city, and dinners at taverns, alehouses, and other places of common

entertainment; and the money thereby spared, be employed for the benefit and relief of the poor visited with

the infection." Pesthouses were opened at Tothill Fields, Westminster, and at Bunhill Fields, near Old

Street, for reception of the sick: and indeed every possible remedy calculated to check the disease was

adopted. Some of these, though considered necessary to the wellbeing of the community, were by many

citizens regarded as hardships, more especially the rule which related to closing of infected houses.

The misery endured by those in health suffering such confinement, was scarcely less than that realized by the

afflicted. And fear making way for disease, it frequently occurred a whole family, when confined with one

infected member, speedily became stricken by plague, and consequently overtaken by death. It therefore

happened that many attempts were made by those in health to escape incarceration. In some cases they

bribed, and in others illtreated the watchmen: one of whom was actually blown up by gunpowder in

Coleman Street, that those he guarded might flee unmolested. Again, it chanced that strong men, rendered

desperate when brought face to face with loathsome death, lowered themselves from windows of their houses

in sight of the watch, whom they threatened with instant death if they cried out or stirred.

The apprehension of the sick, who were in most cases deserted by their friends, was increased tenfold by the

practices of public nurses: for being hardened to affliction by nature of their employment, and incapable of

remorse for crime by reason of their vileness, they were guilty of many barbarous usages. "These wretches,"

says Dr. Hodges, "out of greediness to plunder the dead, would strangle their patients, and charge it to the

distemper in their throats. Others would secretly convey the pestilential taint from sores of the infected to

those who were well; and nothing indeed deterred these abandoned miscreants from prosecuting their

avaricious purposes by all methods their wickedness could invent; who, although they were without

witnesses to accuse them, yet it is not doubted but divine vengeance will overtake such wicked barbarities

with due punishment. Nay, some were remarkably struck from heaven in the perpetration of their crimes; and

one particularly amongst many, as she was leaving the house of a family, all dead, loaded with her robberies,

fell down lifeless under her burden in the street. And the case of a worthy citizen was very remarkable, who,

being suspected dying by his nurse, was beforehand stripped by her; but recovering again, he came a second

But notwithstanding all precautions and care taken by the Duke of Albemarle and the worthy lord mayor, the

dreadful pestilence spread with alarming rapidity; as may be judged from the fact that the number who died

in the first week of June amounted to fortythree, whilst during the last week of that month two hundred and

sixtyseven persons were carried to their graves. From the 4th of July to the 11th, seven hundred and

fiftyfive deaths were chronicled; the following eight days the death rate rose to one thousand and

eightytwo; whilst the ensuing week this high figure was increased by over eight hundred. For the month of

August, the mortality bill recorded seventeen thousand and thirtysix deaths; and during September,

The whole British nation was stricken with consternation at the fate of the capital. "In some houses," says Dr.

Hodges, speaking from personal experience, "carcases lay waiting for burial, and in others were persons in

their last agonies. In one room might be heard dying groans, in an other the ravings of delirium, and not far

off relations and friends bewailing both their loss and the dismal prospect of their own sudden departure.

Death was the sure midwife to all children, and infants passed immediately from the womb to the grave.

Some of the infected run about staggering like drunken men, and fall and expire in the streets; whilst others

lie half dead and comatose, but never to be waked but by the last trumpet." The plague had indeed

encompassed the walls of the city, and poured in upon it without mercy. A heavy stifling atmosphere,

vapours by day and blotting out all traces of stars and sky by night, hovered like a palpable shape of dire

vengeance above the doomed city. During many weeks "there was a general calm and serenity, as if both

wind and rain had been expelled the kingdom, so that there was not so much as to move a flame." The

oppressive silence of brooding death, unbroken now even by the passing bell, weighed stuporlike upon the

wretched survivors. The thoroughfares were deserted, grass sprang green upon sidepaths and steps of

dwellings; and the broad street in Whitechapel became like unto a field. Most houses bore upon their doors

the dread sign of the red cross, with the supplication for mercy written above. Some of the streets were

barricaded at both ends, the inhabitants either having fled into the country or been carried to their graves; and

it was estimated in all that over seven thousand dwellings were deserted. All commerce, save that dealing

with the necessaries of life, was abandoned; the parks forsaken and locked, the Inns of Court closed, and the

public marts abandoned. A few of the church doors were opened, and some gathered within that they might

humbly beseech pardon for the past, and ask mercy in the present. But as the violence of the distemper

increased, even the houses of God were forsaken; and those who ventured abroad walked in the centre of the

street, avoiding contact or conversation with friend or neighbour; each man dreading and avoiding his fellow,

lest he should be to him the harbinger of death. And all carried rue and wormwood in their hands, and myrrh

and zedoary in their mouths, as protection against infection. Now were the faces of all pale with

apprehension, none knowing when the fatal malady might carry them hence; and moreover sad, as became

And such sights were to be witnessed day after day as made the heart sick. "It would be endless," says the

Rev. Thomas Vincent, "to speak what we have seen and heard; of some, in their frenzy, rising out of their

beds and leaping about their rooms; others crying and roaring at their windows; some coming forth almost

naked and running into the streets; strange things have others spoken and done when the disease was upon

them: but it was very sad to hear of one, who being sick alone, and it is like frantic, burnt himself in his bed.

And amongst other sad spectacles methought two were very affecting: one of a woman coming alone and

weeping by the door where I lived, with a little coffin under her arm, carrying it to the new churchyard. I did

judge that it was the mother of the child, and that all the family besides was dead, and she was forced to

coffin up and bury with her own hands this her last dead child. Another was of a man at the corner of the

Artillery Wall, that as I judge, through the dizziness of his head with the disease, which seized upon him

there, had dashed his face against the wall; and when I came by he lay hanging with his bloody face over the

rails, and bleeding upon the ground; within half an hour he died in that place."

And as the pestilence increased, it was found impossible to provide coffins or even separate graves for those

who perished. And therefore, in order to bury the deceased, great carts passed through the streets after sunset,

attended by linkmen and preceded by a bellman crying in weird and solemn tones, "Bring out your dead." At

the intimation of the watchmen stationed before houses bearing red crosses upon their doors, the sad

procession would tarry, When coffinless, and oftentimes shroudless, rigid, loathsome, and malodorous bodies

were hustled into the carts with all possible speed. Then once more the melancholy cortege took its way

adown the dark, deserted street, the yellow glare of links falling on the ghastly burden they accompanied, the

dirgelike call of the bellman sounding on the ears of the living like a summons from the dead. And so,

receiving additional freight upon its way, the cart proceeded to one of the great pits dug in the parish

churchyards of Aldgate and Whitechapel, or in Finsbury Fields close by the Artillery Ground. These,

measuring about forty feet in length, eighteen in breadth, and twenty in depth, were destined to receive scores

of bodies irrespective of creed or class. The carts being brought to these dark and weirdsome gulphs, looking

all the blacker from the flickering lights of candles and garish gleams of lanterns placed beside them, the

bodies, without rite or ceremony, were shot into them, and speedily covered with clay. For the

accomplishment of this sad work night was found too brief. And what lent additional horror to the

circumstances of these burials was, that those engaged in this duty would occasionally drop lifeless during

their labour. So that it sometimes happened the deadcarts were found without driver, linkman, or bellman.

And it was estimated that the parish of Stepney alone lost one hundred and sixteen gravediggers and sextons

During the month of September, the pestilence raged with increased fury; and it now seemed as if the

merciless distemper would never cease whilst a single inhabitant remained in the city. The lord mayor,

having found all remedies to stay its progress utterly fail, by advice of the medical faculty, ordered that great

fires should be kindled in certain districts, by way of purifying the air, Accordingly, two hundred chaldrons

of coal, at four pounds a chaldron, were devoted to this purpose. At first the fires were with great difficulty

made to burn, through the scarcity, it was believed, of oxygen in the atmosphere; but once kindled, they

continued blazing for three days and three nights, when a heavy downpour of rain falling they were

extinguished. The following night death carried off four thousand souls, and the experiment of these

cleansing fires was discontinued. All through this month fear and tribulation continued; the death rate, from

the 5th of September to the 3rd of October, amounting to twentyfour thousand one hundred and

During October, the weather being cool and dry, the pestilence gave promise of rapid decrease. Hope came to

the people, and was received with eager greeting. Once more windows were unshuttered, doors were opened,

and the more venturous walked abroad. The great crisis had passed. In the middle of the month Mr. Pepys

travelled on foot to the Tower, and records his impressions. "Lord," he says, "how empty the streets are and

melancholy, so many poor sick people in the streets full of sores; and so many sad stories overheard as I

walk, everybody talking of this dead, and that man sick, and so many in this place, and so many in that. And

they tell me that in Westminster there is never a physician and but one apothecary left, all being dead; but that

The while, trade being discontinued, those who had lived by commerce or labour were supported by charity.

To this good purpose the king contributed a thousand pounds per week, and Dr. Sheldon, Archbishop of

Canterburywho remained at Lambeth during the whole timeby letters to his bishops, caused great sums

to be collected throughout the country and remitted to him for this laudable purpose. Nor did those of

position or wealth fail in responding to calls made upon them at this time; their contributions being

substantial enough to permit the lord mayor to distribute upwards of one hundred thousand pounds a week

In October the death rate fell to nine thousand four hundred and fortyfour; in November to three thousand

four hundred and forty nine; and in December to less than one thousand. Therefore, after a period of

unprecedented suffering, the people took courage once more, for life is dear to all men. And those who had

fled the plaguestricken city returned to find a scene of desolation, greater in its misery than words can

describe. But the tide of human existence having once turned, the capital gradually resumed its former

appearance. Shops which had been closed were opened afresh; houses whose inmates had been carried to the

grave became again centres of activity; the sound of traffic was heard in streets long silent; church bells

called the citizens to prayer; marts were crowded; and people wore an air of cheerfulness becoming the

The mortality bills computed the number of burials which took place in London during this year at

ninetyseven thousand three hundred and six, of which sixtyeight thousand five hundred find ninetysix

were attributed to the plague. This estimate has been considered by all historians as erroneous. For on the first

appearance of the distemper, the number of deaths set down was far below that which truth warranted, in

order that the citizens might not be affrighted; and when it was at its height no exact account of those shifted

from the deadcarts into the pits was taken. Moreover, many were buried by their friends in fields and

gardens. Lord Clarendon, an excellent authority, states that though the weekly bills reckoned the number of

deaths at about one hundred thousand, yet "many who could compute very well, concluded that there were in

truth double that number who died; and that in one week, when the bill mentioned only six thousand, there

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 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

Scarcely had the city of London recovered from the dire effects of the plague, ere a vast fire laid it waste. It

happened on the 2nd of September, 1666, that at two o'clock in the morning, the day being Sunday, smoke

and flames were seen issuing from the shop of a baker named Faryner, residing in Pudding Lane, close by

Fish Street, in the lower part of the city. The house being built of wood, and coated with pitch, as were

likewise those surrounding it, and moreover containing faggots, dried logs, and other combustible materials,

the fire spread with great rapidity: so that in a short time not only the baker's premises, but the homesteads

Accordingly, the watchman's lusty cry of "Fire, fire, fire!" which had roused the baker and his family in good

time to save their lives, was now shouted down the streets with consternation, startling sleepers from their

dreams, and awaking them to a sense of peril. Thereon they rose promptly from their beds, and hastily

throwing on some clothes, rushed out to rescue their neighbours' property from destruction, and subdue the

And speedily was heard the tramp of many feet hurrying to the scene, and the shouting of anxious voices

crying for help; and presently the bells of St. Margaret's church close by, ringing with wild uneven peals

through the darkness, aroused all far and near to knowledge of the disaster. For already the flames, fanned by

a high easterly wind, and fed by the dry timber of the picturesque old dwellings huddled close together, had

One of these being Thames Street, the consequence was terrible, for the shops and warehouses of this

thoroughfare containing inflammable materials, required for the shipping trade, such as oil, pitch, tar, and

rosin, the houses at one side the street were immediately wrapped, from basement to garret, in sheets of angry

flame. And now flaunting its yellow light skywards, as if exulting in its strength, and triumphing in its

mastery over men's efforts, the fire rushed to the church of St. Magnus, a dark solid edifice standing at the

foot of London Bridge. The frightened citizens concluded the conflagration must surely end here; or at least

that whilst it endeavoured to consume a dense structure such as this, they might succeed in subduing its force;

but their hopes were vain. At first the flames shot upwards to the tower of the building, but not gaining hold,

retreated as if to obtain fresh strength for new efforts; and presently darting forward again, they seized the

woodwork of the belfry windows. A few minutes later the church blazed at every point, and was in itself a

From this the fire darted to the bridge, burning the wooden houses built upon it, and the water machines

underneath, and likewise creeping up Thames Street, on that side which was yet undemolished. By this time

the bells of many churches rang out in sudden fright, as if appealing to heaven for mercy on behalf of the

people; and the whole east end of the town rose up in alarm. The entire city seemed threatened with

destruction, for the weather having long been dry and warm, prepared the homesteads for their fate; and it

was noted some of them, when scorched by the approaching fire, ignited before the flames had time to reach

Sir Thomas Bludworth, the lord mayor, now arrived in great haste, but so amazed was he at the sight he

beheld, and so bewildered by importunities of those who surrounded him, that he was powerless to act.

Indeed, his incapacity to direct, and inability to command, as well as his lack of moral courage, have been

heavily and frequently blamed. Bring a weak man, fearful of outstepping his authority, he at first forebore

pulling down houses standing in the pathway of the flames, as suggested to him, a means that would

assuredly have prevented their progress; but when urged to this measure would reply, he "durst not, without

the consent of the owners." And when at last, after great destruction had taken place, word was brought him

from the king to "spare no house, but pull them down everywhere before the fire," he cried out "like a

fainting woman," as Pepys recounts, "Lord! what can I do? I am spent; people will not obey me."

Meanwhile, great bodies of the citizens of all classes had been at work; some upon the cumbrous engines,

others carrying water, others levelling houses, but all their endeavours seemed powerless to quell the raging

flames. And it was notable when first the pipes in the streets were opened, no water could be found, whereon

a messenger was sent to the works at Islington, in order to turn on the cocks, so that much time was lost in

this manner. All through Sunday morning the flames extended far and wide, and in a few hours three hundred

houses were reduced to ashes. Not at midday, nor yet at night, did they give promise of abatement. The strong

easterly wind continuing to blow, the conflagration worked its way to Cannon Street, from thence gradually

encompassing the dwellings which lay between that thoroughfare and the Thames, till the whole seemed one

The streets now presented a scene of the uttermost confusion and distress. The affrighted citizens, whose

dwellings were momentarily threatened with destruction, hurried to and fro, striving to save those of their

families who by reason of infancy, age or illness were unable to help themselves. Women on the eve of

childbirth were carried from their beds; mothers with infants clinging to their naked breasts fled from homes

which would shelter them no more; the decrepit were borne away on the shoulders of the strong. The narrow

thoroughfares were moreover obstructed by furniture dragged from houses, or lowered from windows with a

reckless speed that oftentimes destroyed what it sought to preserve. Carts, drays, and horses laden with

merchandise jostled each other in their hurried way towards the fields outside the city walls. Men young and

vigorous crushed forward with beds or trunks upon their backs; children laboured under the weight of

bundles, or rolled barrels of oil, wine, or spirits before them. And the air, rendered suffocating by smoke and

flame, was moreover confused by the crackling of consuming timber, the thunder of falling walls, the

And those who lived near the waterside, or in houses on the bridges, hurried their goods and chattels into

boats, barges, and lighters, in which they likewise took refuge. For the destruction of wharfs and warehouses,

containing stores of most inflammable nature, was brief and desperate. The Thames, now bloodred from

reflection of the fierce sky, was covered with craft of all imaginable shape and size. Showers of sparks blown

by the high wind fell into the water with hissing sounds, or on the clothes and faces of the people with

disastrous and painful effects; and the smoke and heat were hard to bear. And it was remarked that flocks of

pigeons, which for generations had found shelter in the eaves and roofs of wooden houses by the riverside,

were loath to leave their habitations; and probably fearing to venture afar by reason of the unwonted aspect of

the angry sky, lingered on the balconies and abutments of deserted houses, until in some cases, the flames

On Sunday evening Gracechurch Street was on fire; and the flames spread onwards till they reached, and in

their fury consumed, the Three Cranes in the Vintry. Night came, but darkness had fled from the city; and for

forty miles round all was luminous. And there were many who in the crimson hue of the heavens, beheld an

evidence of God's wrath at the sins of the nation, which it was now acknowledged were many and great.

Throughout Sunday night the fire grew apace, and those who, in the morning had carried their belongings to

parts of the city which they believed would by distance ensure safety, were now obliged to move them afresh,

the devastation extending for miles. Therefore many were compelled to renew their labours, thereby suffering

further fatigue; and they now trusted to no protection for their property save that which the open fields

afforded. Monday morning came and found the flames yet raging. Not only Gracechurch Street, but Lombard

Street, and part of Fenchurch street, were on fire. Stately mansions, comfortable homes, warehouses of great

name, banks of vast wealth, were reduced to charred and blackened walls or heaps of smoking ruins.

Buildings had been pulled down, but now too late to render service; for the insatiable fire, yet fed by a high

wind, had everywhere marched over the dried woodwork and mortar as it lay upon the ground, and

communicated itself to the next block of buildings; so that its circumvention was regarded as almost an

During Monday the flames attacked Cornhill, and then commenced to demolish the Royal Exchange. Having

once made an entrance in this stately building it revelled in triumph; climbing up the walls, roaring along the

courts and galleries, and sending through the broken windows volleys of smoke and showers of sparks, which

threatened to suffocate and consume those who approached. Then the roof fell with a mighty crash, which

seemed for a time to subdue the powerful conflagration; the walls cracked, parted, and fell; statues of kings

and queens were flung from their niches; and in a couple of hours this building, which had been the pride and

The citizens were now in a state of despair. Upwards of ten thousand houses were in a blaze, the fire

extending, according to Evelyn, two miles in length and one in breadth, and the smoke reaching near fifty

miles in length. Mansions, churches, hospitals, halls, and schools crumbled into dust as if at blighting touch

of some most potent and diabolical magician. Quite hopeless now of quenching the flames, bewildered by

loss, and overcome by terror, the citizens, abandoning themselves to despair, made no further effort to

conquer this inappeasable fire; but crying aloud in their distraction, behaved as those who had lost their wits.

The king and the Duke of York, who on Sunday had viewed the conflagration from the Thames, now alarmed

at prospect of the whole capital being laid waste, rode into the city, and by their presence, coolness and

example roused the people to fresh exertions. Accordingly, citizens and soldiers worked with renewed energy

and courage; whilst his majesty and his brother, the courtiers and the lord mayor, mixed freely with the

But now a new terror rose up amongst the citizens, for news spread that the Dutch and Frenchwith whom

England was then at warand moreover the papists, whom the people then abhorred, had conspired to

destroy the capital. And the suddenness with which the flames had appeared in various places, and the

rapidity with which they spread, leading the distracted inhabitants to favour this report, a strong desire for

Accordingly all foreigners were laid hold of, kicked, beaten, and abused by infuriated mobs, from which they

were rescued only to be flung into prison. And this conduct was speedily extended to the catholics, even

when such were known to be faithful and well approved good citizens. For though at first it spread as a

rumour, it was now received as a certainty that they, in obedience to the wily and most wicked Jesuits, had

determined to lay waste an heretical city. Nor were there wanting many ready to bear witness they had seen

these dreaded papists fling fire balls into houses of honest citizens, and depart triumphing in their fiendish

deeds. So that when they ventured abroad they were beset by great multitudes, and their lives were

imperilled. And news of this distraction, which so forcibly swayed the people, reaching the king, he speedily

despatched the members of his privy council to several quarters of the city, that in person they might guard

Lord Hollis and Lord Ashley were assigned Newgate Market and the streets that lie around, as parts where

they were to station themselves. And it happened that riding near the former place they saw a vast number of

people gathered together, shouting with great violence, and badly using one who stood in their midst.

Whereon they hastened towards the spot and found the illtreated man to be of foreign aspect. Neither had he

hat, cloak, nor sword; his face was covered with blood, his jerkin was torn in pieces, and his person was

bedaubed by mud. And on examination it was found he was unable to speak the English tongue; but Lord

Hollis, entering into conversation with him in the French language, ascertained that he was a servant of the

Portuguese ambassador, and knew not of what he was accused, or why he had been maltreated.

Hereon a citizen of good standing pressed forward and alleged he had truly seen this man put his hand in his

pocket and throw a fireball into a shop, upon which the house immediately took flame; whereon, being on

the other side of the street, he called aloud that the people might stop this abominable villain. Then the

citizens had seized upon him, taking away his sword, and used him according to their will. My Lord Hollis

explaining this to the foreigner, he was overcome by amazement at the charge; and when asked what he had

thrown into the house, made answer he had not flung anything. But he remembered well, whilst walking in

the street, he saw a piece of bread upon the ground, which he, as was the custom in his country took up.

Afterwards he laid it upon a shelf in a neighbouring house, which being close by, my Lords Hollis and

Ashley, followed by a dense crowd, conducted him thither, and found the bread laid upon a board as he had

stated. It was noted the next house but one was on fire, and on inquiry it was ascertained that the worthy

citizen, seeing a foreigner place something inside a shop without tarrying, and immediately after perceiving a

dwelling in flames, which in his haste he took to be the same, he had charged the man with commission of

this foul deed. But even though many were convinced of his innocence, my Lord Hollis concluded the

stranger's life would be in safer keeping if he were committed to prison, which was accordingly done.

Meanwhile the fire continued; and on Monday night and Tuesday raged with increasing violence. The very

heart of the city was now eaten into by this insatiable monster: Soper Lane, Bread Street, Friday Street, Old

Change, and Cheapside being in one blaze. It was indeed a spectacle to fill all beholding it with

consternation; but that which followed was yet more terrible, for already St. Paul's Cathedral was doomed to

Threatened on one side by the flames devastating Cheapside, and on the other from those creeping steadily up

from Blackfriars to this great centre, it was now impossible to save the venerable church, which Evelyn terms

"one of the most ancient pieces of early Christian piety in the world." Seen by this fierce light, and overhung

by a crimson sky, every curve of its dark outline, every stone of its pillars and abutments, every column of its

incomparable portico, stood clearly defined, so that never had it looked so stately and magnificent, so vast

Too speedily the fire advanced, watched by sorrowful eyes; but even before it had reached the scaffolding

now surrounding the building, the vaulted roof, ignited by showers of sparks, burst into flames. Then

followed a scene unspeakably grand, yet melancholy beyond all telling. In a few moments a pale yellow light

had crept along the parapets, sending faint clouds of smoke upwards, as if more forcibly marking the course

of destruction. Then came the crackling, hissing sounds of timber yielding to the fire, and soon a great sheet

of lead which covered the roof, and was said to measure six acres, melting by degrees, down came on every

side a terrible rain of liquid fire that seamed and burned the ground, and carried destruction with it in its swift

And now, by reason of the fearful heat, great projections of Portland stone, cornices, and capitals of columns,

flew off before the fire had time to reach them. Windows melted in their frames, pillars fell to the ground,

ironwork bent as wax; nay, the very pavements around glowed so that neither man nor horse dared tread upon

them. And the flames, gradually gaining ground, danced fantastically up and down the scaffolding, and

covered the edifice as with one blaze; whilst inside transom beams were snapped asunder, rafters fell with

destruction, and the fire roaring through chapels and aisles as in a great furnace, could be heard afar. And that

Raging onward in their fierce career, the flames darted towards such buildings in the neighbourhood as had

been previously untouched, so that Paternoster Row, Newgate Street, the Old Bailey and Ludgate Hill were

soon in course of destruction. And from the latter spot the conflagration, urged by the wind, rapidly rushed

onwards towards Fleet Street. On the other hand, it extended from Cheapside to Ironmongers' Lane, Old

Jewry, Lawrence Lane, Milk Street, Wood Street, Gutter Lane, and Foster Lane; and again spreading from

Newgate Street, it surrounded and destroyed Christ Church, burned through St. Martin'sleGrand towards

For several miles nothing but raging fire and smoking ruins was visible, for desolation had descended on the

city. It was now feared the flames would reach the Palace of Whitehall, and extend towards Westminster

Abbey, a consideration which caused much alarm to his majesty, who prized the sacred fane exceedingly.

And now the king was determined the orders he had already issued should be obeyed, and that houses

standing in direct path of the fire should be demolished by gunpowder; so that, a greater gap being effected

than any previously made by pulling them down, the conflagration might have no further material wherewith

This plan, Evelyn states, had been proposed by some stout seamen early enough to have saved nearly the

whole city; "but this some tenacious and avaricious men, aldermen, etc., would not permit, because their

houses would have been the first." Now, however, this remedy was tried, and with greater despatch, because

the fire threatened the Tower and the powder magazine it contained. And if the flames once reached this,

London Bridge would assuredly be destroyed, the vessels in the river torn and sunk, and incalculable damage

Accordingly Tower Street, which had already become ignited, was, under supervision of the king, blown up

in part, and the fire happily brought to an end by this means in that part of the town. Moreover, on

Wednesday morning the east wind, which had continued high from Sunday night, now subsided, so that the

flames lost much of their vehemence, and by means of explosions were more easily mastered at Leadenhall

and in Holborn, and likewise at the Temple, to which places they had spread during Wednesday and

During these latter days, the king and the Duke of York betrayed great vigilance, and laboured with vast

activity; the latter especially, riding from post to post, by his example inciting those whose courage had

deserted them, and by his determination overcoming destruction. On Thursday the dread conflagration, after

On Friday morning the sun rose like a ball of crimson fire above a scene of blackness, ruin, and desolation.

Whole streets were levelled to the ground, piles of charred stones marked where stately churches had stood,

smoke rose in clouds from smouldering embers. With sorrowful hearts many citizens traversed the scene of

desolation that day; amongst others Pepys and Evelyn. The latter recounts that "the ground and air, smoke

and fiery vapour, continu'd so intense, that my haire was almost sing'd, and my feete unsuffurably surbated.

The people who now walk'd about ye ruines appear'd like men in some dismal desert, or rather in some greate

citty laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added that stench that came from some poore creatures'

It would have been impossible to trace the original course of the streets, but that some gable, pinnacle, or

portion of walls, of churches, halls, or mansions, indicated where they had stood. The narrower thoroughfares

were completely blocked by rubbish; massive iron chains, then used to prevent traffic at night in the streets,

were melted, as were likewise iron gates of prisons, and the hinges of strong doors. Goods stored away in

cellars and subterranean passages of warehouses yet smouldered, emitting foul odours; wells were completely

choked, fountains were dried at their sources. The statues of monarchs which had adorned the Exchange,

were smashed; that of its founder, Sir Thomas Gresham, alone remaining entire. The ruins of St. Paul's, with

its walls standing black and cheerless, presented in itself a most melancholy spectacle. Its pillars were

embedded in ashes, its cornices irretrievably destroyed, its great bell reduced to a shapeless mass of metal;

whilst its general air of desolation was heightened by the fact that a few monuments, which had escaped

But if the ruins of the capital looked sad by day, their appearance was more appalling when seen by light of

the moon, which rose nightly during the week following this great calamity. From the city gates, standing

gaunt, black, and now unguarded, to the Temple, the level waste seemed sombre as a funeral pall; whilst the

Thames, stripped of wharves and warehouses, quaintly gabled homes, and comfortable innswont to cast

pleasant lights and shadows on its surfacenow swept past the blackened ruins a melancholy river of white

In St. George's Fields, Moorfields, and far as Highgate for several miles, citizens of all degrees, to the

number of two hundred thousand, had gathered: sleeping in the open fields, or under canvas tents, or in

wooden sheds which they hurriedly erected. Some there were amongst them who had been used to comfort

and luxury, but who were now without bed or board, or aught to cover them save the clothes in which they

had hastily dressed when fleeing from the fire. And to many it seemed as if they had only been saved from

one calamity to die by another: for they had nought wherewith to satisfy their hunger, yet had too much pride

And whilst yet wildly distracted by their miserable situation, weary from exhaustion, and nervous from lack

of repose, a panic arose in their midst which added much to their distress. For suddenly news was spread that

the French, Dutch and English papists were marching on them, prepared to cut their throats. At which,

brokenspirited as they were, they rose up, and leaving such goods that they had saved, rushed towards

Westminster to seek protection from their imaginary foes. On this, the king sought to prove the falsity of their

alarm, and with infinite difficulty persuaded them to return to the fields: whence he despatched troops of

And the king having, moreover, tender compassion for their wants, speedily sought to supply them. He

therefore summoned a council that it might devise means of relief; and as a result, it published a proclamation

ordering that bread and all other provisions, such as could be furnished, should be daily and constantly

brought, not only to the markets formerly in use, but also to Clerkenwell, Islington, Finsbury Fields, Mile

End Green, and Ratcliffe, for greater convenience of the citizens. For those who were unable to buy

provisions, the king commanded the victualler of his navy to send bread into Moorfields, and distribute it

amongst them. And as divers distressed people had saved some of their goods, of which they knew not where

to dispose, he ordered that churches, chapels, schools, and such like places in and around Westminster,

should be free and open to receive and protect them. He likewise directed that all cities and towns should,

without contradiction or opposition, receive the citizens and permit them free exercise of their manual

labours: he promising, when the present exigency had passed away, to take care the said persons should be no

The people were therefore speedily relieved. Many of them found refuge with their friends and relatives in

the country, and others sought homes in the districts of Westminster and Southwark: so that in four days from

the termination of the fire, there was scarce a person remaining in the fields, where such numbers had taken

The first hardships consequent to the calamity having passed away, people were anxious to trace the cause of

their sufferings, which they were unwilling to consider accidental. A rumour therefore sprang up, that the

great fire resulted from a wicked plot, hatched by Jesuits, for the destruction of an heretical city. At this the

king was sorely troubled; for though there was no evidence which led him to place faith in the report, yet a

great body of the citizens and many members of his council held it true. Therefore, in order to appease such

doubts as arose in his mind, and likewise to satisfy the people, he appointed his privy council to sit morning

and evening to inquire into the matter, and examine evidences set forth against those who had been charged

And in order that the investigation might be conducted with greater rigour he sent into the country for the lord

chief justice, who was dreaded by all for his unflinching severity. The lord chancellor, in his account of these

transactions, assures us many of the witnesses who gave evidence against those indicted with firing the

capital "were produced as if their testimony would remove all doubts, but made such senseless relations of

what they had been told, without knowing the condition of the persons who told them, or where to find them,

that it was a hard matter to forbear smiling at their declarations." Amongst those examined was one Roger

Hubert, who accused himself of having deliberately set the city on fire. This man, then in his twentyfifth

year, was son of a watchmaker residing in Rouen. Hubert had practised the same trade both in that town and

in London, and was believed by his fellow workmen to be demented. When brought before the chief justice

and privy council, Hubert with great coolness stated he had set the first house on fire: for which act he had

been paid a year previously in Paris. When asked who had hired him to accomplish this evil deed, he replied

he did not know, for he had never seen the man before: and when further questioned regarding the sum he

had received, he declared it was but one pistole, but he had been promised five pistoles more when he should

have done his work. These ridiculous answers, together with some contradictory statements he made, inclined

many persons, amongst whom was the chief justice, to doubt his confession. Later on in his examinations, he

was asked if he knew where the house had stood which he set on fire, to which he replied in the affirmative,

In the eyes of many this was regarded as proof of his guilt; though others stated that, having lived in the city,

he must necessarily become acquainted with the position of the baker's shop. Opinion was therefore

somewhat divided regarding him. The chief justice told the king "that all his discourse was so disjointed that

he did not believe him guilty." Yet having voluntarily accused himself of a monstrous deed, and being

determined as it seemed to rid himself of life, he was condemned to death and speedily executed.

Lord Clarendon says: "Neither the judges nor any present at the trial did believe him guilty; but that he was a

poor distracted wretch, weary of his life, and chose to part with it in this way. Certain it is that upon the

strictest examination that could be afterwards made by the king's command, and then by the diligence of the

House, that upon the jealousy and rumour made a committee, that was very diligent and solicitous to make

that discovery, there was never any probable evidence (that poor creature's only excepted) that there was any

other cause of that woful fire than the displeasure of God Almighty: the first accident of the beginning in a

baker's house, where there was so great a stock of faggots, and the neighbourhood of such combustible

matter, of pitch and rosin, and the like, led it in an instant from house to house, through Thames Street, with

But belief that the dreaded papists had set fire to the city, lingered in the minds of many citizens. When the

city was rebuilt, this opinion found expression in an inscription cut over the doorway of a house opposite the

"Here, by the permission of heaven, hell broke loose on this protestant city from the malicious hearts of

barbarous papists, by the hand of their agent Hubert, who confessed, and on the ruins of this place declared

the fact, for which he was hanged. Erected in the mayoralty of Sir Patience Ward, Knight."

The loss caused by this dreadful conflagration was estimated at ten million sterling. According to a certificate

of Jonas Moore and Ralph Gatrix, surveyors appointed to examine the ruins, the fire overrun 373 acres within

the walls, burning 13,200 houses, 89 parish churches, numerous chapels, the Royal Exchange, Custom

House, Guildhall, Blackwell Hall, St. Paul's Cathedral, Bridewell, fiftytwo halls of the city companies, and

As speedily as might be, the king and his parliament then sitting at Oxford, sought to restore the city on a

scale vastly superior to its former condition. And the better to effect this object, an act of parliament was

passed that public buildings should be rebuilt with public money, raised by a tax on coals; that the churches

and the cathedral of St. Paul's should be reconstructed from their foundations; that bridges, gates and prisons

should be built anew; the streets made straight and regular, such as were steep made level, such as were

narrow made wide; and, moreover, that every house should be built with party walls, such being of stone or

And these rules being observed, a stately and magnificent city rose phoenixlike from ruins of the old; so that

there was naught to remind the inhabitants of their great calamity save the Monument. This, designed by Sir

Christopher Wren, and built at a cost of fourteen thousand five hundred pounds, was erected near where the

fire broke out, the better to perpetuate a memory of this catastrophe in the minds of future generations, which

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.

The while such calamities befell the citizens, the king continued to divert himself in his usual fashion. On the

29th of June, 1665, whilst death strode apace through the capital, reaping full harvests as he went, their

majesties left Whitehall for Hampton Court, From here they repaired to Salisbury, and subsequently to

Oxford, where Charles took up his residence in Christchurch, and the queen at Merton College.

Removed from harrowing scenes of ghastliness and distress, the court made merry. Joined by fair women and

gallant men, their majesties played at bowls and tennis in the grassy meads of the college grounds; rode

abroad in great hawking parties; sailed through summer days upon the smooth waters of the river Isis; and by

night held revelry in the massivebeamed oakpanelled halls, from which scarce fivescore candles served

It happened whilst life thus happily passed, at pleasant full tide flow, my Lady Castlemaine, who resided in

the same college with her majesty, gave birth on the 28th of December to another son, duly baptized George

Fitzroy, and subsequently created Duke of Northumberland. By this time, the plague having subsided in the

capital, and all danger of infection passed away, his majesty was anxious to reach London, yet loth to leave

his mistress, whom he visited every morning, and to whom he exhibited the uttermost tenderness. And his

tardiness to return becoming displeasing to the citizens, and they being aware of its cause, it was whispered in

taverns and cried in the streets, "The king cannot go away till my Lady Castlemaine be ready to come along

Towards the end of January, 1666, he returned to Whitehall, and a month later the queen, who had been

detained by illness, joined him. Once more the thread of life was taken up by the court at the point where it

had been broken, and woven into the motley web of its strange history. Unwearied by time, unsatiated by

familiarity, the king continued his intrigue with the imperious Castlemaine, and with great longing likewise

made love to the beautiful Stuart. But yet his pursuit of pleasure was not always attended by happiness;

inasmuch as he found himself continually involved in quarrels with the countess, which in turn covered him

with ridicule in the eyes of his courtiers, and earned him contempt in the opinions of his subjects.

One of these disturbances, which occurred soon after his return from Oxford, began at a royal drawingroom,

in presence of the poor slighted queen and ladies of the court. It happened in the course of conversation her

majesty remarked to the countess she feared the king had taken cold by staying so late at her lodgings; to

which speech my Lady Castlemaine with some show of temper answered aloud, "he did not stay so late

abroad with her, for he went betimes thence, though he do not before one, two, or three in the morning, but

must stay somewhere else." The king, who had entered the apartment whilst she was speaking, came up to

her, and displeased with the insinuations she expressed, declared she was a bold, impertinent woman, and

bade her begone from the court, and not return until he sent for her. Accordingly she whisked from the

Her indignation at being addressed by Charles in such a manner before the court, was sufficiently great to

beget strong desires for revenge; when she swore she would be even with him and print his letters to her for

public sport. In cooler moments, however, she abandoned this idea; and in course of two or three days, not

hearing from his majesty, she despatched a message to him, not entreating pardon, but asking permission to

send for her furniture and belongings. To this the monarch, who had begun to miss her presence and long for

her return, replied she must first come and view them; and then impatient for reconciliation, he sought her,

and they became friends once more. And by way of sealing the bond of pacification, the king soon after

agreed to pay her debts, amounting to the sum of thirty thousand pounds, which had been largely incurred by

His majesty was not only rendered miserable by the constant caprices and violent temper of the countess, but

likewise by the virtue and coldness Miss Stuart betrayed since her return from Oxford. The monarch was

sorely troubled to account for her bearing, and attributing it to jealousy, sought to soothe her supposed

uneasiness by increasing his chivalrous attentions. Her change of behaviour, however, proceeded from

another cause. The fair Stuart, though childlike in manner, was shrewd at heart; and was moreover guided

invariably by her mother, a lady who reaped wisdom from familiarity with courts. Therefore the maid of

honour, seeing she had given the world occasion to think she had lost her virtue, declared she was ready to

This determination she was obliged to keepsecret from the king, lest his anger should fall upon such as

sought her, and so interfere with her matrimonial prospects. Now with such intentions in her mind she

pondered well on an event which had happened to her, such as no woman who has had like experience ever

forgets; namely, that amongst the many who professed to love her, one had proposed to marry her. This was

Charles Stuart, fourth Duke of Richmond, a man possessed of neither physical gifts nor mental abilities; who

However, the position which her union with him would ensure was all she could desire, and he renewing his

suit at this time, she consequently consented to marry him. Now though it was probable she could keep her

design from knowledge of her royal lover, it was scarcely possible she could hide it from observation of his

mistress. And the latter, knowing the extent to which fair Frances Stuart shared his majesty's heart, and being

likewise aware of the coldness with which his protestations were by her received, scorned the king and

detested the maid. Lady Castlemaine therefore resolved to use her knowledge of Miss Stuart's contemplated

marriage, for purpose of enraging the jealousy of the one, and destroying the influence of the other. In order

to accomplish such desirable ends she quietly awaited her opportunity. This came in due time.

It happened one evening when his majesty had been visiting Frances Stuart in her apartments, and had

returned to his own in a condition of illhumour and disappointment, the countess, who had been some days

out of favour, suddenly presented herself before him, and in a bantering tone, accompanied by ironical

"I hope," said she, "I may be allowed to pay you my homage, although the angelic Stuart has forbidden you

to see me at my own house. I will not make use of reproaches and expostulations which would disgrace

myself; still less will I endeavour to excuse frailties which nothing can justify, since your constancy for me

deprives me of all defence, considering I am the only person you have honoured with your tenderness, who

has made herself unworthy of it by illconduct. I come now, therefore, with no other intent than to comfort

and condole with you upon the affliction and grief into which the coldness or newfashioned chastity of the

Having delivered herself of this speech she laughed loud and heartily, as if vastly amused at the tenour of her

words; and then before the impatient monarch had time to reply, continued in the same tone, with quickening

breath and flashing eyes, "Be not offended that I take the liberty of laughing at the gross manner in which you

are imposed upon; I cannot bear to see that such particular affection should make you the jest of your own

court, and that you should be ridiculed with such impunity. I know that the affected Stuart has sent you away

under pretence of some indisposition, or perhaps some scruple of conscience; and I come to acquaint you that

the Duke of Richmond will soon be with her, if he is not there already. I do not desire you to believe what I

say, since it might be suggested either through resentment or envy. Only follow me to her apartment, either

that, no longer trusting calumny and malice you may honour her with a just preference, if I accuse her falsely;

or, if my information be true, you may no longer be the dupe of a pretended prude, who makes you act so

The king, overwhelmed with astonishment, was irresolute in action; but Lady Castlemaine, determined on not

being deprived of her anticipated triumph, took him by the hand and forcibly pulled him towards Miss

Stuart's apartments. The maid of honour's servants, surprised at his majesty's return, were unable to warn their

mistress without his knowledge; whilst one of them, in pay of the countess, found means of secretly

intimating to her that the Duke of Richmond was already in Miss Stuart's chamber. Lady Castlemaine, having

with an air of exultation led the king down the gallery from his apartments to the threshold of Miss Stuart's

door, made him a low courtesy savouring more of irony than homage, bade him goodnight, and with a

The scene which followed is best painted by Hamilton's pen. "It was near midnight; the king on his way met

the chambermaids, who respectfully opposed his entrance, and, in a very low voice, whispered his majesty

that Miss Stuart had been very ill since he left her; but that being gone to bed, she was, God be thanked, in a

very fine sleep. 'That I must see,' said the king, pushing her back, who had posted herself in his way. He

found Miss Stuart in bed, indeed, but far from being asleep; the Duke of Richmond was seated at her pillow,

and in all probability was less inclined to sleep than herself. The perplexity of the one party, and the rage of

the other, were such as may easily be imagined upon such a surprise. The king, who of all men was one of the

most mild and gentle, testified his resentment to the Duke of Richmond in such terms as he had never before

used. The duke was speechless and almost petrified; he saw his master and his king justly irritated. The first

transports which rage inspires on such occasions are dangerous. Miss Stuart's window was very convenient

for a sudden revenge, the Thames flowing close beneath it; he cast his eyes upon it, and seeing those of the

king more incensed than fired with indignation than he thought his nature capable of, he made a profound

bow, and retired without replying a single word to the vast torrent of threats and menaces that were poured

"Miss Stuart having a little recovered from her first surprise, instead of justifying herself, began to talk in the

most extravagant manner, and said everything that was most capable to inflame the king's passion and

resentment: that if she were not allowed to receive visits from a man of the Duke of Richmond's rank, who

came with honourable intentions, she was a slave in a free country; that she knew of no engagement that

could prevent her from disposing of her hand as she thought proper; but, however, if this were not permitted

her in his dominions, she did not believe that there was any power on earth that could hinder her from going

over to France, and throwing herself into a Convent, to enjoy there that tranquillity which was denied her in

his court. The king, sometimes furious with anger, sometimes relenting at her tears, and sometimes terrified

at her menaces, was so greatly agitated that he knew not how to answer either the nicety of a creature who

wanted to act the part of Lucretia under his own eye, or the assurance with which she had the effrontery to

reproach him. In this suspense love had almost entirely vanquished all his resentments, and had nearly

induced him to throw himself upon his knees, and entreat pardon for the injury he had done her, when she

desired him to retire, and leave her in repose, at least for the remainder of that night, without offending those

who had either accompanied him, or conducted him to her apartments, by a longer visit. This impertinent

request provoked and irritated him to the highest degree: he went out abruptly, vowing never to see her more,

and passed the most restless and uneasy night he had ever experienced since his restoration."

Next morning, his majesty sent orders to the Duke of Richmond to quit the court, and never appear again in

his presence. His grace, however, stayed not to receive this message, having betaken himself with all possible

speed into the country. Miss Stuart, who likewise feared the king's resentment, hastened to the queen, and

throwing herself at her majesty's feet, entreated forgiveness for the pain and uneasiness she had caused her in

She then laid bare her intentions of marrying the Duke of Richmond, who had loved her long, and was

anxious to wed her soon; but since the discovery of his addresses had caused his banishment, and created

disturbances prejudicial to her good name, she begged the queen would obtain his majesty's consent to her

retiring from the vexations of a court to the tranquillity of a convent. The queen raised her up, mingled her

tears with those of the troubled maid, and promised to use her endeavours towards averting the king's

On consideration, however, the fair Stuart did not wait to hear his majesty's reproaches, or receive his

entreaties; for the duke, being impatient to gain his promised bride, quietly returned to town, and secretly

communicated with her. It was therefore agreed between them she should steal away from the palace, meet

him at the "Bear at the Bridge Foot," situated on the Southwark side of the river, where he would have a

coach awaiting her, in order they might ride away to his residence at Cobham Hall, near Gravesend, and then

be legally and happily united in the holy bonds of matrimony. And all fell out as had been arranged: the time

Now when the king discovered her flight, his anger knew no bounds, though it sought relief in uttering many

violent threats against the duke, and in sending word to the duchess he would see her no more. In answer to

this message, she, with some show of spirit, returned him the jewels he had given her, principal amongst

which were a necklace of pearls, valued at over a thousand pounds, and a pair of diamond pendants of rare

Neither she nor her husband paid much heed to the royal menaces, for before a year elapsed they both

returned to town, and took up their residence at Somerset House. Here, as Pepys records, she kept a great

court, "she being visited for her beauty's sake by people, as the queen is at nights: and they say also she is

likely to go to court again and there put my Lady Castlemaine's nose out of joint. God knows that would

make a great turn." But to such proposals as were made regarding her return to Whitehall, her husband would

not pay heed, and she therefore remained a stranger to its drawingrooms for some time longer. And when

two years later she appeared there, her beauty had lost much of its famed lustre, for meantime she was

overtaken by smallpox, a scourge ever prevalent in the capital. During her illness the king paid her several

visits, and was sorely grieved that the loveliness he so much prized should be marred by foul disease. But on

her recovery, the disfigurement she suffered scarce lessened his admiration, and by no means abated his love;

which seemed to have gained fresh force from the fact of its being interrupted awhile.

This soon became perceptible to all, and rumour whispered that the young duchess would shortly return to

Whitehall in a position which she had declined before marriage. And amongst other stories concerning the

king's love for her, it was common talk that one fair evening in May, when he had ordered his coach to be

ready that he might take an airing in the park, he, on a sudden impulse, ran down the broad steps leading from

his palace gardens to the riverside. Here, entering a boat alone, he rowed himself adown the placid river now

crossed by early shadows, until he came to Somerset House, where his ladylove dwelt; and finding the

gardendoor locked, he, in his impatience to be with her, clambered over the wall and sought her. Two

months after the occurrence of this incident, the young duchess was appointed a lady of the bedchamber to

the queen, and therefore had apartments at Whitehall. There was little doubt now entertained she any longer

rejected his majesty's love; and in order to remove all uncertainties on the point which might arise in her

husband's mind, the king one night, when he had taken over much wine, boasted to the duke of her

complaisancy. Lord Dartmouth, who tells this story, says this happened "at Lord Townshend's, in Norfolk, as

my uncle told me, who was present." Soon after his grace accepted an honourable exile as ambassador to

During the absence of the Duchess of Richmond, my Lady Castlemaine, then in the uninterrupted possession

of power, led his majesty a sorry life. Her influence, indeed, seemed to increase with time, until her victim

became a laughingstock to the heartless, and an object of pity to the wise. Mr. Povy, whose office as a

member of the Tangier Commission brought him into continual contact with the court, and whose love of

gossip made him observant of all that passed around him, in telling of "the horrid effeminacy of the king,"

said that "upon any falling out between my Lady Castlemaine's nurse and her woman, my lady hath often said

she would make the king make them friends, and they would be friends and be quietwhich the king had

been fain to do." Nor did such condescension on his majesty's part incline his mistress to treat him with more

respect; for in the quarrels which now became frequent betwixt them she was wont to term him a fool, in

The disturbances which troubled the court were principally caused by her infidelities to him, and his

subsequent jealousies of her. Chief among those who shared her intrigues at this time was Harry Jermyn, with

whom she renewed her intimacy from time to time, without the knowledge of his majesty. The risks she

frequently encountered in pursuit of her amours abounded in comedy. Speaking of Harry Jermyn, Pepys tells

us the king "had like to have taken him abed with her, but that he was fain to creep under the bed into the

closet." It being now rumoured that Jermyn was about to wed my Lady Falmouth, the countess's love for one

whom she might for ever lose received a fresh impulse, which made her reckless of concealment. The

knowledge of her passion, therefore, coming to Charles's ears, a bitter feud sprang up between them, during

At this time my lady was far gone with child, a fact that soon came bubbling up to the angry surface of their

discourse; for the king avowed he would not own it as his offspring. On hearing this, her passion became

violent beyond all decent bounds. "God damn me, but you shall own it!" said she, her cheeks all crimson and

her eyes afire; and moreover she added, "she should have it christened in the Chapel Royal, and owned as his,

or otherwise she would bring it to the gallery in Whitehall, and dash its brains out before his face."

After she had hectored him almost out of his wits, she fled in a state of wild excitement from the palace, and

took up her abode at the residence of Sir Daniel Harvey, the ranger of Richmond Park. News of this scene

spread rapidly through the court, and was subsequently discussed in the coffeehouses and taverns all over

the town, where great freedom was made with the lady's name, and great sport of the king's passion. And now

it was said the monarch had parted with his mistress for ever, concerning which there was much rejoicement

and some doubt. For notwithstanding the king had passed his word to this effect, yet it was known though his

spirit was willing his flesh was weak. Indeed, three days had scarcely passed when, mindful of her temper, he

began to think his words had been harsh, and, conscious of her power, he concluded his vows had been rash.

He therefore sought her once more, but found she was not inclined to relent, until, as Pepys was assured, this

monarch of most feeble spirit, this lover of most ardent temper, "sought her forgiveness upon his knees, and

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 royal

favourite.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

At this time the kingdom stood in uttermost danger, being brought to that condition by his majesty's

negligence towards its concerns. The peril was, moreover, heightened from the fact of the king being

impatient to rid himself of those who had the nation's credit at heart, and sought to uphold its interests. To

this end he was led in part by his own inclinations, and furthermore by his friends' solicitations. Foremost

amongst those with whose services he was anxious to dispense, were the chancellor, my Lord Clarendon, and

The king's displeasure against these men, who had served his father loyally, himself faithfully, and their

country honestly, was instigated through hatred borne them by my Lady Castlemaine. From the first both had

bewailed the monarch's connection with her, and the evil influence she exercised over him. Accordingly, after

Not only, as has already been stated, would the chancellor refuse to let any document bearing her name pass

the great seal, but he had often prevailed with the king to alter resolutions she had persuaded him to form.

And moreover had his lordship sinned in her eyes by forbidding his wife to visit or hold intercourse with her.

These were sufficient reasons to arouse the hatred and procure the revenge of this malicious woman, who was

now virtually at the head of the kingdom. For awhile, however, Charles, mindful of the services the

chancellor had rendered him, was unwilling to thrust him from his high place. But as time sped, and the

machinations of a clique of courtiers in league with the countess were added to her influence, the chancellor's

power wavered. And finally, when he was suspected of stepping between his majesty and his unlawful

At the head and front of the body which plotted against Lord Clarendon, pandered to Lady Castlemaine, and,

for its own purposespolitically and sociallysought to control the king, was his grace the Duke of

Buckingham. This witty courtier and his friends, when assembled round the pleasant supper table spread in

the countess's apartments, and honoured almost nightly by the presence of the king, delighted to vent the

force of their humour upon the chancellor, and criticize his influence over the monarch until Charles smarted

from their words. In the height of their mirth, if his majesty declared he would go a journey, walk in a certain

direction, or perform some trivial action next day, those around him would lay a wager he would not fulfil his

intentions; and when asked why they had arrived at such conclusions, they would reply, because the

chancellor would not permit him. On this another would remark with mock gravity, he thought there were no

grounds for such an imputation, though, indeed, he could not deny it was universally believed abroad his

majesty was implicitly governed by Lord Clarendon. The king, being keenly sensitive to remarks doubting

his authority, and most desirous of appearing his own master, would exclaim on such occasions that the

chancellor "had served him long, and understood his business, in which he trusted him; but in any other

matter than his business, he had no more credit with him than any other man." And presently the Duke of

Buckinghamwho possessed talents of mimicry to a surpassing degreewould arise, and, screwing his face

into ridiculous contortions, and shaking his wig in a manner that burlesqued wisdom to perfection, deliver

some ludicrous speech brimming with mirth and indecencies, assuming the grave air and stately manner of

the chancellor the while. And finally, to make the caricature perfect, Tom Killigrew, hanging a pair of

bellows before him by way of purse, and preceded by a friend carrying a fireshovel to represent a mace,

would walk round the room with the slow determined tread peculiar to Lord Clarendon. At these

performances the king, his mistress, and his courtiers would laugh loud and long in chorus, with which was

mingled sounds of chinking glasses and flowing wine. ["Came my lord chancellor (the Earl of Clarendon)

and his lady, his purse and mace borne before him, to visit me" Evelyn's "Diary."]

In this manner was the old man's power undermined; but a circumstance which hastened his fall occurred in

the early part of 1667. In that year Lady Castlemaine had, for a valuable consideration, disposed of a place at

court, which ensured the purchaser a goodly salary. However, before the bargain could finally be ratified, it

was necessary the appointment should pass the great seal. This the chancellor would not permit, and

accompanied his refusal by remarking, "he thought this woman would sell every thing shortly." His speech

being repeated to her, she, in great rage, sent him word she "had disposed of this place, and had no doubt in a

little time to dispose of his." And so great was the malice she bore him, that she railed against him openly and

in all places; nor did she scruple to declare in the queen's chamber, in the presence of much company, "that

she hoped to see his head upon a stake, to keep company with those of the regicides on Westminster Hall."

And some political movements now arising, the history of which lies not within the province of this work, the

king seized upon them as an excuse for parting with his chancellor. The monarch complained that my Lord

Clarendon "was so imperious that he would endure no contradiction; that he had a faction in the House of

Commons that opposed everything that concerned his majesty's service, if it were not recommended to them

by him; and that he had given him very ill advice concerning the parliament, which offended him most."

Therefore there were rumours in the air that the chancellor's fall was imminent; nor were the efforts of his

soninlaw, the Duke of York, able to protect him, for the friends of my Lady Castlemaine openly told his

majesty "it would not consist with his majesty's honour to be hectored out of his determination to dismiss the

chancellor by his brother, who was wrought upon by his wife's crying." It therefore happened on the 26th of

August, 1667, as early as ten o'clock in the morning, Lord Clarendon waited at Whitehall on the king, who

presently, accompanied by his brother, received him with characteristic graciousness. Whereon the old man,

acknowledging the monarch's courtesy, said he "had no suit to make to him, nor the least thought to dispute

with him, or to divert him from the resolution he had taken; but only to receive his determination from

himself, and most humbly to beseech him to let him know what fault he had committed, that had drawn this

In answer to this Charles said he must always acknowledge "he had served him honestly and faithfully, and

that he did believe never king had a better servant; that he had taken this resolution for his good and

preservation, as well as for his own convenience and security; that he was sorry the business had taken so

much air, and was so publicly spoken of, that he knew not how to change his purpose." To these words of fair

seeming the troubled chancellor replied by doubting if the sudden dismissal of an old servant who had served

the crown full thirty years, without any suggestion of crime, but rather with a declaration of innocence, would

not call his majesty's justice and good nature into question. He added that men would not know how to serve

him, when they should see it was in the power of three or four persons who had never done him any notable

service to dispose him to ungracious acts. And finally, he made bold to cast some reflections upon my Lady

At this the king, not being well pleased, rose up, and the interview, which had lasted two hours, terminated.

Lord Clarendon tells us so much concerning his memorable visit, to which Pepys adds a vivid vignette

picture of his departure. When my lord passed from his majesty's presence into the privy garden, my Lady

Castlemaine, who up to that time had been in bed, "ran out in her smock into her aviary looking into

Whitehalland thither her woman brought her nightgownand stood joying herself at the old man's going

away; and several of the gallants of Whitehall, of which there were many staying to see the chancellor return,

did talk to her in her birdcageamong others Blaneford, telling her she was the bird of paradise."

A few days after this occurrence the king sent Secretary Morrice to the chancellor's house, with a warrant

under a sign manual to require and receive the great seal. This Lord Clarendon at once delivered him with

many expressions of duty which he bade the messenger likewise convey his majesty. And no sooner had

Morrice handed the seals to the king, than Baptist May, keeper of the privy purse, and friend of my Lady

Castlemaine, sought the monarch, and falling upon his knees, kissed his hand and congratulated him on his

riddance of the chancellor. "For now." said he, availing himself of the liberty Charles permitted his friends,

"you will be kingwhat you have never been before." Finally, the chancellor was, through influence of his

enemies, impeached in the House of Commons; and to such length did they pursue him, that he was banished

His grace the Duke of Ormond was the next minister whom my Lady Castlemaine, in the strength of her evil

influence, sought to undermine. By reason of an integrity rendering him too loyal to the king to pander to his

majesty's mistress, he incurred her displeasure in many ways; but especially by refusing to gratify her

cupidity. It happened she had obtained from his majesty a warrant granting her the Phoenix Park, Dublin, and

the mansion situated therein, which had always been placed at service of the lords lieutenants, and was the

only summer residence at their disposal. The duke, therefore, boldly refusing to pass the warrant, stopped the

grant. [According to O'Connor's "Bibliotheca Stowensis," Lady Castlemaine soon after received a grant of a

thousand pounds per annum in compensation for her loss of Phoenix Park.] This so enraged the countess, that

soon after, when his grace returned to England, she, on meeting him in one of the apartments in Whitehall,

greeted him with a torrent of abusive language and bitter reproaches, such as the rancour of her heart could

suggest, or the license of her tongue utter, and concluded by hoping she might live to see him hanged. The

duke heard her with the uttermost calmness, and when she had exhausted her abusive vocabulary quietly

replied, "Madam, I am not in so much haste to put an end to your days; for all I wish with regard to you is,

that I may live to see you grow old." And, bowing low, the fine old soldier left her presence. It may be added,

though the duke was deprived of the lord lieutenancy, the countess's pious wish regarding him was never

It now occurred to those who had relentlessly persecuted the chancellor, that though they were safe as long as

Charles reigned, his death would certainly place them in peril. For they sufficiently knew the Duke of York's

character to be aware when he ascended the throne he would certainly avenge the wrongs suffered by his

fatherinlaw. Accordingly these men, prominent amongst whom were the Duke of Buckingham, Sir

Thomas Clifford, Lords Arlington, Lauderdale, and Ashley, and Baptist May, resolved to devise means which

would prevent the Duke of York ever attaining the power of sovereignty. Therefore scarce a year had gone by

since Lord Clarendon's downfall, ere rumours were spread abroad that his majesty was about to put away the

queen, This was to be effected, it was said, by the king's acknowledgment of a previous marriage with Lucy

Walters, mother of the Duke of Monmouth, or by obtaining a divorce on ground of her majesty's barrenness.

The Duke of Buckingham, who was prime mover in this plot, aware of the king's pride in, and fondness for

the Duke of Monmouth, favoured the scheme of his majesty's admission of a marriage previous to that which

united him with Catherine of Braganza. And according to Burnet, Buckingham undertook to procure

witnesses who would swear they had been present at the ceremony which united him with the abandoned

Lucy Walters. Moreover, the Earl of Carlisle, who likewise favoured the contrivance, offered to bring this

subject before the House of Lords. However, the king would not consent to trifle with the succession in this

vile manner, and the idea was promptly abandoned. But though the project was unsuccessful, it was

subsequently the cause of many evils; for the chances of sovereignty, flashing before the eyes of the Duke of

Monmouth, dazzled him with hopes, in striving to realize which, he, during the succeeding reign, steeped the

The king's friends, ever active for evil, now sought other methods by which he might rid himself of the

woman who loved him well, and therefore be enabled to marry again, when, it was trusted, he would have

heirs to the crown. It was suggested his union might, through lack of some formality, be proved illegal; but as

this could not be effected without open violation of truth and justice, it was likewise forsaken. The Duke of

Buckingham now besought his majesty that he would order a bill to divorce himself from the queen to be

brought into the House of Commons. The king gave his consent to the suggestion, and the affair proceeded so

far that a date was fixed upon for the motion. However, three days previous, Charles called Baptist May

But even yet my Lord Buckingham did not despair of gaining his wishes. And, being qualified by his

character for the commission of abominable deeds, and fitted by his experience for undertaking adventurous

schemes, he proposed to his majesty, as Burnet states, that he would give him leave to abduct the queen, and

send her out of the kingdom to a plantation, where she should be well and carefully looked to, but never

heard of more. Then it could be given out she had deserted him, upon which grounds he might readily obtain

a divorce. But the king, though he permitted such a proposal to be made him, contemplated it with horror,

declaring "it was a wicked thing to make a poor lady miserable only because she was his wife and had no

Ultimately these various schemes resolved themselves into a proposition which Charles sanctioned. This was

that the queen's confessor should persuade her to leave the world, and embrace a religious life. Whether this

suggestion was ever made to her majesty is unknown, for the Countess of Castlemaine, hearing of these

schemes, and foreseeing she would be the first sacrificed to a new queen's jealousy, opposed them with such

vigour that they fell to the ground and were heard of no more. The fact was, the king took no active part in

these designs, not being anxious, now the Duchess of Richmond had accepted his love, to unite himself with

another wife. Whilst her grace had been unmarried, the idea had indeed occurred to him of seeking a divorce

that he might be free to lay his crown at the feet of the maid of honour. And with such a view in mind he had

consulted Dr. Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury, as to whether the Church of England "would allow of a

divorce, when both parties were consenting, and one of them lay under a natural incapacity of having

children." Before answering a question on which so much depended, the archbishop requested time for

consideration, which, with many injunctions to secrecy, was allowed him. "But," says Lord Dartmouth, who

vouches for truth of this statement, "the Duke of Richmond's clandestine marriage, before he had given an

answer, made the king suspect he had revealed the secret to Clarendon, whose creature Sheldon was known

to be; and this was the true secret of Clarendon's disgrace." For the king, believing the chancellor had aided

the duke in his secret marriage, in order to prevent his majesty's union with Miss Stuart, and the presumable

exclusion of the Duke and Duchess of York and their children from the throne, never forgave him.

Though the subject of the royal divorce was no longer mentioned, the disturbances springing from it were far

from ended; for the Duke of Buckingham, incensed at Lady Castlemaine's interference, openly quarrelled

with her, abused her roundly, and swore he would remove the king from her power. To this end he therefore

employed his talents, and with such tact and assiduity that he ultimately fulfilled his menaces. The first step

he took towards accomplishing his desires, was to introduce two players to his majesty, named respectively

The former, a member of the Duke of York's troupe of performers, could boast of goodly lineage, though not

of legitimate birth, her father being Thomas Howard, first Earl of Berkshire. She had, early in the year 1667,

made her first appearance at the playhouse, and had by her comely face and shapely figure challenged the

admiration of the town. Her winsome ways, pleasant voice, and graceful dancing soon made her a favourite

with the courtiers, who voted her an excellent wench; though some of her own sex, judging harshly of her, as

is their wont towards each other, declared her "the most impertinent slut in the world."

Now the Duke of Buckingham knowing her well, it seemed to him no woman was more suited to fulfil his

purpose of thwarting the countess; for if he succeeded in awaking the king's passion for the comedian, such a

proceeding would not only arouse my lady's jealousy, but likewise humble her pride. Therefore, when this

court Mephistopheles accompanied his majesty to the playhouse, he was careful to dwell on Moll Davis's

various charms, the excellency of her figure, the beauty of her face, the piquancy of her manner. So

impressed was the monarch by Buckingham's descriptions, that he soon became susceptible to her

fascinations. The amour once begun was speedily pursued; and she was soon enabled to boast, in presence of

the players, that the kingwhose generosity was great to fallen womenhad given her a ring valued at

seven hundred pounds, and was about to take, and furnish most richly, a house in Suffolk Street for her

benefit and abode. Pepys heard this news in the first month of the year 1668; and soon afterwards a further

rumour reached him that she was veritably the king's mistress, "even to the scorn of the world."

This intrigue affected Lady Castlemaine in a manner which the Duke of Buckingham had not expected.

Whilst sitting beside Charles in the playhouse, she noticed his attention was riveted upon her rival, when she

became melancholy and out of humour, in which condition she remained some days. But presently rallying

her spirits, she soon found means to divert her mind and avenge her wrongs, of which more shall be recorded

hereafter. Meanwhile, the poor queen, whose feelings neither the king nor his courtiers took into

consideration, bore this fresh insult with such patience as she could summon to her aid, on one occasion only

protesting against her husband's connection with the player. This happened when the Duke of York's troupe

performed in Whitehall the tragedy of "Horace," "written by the virtuous Mrs. Phillips." The courtiers

assembled on this occasion presented a brilliant and goodly sight. Evelyn tells us "the excessive gallantry of

the ladies was infinite, those jewels especially on Lady Castlemaine esteemed at forty thousand pounds and

more, far outshining ye queene." Between each act of the tradgedy a masque and antique dance was

performed. When Moll Davis appeared, her majesty, turning pale from sickness of heart, and trembling from

indignation at the glaring insult thrust upon her, arose and left the apartment boisterous with revelry, where

she had sat a solitary sad figure in its midst. As a result of her intimacy with the king, Moll Davis bore him a

daughter, who subsequently became Lady Derwentwater. But the Duke of Buckingham's revenge upon my

Lady Castlemaine was yet but half complete; and therefore whilst the monarch carried on his intrigue with

Moll Davis, his grace, enlarging upon the wit and excellency of Nell Gwynn, besought his majesty to send for

her. This request the king complied with readily enough, and she was accordingly soon added to the list of his

mistresses. Nell Gwynn, who was at this period in her eighteenth year, had joined the company of players at

the king's house, about the same time as Moll Davis had united her fortunes with the Duke of York's

comedians. Her time upon the stage was, however, but of brief duration; for my Lord Buckhurst, afterwards

Earl of Dorset, a witty and licentious man, falling in love with her, induced her to become his mistress, quit

the theatre, and forsake the society of her lover, Charles Hart, a famous actor and greatnephew of William

Shakespeare. And she complying with his desires in these matters, he made her an allowance of one hundred

pounds a year, on which she returned her parts to the manager, and declared she would act no more.

Accordingly in the month of July, 1667, she was living at Epsom with my Lord Buckhurst and his witty

friend Sir Charles Sedley, and a right merry house they kept for a time. But alas, ere the summer had died

there came a day when charming Nell and his fickle lordship were friends no more, and parting from him, she

Now Nell Gwynn being not only a pretty woman, but moreover an excellent actress, her return was

welcomed by the town. Her achievements in light comedy were especially excellent, and declared

entertaining to a rare degree. Pepys, who witnessed her acting "a comical part," in the "Maiden Queen," a

play by Dryden, says he could "never hope to see the like done again by man or woman. So great

performance of a comical part," he continues, "was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do this, both

as a mad girle, then most and best of all when she comes in like a young gallant; and hath the motions and

carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her." In the part of

Valeria, in "Tyrannic Love," she was also pronounced inimitable; especially in her delivery of the epilogue.

The vein of comedy with which she delivered the opening lines, addressed to those about to bear her dead

body from the stage, was merry beyond belief. "Hold!" she cried out to one of them, as she suddenly started

"Hold! are you mad? you damned confounded dog! I am to rise and speak the epilogue."

Before the year 1667 ended, she had several times visited his majesty at Whitehall. The king was now no less

assured of her charms as a woman, than he had previously been convinced of her excellence as an actress. In

due time, her intimacy with the monarch resulted in the birth of two sons; the elder of which was created

Duke of St. Albans, from whom is descended the family now bearing that title: the second died young and

Through influence of these women, my Lady Castlemaine's power over the king rapidly diminished, and at

last ceased to exist; seeing which, as Burnet says, "She abandoned herself to great disorders; one of which by

the artifice of the Duke of Buckingham was discovered by the king in person, the party concerned leaping out

of the window." The gallant to whom the worthy bishop refers was John Churchill, afterwards the great Duke

of Marlborough, at this time a handsome stripling of eighteen summers. In his office as page to the Duke of

York, he frequently came under notice of her ladyship, who, pleased with the charms of his boyish face and

graceful figure, intimated his love would not prove unacceptable to her. Accordingly he promptly made love

to the countess, who, in the first fervour of her affection, presented him with five thousand pounds. With this

sum he purchased a life annuity of five hundred pounds, which, as Lord Chesterfield writes, "became the

foundation of his subsequent fortune." Nor did her generosity end here: at a cost of six thousand crowns she

obtained for him the post of groom of the bedchamber to the Duke of York, and was instrumental in

My Lady Castlemaine was by no means inclined to spend her days in misery because the royal favour was no

longer vouchsafed her; and therefore, by way of satisfying her desires for revenge, conducted intrigues not

only with John Churchill and Harry Jermyn, but likewise with one Jacob Hall, a noted acrobat. This man was

not only gifted with strength and agility, but likewise with grace and beauty: so that, as Granger tells us, "The

ladies regarded him as a due composition of Hercules and Adonis." His dancing on the tight rope at

Bartholomew Fair was "a thing worth seeing and mightily followed;" whilst his deeds of daring at Southwark

Fair were no less subjects of admiration and wonder. The countess was so charmed by the performance of

this athlete in public, that she became desirous of conversation with him in private; and he was accordingly

introduced to her by Beck Marshall, the player. The countess found his society so entertaining that she

frequently visited him, a compliment he courteously returned. Moreover, she allowed him a yearly salary, and

openly showed her admiration for him by having their portraits painted in one picture: in which she is

represented playing a fiddle, whilst he leans over her, touching the strings of a guitar.

Her amours in general, and her intimacy with the ropedancer in particular, becoming common talk of the

town, his majesty became incensed; and it grieved him the more that one who dwelt in his palace, and was

yet under his protection, should divide her favours between a king and a mountebank. Accordingly bitter

feuds arose between her and the monarch, when words of hatred, scorn, and defiance were freely exchanged.

His majesty upbraiding her with a love for the ropedancer, she replied with much spirit, "it very ill became

him to throw out such reproaches against her: that he had never ceased quarrelling unjustly with her, ever

since he had betrayed his own mean low inclinations: that to gratify such a depraved taste as his, he wanted

the pitiful strolling actresses whom he had lately introduced into their society." Then came fresh threats from

The king, who loved ease greatly, and valued peace exceedingly, became desirous of avoiding such

harrowing scenes. Accordingly, he resolved to enter into a treaty with his late mistress, by which he would

consent to grant her such concessions as she desired, providing she promised to discontinue her intrigues with

objectionable persons, and leave him to pursue his ways without reproach. By mutual consent, his majesty

and the countess selected the Chevalier de Grammont to conduct this delicate business; he being one in

whose tact and judgment they had implicit confidence. After various consultations and due consideration, it

was agreed the countess should abandon her amours with Henry Jermyn and Jacob Hall, rail no more against

Moll Davis or Nell Gwynn, or any other of his majesty's favourites, in consideration for which Charles would

create her a duchess, and give her an additional pension in order to support her fresh honours with becoming

And as the king found her residence in Whitehall no longer necessary to his happiness, Berkshire House was

purchased for her as a suitable dwelling This great mansion, situated at the south west corner of St. James's

Street, facing St. James's Palace, was surrounded by pleasant gardens devised in the Dutch style, and was in

every way a habitation suited for a prince. This handsome gift was followed by a grant of the revenues of the

Post Office, amounting to four thousand seven hundred pounds a year, which was at first paid her in weekly

instalments. On the 3rd of August, 1670, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, was created Baroness Nonsuch,

of Nonsuch Park, Surrey; Countess of Southampton; and Duchess of Cleveland in the peerage of England.

The reasons for crowding these honours thick upon her were, as the patent stated, "in consideration of her

noble descent, her father's death in the service of the crown, and by reason of her personal virtues."

Nor did his majesty's extravagant favours to her end here. She was now, as Mr. Povy told his friend Pepys,

"in a higher command over the king than evernot as a mistress, for she scorns him, but as a tyrant, to

command him." In consequence of this power, she was, two months after her creation as duchess, presented

by the monarch with the favourite hunting seat of Henry VIII., the magnificent palace and great park of

Nonsuch, in the parishes of Cheam and Malden, in the county of Surrey. And yet a year later, she received

fresh proofs of his royal munificence by the gift of "the manor, hundred, and advowson of Woking, county

Surrey; the manor and advowson of Chobham, the hundred of Blackheath and Wootton, the manor of

Bagshot (except the park, site of the manor and manorhouse, and the Bailiwick, and the office of the

Bailiwick, called Surrey Bailiwick, otherwise Bagshot Bailiwick), and the advowson of Bisley, all in the

Her wealth, the more notable at a time when the king was in debt, and the nation impoverished from

expenditure necessary to warfare, was enormous. Andrew Marvell, writing in August, 1671, states: "Lord St.

John, Sir R. Howard, Sir John Bennet, and Sir W. Bicknell, the brewer, have farmed the customs. They have

signed and sealed ten thousand pounds a year more to the Duchess of Cleveland; who has likewise near ten

thousand pounds a year out of the new farm of the country excise of Beer and Ale; five thousand pounds a

year out of the Post Office; and they say, the reversion of all the King's Leases, the reversion of places all in

the Custom House, the green wax, and indeed what not? All promotions spiritual and temporal pass under her

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.

The Duchess of Cleveland having shared the fate common to court favourites, her place in the royal

affections was speedily filled by a mistress whose influence was even more baneful to the king, and more

pernicious to the nation. This woman was Louise de Querouaille, the descendant of a noble family in Lower

Brittany. At an early age she had been appointed maid of honour to Henrietta, youngest sister of Charles II.,

soon after the marriage of that princess, in 1661, with the Duke of Orleans, brother to Louis XIV. Fate

decreed that Mademoiselle de Querouaille should be brought into England by means of a political movement;

It happened in January, 1668, that a Triple Alliance had been signed at the Hague, which engaged England,

Sweden, and the United Provinces to join in defending Spain against the power of France. A secret treaty in

this agreement furthermore bound the allies to check the ambition of Louis XIV., and, if possible, reduce his

encroaching sway. That Charles II. should enter into such an alliance was galling to the French monarch, who

resolved to detach his kinsman from the compact, and bind him to the interests of France. To effect this

desired purpose, which he knew would prove objectionable to the British nation, Louis employed Henrietta,

Duchess of Orleans, to visit England on pretext of pleasure and affection, and secretly persuade and bribe her

The young duchess, though an English princess, had at heart the interests of the country in which she had

been reared, and which on her marriage she had adopted as her own. She therefore gladly undertook this

mission, confident of her success from the fact that of all his family she had ever been the most tenderly

beloved by Charles. Therefore she set out from France, and in the month of May, 1670, arrived at Dover, to

which port the king, Queen, and court hastened, that they might greet and entertain her. For full ten days in

this merry month, high revelry was held at Dover, during which time Henrietta skilfully and secretly effected

the object of her visit. And her delight was now the greater, inasmuch as one item which this agreement

entrusted her to make, engaged that Charles would, as soon as he could with safety, follow the example of his

brother the Duke of York, and become a Catholic. In carrying out this purpose Louis promised him

substantial aid and sure protection. Likewise, it may be mentioned, did the French king engrage to grant him

a subsidy equal to a million a year, if Charles joined him in an attack on Holland.

The prospect of his sister's return filled the king with sorrow, which increased as the term of her visit drew to

an end. "He wept when he parted with her," wrote Monsieur Colbert, the French ambassador, who

Now Louis knowing the weakness of the English monarch's character, and aware of his susceptibility to

female loveliness, had despatched Mademoiselle de Querouaille in the train of Henrietta. Satisfied that

Charles could not resist her charms, the French monarch had instructed this accomplished woman, who was

trusted in his councils, to accept the royal love, which it was surmised would be proffered her; so that by the

influence which she would consequently obtain, she might hold him to the promises he might make the

As had been anticipated, the king became enamoured of this charming woman, who, before departing with

the princess, faithfully promised to return and become his mistress. In his desire to possess her the merry

monarch was upheld by his grace of Buckingham, who, continuing in enmity with the Duchess of Cleveland,

resolved to prevent her regaining influence over the king by adding the beautiful Frenchwoman to the number

of his mistresses. He therefore told Charles, in the sarcastic manner it was occasionally his wont to use, "it

was a decent piece of tenderness for his sister to take care of some of her servants;" whilst on being sent into

France, he assured Louis "he could never reckon himself sure of the king, but by giving him a mistress that

should be true to his interests." But neither king required urging to a resolution on which both had separately

determined; and soon Mademoiselle Querouaille was ready for her journey to England. A yacht was therefore

sent to Dieppe to convey her, and presently she was received at Whitehall by the lord treasurer, and her

arrival celebrated in verse by Dryden. Moreover, that she might have apartments in the palace, the king at

once appointed her a maid of honour to her majesty, this being the first of a series of favours she was

subsequently to receive. Evelyn, writing in the following October, says it was universally reported a

ceremonious espousal, devoid of the religious rite, had taken place between his majesty and Mademoiselle

Querouaille at Lord Arlington's house at Euston. "I acknowledge," says this trustworthy chronicler "she was

for the most part in her undresse all day, and that there was fondnesse and toying with that young wanton;

nay, 'twas said I was at the former ceremony, but 'tis utterly false; I neither saw nor heard of any such thing

whilst I was there, tho' I had ben in her chamber, and all over that apartment late enough, and was myself

She now became a central figure in the brilliant court of the merry monarch, being loved by the king, flattered

by the wits, and tolerated by the queen, to whomunlike the Duchess of Clevelandshe generally paid the

greatest respect. Her card tables were thronged by courtiers eager to squander large sums for the honour of

playing with the reigning sultana; her suppers were attended by wits and gallants as merry and amorous as

those who had once crowded round my Lady Castlemaine in the zenith of her power. No expense was too

great for his majesty to lavish upon her; no honour too high with which to reward her affection. The authority

just mentioned says her apartments at Whitehall were luxuriously furnished "with ten times the richnesse and

glory beyond the Queene's; such massy pieces of plate, whole tables and stands of incredible value." After a

residence of little more than three years at court she was raised by King Charles to the peerage as Baroness of

Petersfield, Countess of Farnham, and Duchess of Portsmouth; whilst the French king, as a mark of

appreciation for the services she rendered France, conferred upon her the Duchy of Aubigny, in the province

of Berri in France, to which he added the title and dignity of Duchess and Peeress of France, with the

revenues of the territory of Aubigny. And two years later King Charles, prodigal of the honours he conferred

upon her, ennobled the son she had borne him in 1672. The titles of the Duke of Richmond and Lennox

having lately reverted to the crown by the death of Frances Stuart's husband, who was last of his line, the

bastard son of the French mistress was created Duke of Richmond and Earl of March in England, and Duke

of Lennox and Earl of Darnley in Scotland. To these proud titles the present head of the noble house of

Richmond and Lennoxby virtue of the grant made by Louis XIV. to his ancestress likewise adds that of

But though honoured by the king, and flattered by the court, the Duchess of Portsmouth was far from

enjoying uninterrupted happiness; inasmuch as her peace was frequently disturbed by jealousy. The principal

cause of her uneasiness during the first five years of her reign was the king's continued infatuation for Nell

Gwynn; now, by reason of the elevated position she enjoyed, styled Madam Ellen. This "impudent

comedian," as Evelyn calls her, was treated by his majesty with, extreme indulgence and royal liberality. In

proof of the latter statement, it may be mentioned that in less than four years from the date of her first

becoming his mistress, he had wantonly lavished sixty thousand pounds upon her, as Burnet affirms.

Moreover, he had purchased as a town mansion for her "the first good house on the lefthand side of St.

James's Square, entering Pall Mall," now the site of the Army and Navy Club; had given her likewise a

residence situated close by the Castle at Windsor; and a summer villa located in what was then the charming

village of Chelsea. To such substantial gifts as these he added the honour of an appointment at court: when

the merry player was made one of the ladies of the privy chamber to the queen. Samuel Pegg states this fact,

not generally known, and assures us he discovered it "from the book in the lord chamberlain's office."

From her position as the king's mistress, Madam Ellen moved on terms of perfect equality with the Duchess

of Portsmouth's friendssupping with my Lady Orrery, visiting my Lord Cavendish, and establishing a

friendship with the gay Duchess of Norfolk. This was a source of deep vexation to the haughty

Frenchwoman; but Nell Gwynn's familiarity with the king was a cause of even greater mortification. Sir

George Etherege records in verse when the monarch was "dumpish" Nell would "chuck the royal chin;" and it

is stated that, mindful of her former conquests over Charles Hart and Charles Lord Buckley, it was her habit

to playfully style his majesty "Charles the Third." Her wilfulness, wit, and beauty enabled her to maintain

such a strong hold upon the king's heart, that he shared his time equally between her and the Duchess of

Portsmouth. Indignant that a woman from the playhouse should receive such evidences of the royal affection,

her grace lost no opportunity of insulting Nell, who responded by mimicry and grimaces, which threw those

who witnessed the comedy into fits of laughter, and covered the wrathful duchess with confusion.

But though the lighthearted actress frequently treated disdain with ridicule, she could occasionally analyze

the respective positions held by herself and the duchess with seriousness, Madame de Sevigne tells us, Nell

would reason in this manner: "This duchess pretends to be a person of quality: she affirms she is related to the

best families in France, and when any person of distinction dies she puts herself in mourning. If she be a lady

of such quality, why does she demean herself to be a courtesan? She ought to die with shame. As for me, it is

my profession. I do not pretend to anything better. The king entertains me, and I am constant to him at

present. He has a son by me; I contend that he ought to acknowledge himand I am well assured that he

To have her son ennobled, and by this means raise him to an equality with the offspring of her grace, became

the desire of Nell Gwynn's life. To her request that this favour might be granted, the king had promised

compliance from time to time, but had as frequently postponed the fulfilment of his word. At last, weary of

beseeching him, she devised a speech which she trusted might have the desired effect. Accordingly, when the

monarch came to see her one day, he found her in a pensive mood, playing with her pretty boy; and the lad,

being presently set upon his feet, he promptly tottered down the room, whereon she cried out to him, "Come

here, you little bastard!" Hearing this word of evil import applied to his son, the monarch begged she would

not use the expression, "I am sorry," said she regretfully, "but, alas, I have no other name to give him! "His

majesty took the hint, and soon after bestowed on him that of Charles Beauclerk, and created him Baron of

Heddington, in Oxon, and Earl of Burford in the same county; and finally, when he had reached the age of ten

After a reign of five years in the court of the merry monarch, her Grace of Portsmouth was destined to

encounter a far more formidable rival than Nell Gwynn, in the person of the Duchess of Mazarine. This lady,

on her arrival in England in 1675, possessed most of the charms which had rendered her notable in youth. To

the attraction they lent was added an interest arising from her personal history, in which King Charles had

Hortensia Mancini, afterwards Duchess of Mazarine, was descendant of a noble Roman family, and niece of

the great Julius Mazarine, cardinal of the church, and prime minister of France. Her parents dying whilst she,

her sister and brother were young, they had been reared under the care of his eminence. According to the

memoirs of the duchess, the cardinal's peace must have frequently been put to flight by his charges, whose

conduct, he declared, exhibited neither piety nor honour. Mindful of this, he placed his nieces under the

immediate supervision of Madame de Venelle, who was directed to have the closest guard over them. A story

related by the duchess shows in what manner this lady's duty was carried out, and what unexpected results

When the court visited Lyons, in the year 1658, the cardinal's nieces and their governess lodged in a

commodious mansion in one of the public squares. "Our chamber windows, which opened towards the

marketplace," writes Hortensia, "were low enough for one to get in with ease. Madame de Venelle was so

used to her trade of watching us, that she rose even in her sleep to see what we were doing. One night, as my

sister lay asleep with her mouth open, Madame de Venelle, after her accustomed manner, coming, asleep as

she was, to grope in the dark, happened to thrust her finger into her mouth so far that my sister, starting out of

her sleep, made her teeth almost meet in her finger. Judge you the amazement they both were in to find

themselves in this posture when they were thoroughly awake. My sister was in a grievous fret. The story was

told the king the next day, and the court had the divertisement of laughing at it."

Whilst the great minister's nieces were yet extremely young, Louis XIV. fell passionately in love with the

elder, Maria, and his marriage with her was frustrated only by the united endeavours of the queen mother and

the cardinal. A proposal to raise Hortensia to the nominal dignity of queen was soon after made on behalf of

Charles II., who sought her as his bride. But he being at the time an exile, banished from his kingdom, and

with little hope of regaining his throne, the offer was rejected by Cardinal Mazarine as unworthy of his

His eminence was, however, anxious to see her married, and accordingly sought amongst the nobility of

France a husband suitable to her merits and equal to her condition, she being not only a beautiful woman but,

through his bounty, the richest heiress in Christendom. It happened the cardinal's choice settled upon one who

had fallen in love with Hortensia, and who had declared, with amorous enthusiasm, that if he had but the

happiness of being married to her, it would not grieve him to die three months afterwards.

The young noble was Armand Charles de la Porte, Duke de Meilleraye, who had the sole recommendation of

being one of the richest peers of France. On condition that he and his heirs should assume the name of

Mazarine and arms of that house, the cardinal consented to his becoming the husband of his niece. And the

great minister's days rapidly approaching their end, the ceremony was performed which made Hortensia, then

at the age of thirteen, Duchess of Mazarine. A few months later the great cardinal expired, leaving her the

sum of one million six hundred and twentyfive thousand pounds sterling. Alas that she should have died in

Scarce had the first weeks of her married life passed away, when the young wife found herself mated to one

wholly unsuited to her character. She was beautiful, witty, and frivolous; he jealous, dull, and morose. The

incompatibility of their dispositions became as discernible to him, as they had become intolerable to her; and,

as if to avenge the fate which had united them, he lost no opportunity of thwarting her desires, by such means

With such a purpose in view no opportunity was neglected to curb her pleasures or oppose her inclinations.

He continually forced her to leave Paris, and even when her condition required rest and care, compelled her

to accompany him on long and weary journeys, undertaken by him in consequence of his diplomatic

missions. If she received two successive visits from one man, he was instantly forbidden the house. If she

called her carriage, the coachman received orders not to obey. If she betrayed a preference for one maid more

than another, the favourite was instantly dismissed, moreover, the duchess was surrounded by spies, her

movements being rigorously watched, and invariably reported. Nor would the duke vouchsafe an explanation

to his young wife regarding the cause of this severe treatment, but continued the even course of such conduct

After displaying these eccentricities for some years, they suddenly associated themselves with religion, when

he became a fanatic. Her condition was now less endurable than before; his whims more ludicrous and

exasperating. With solemnity he declared no one could in conscience visit the theatre; that it was a sin to play

blind man's buff, and a heinous crime to retire to bed late. And presently, his fanaticism increasing, he

prohibited the woman who nursed his infant to suckle it on Fridays or Saturdays; that instead of imbibing

milk, it might, in its earliest life, become accustomed to fasting and mortification of the flesh.

The young duchess grew hopeless of peace. All day her ears were beset by harangues setting forth her

wickedness, by exortations calling her to repentance, and by descriptions of visions vouchsafed him. By night

her condition was rendered scarcely less miserable. "No sooner," says St. Evremond, "were her eyes closed,

than Monsieur Mazarine (who had the devil always present in his black imagination) wakes his best beloved,

to make her partakeryou will never be able to guess of whatto make her partaker of his nocturnal

visions. Flambeaux are lighted, and search is made everywhere; but no spectre does Madame Mazarine find,

The distresses to which she was subjected were increased by the knowledge that her husband was

squandering her vast fortune. In what manner the money was spent she does not state. "If" she writes,

"Monsieur Mazarine had only taken delight in overwhelming me with sadness and grief, and in exposing my

health and my life to his most unreasonable caprice, and in making me pass the best of my days in an

unparalleled slavery, since heaven had been pleased to make him my master, I should have endeavoured to

allay and qualify my misfortunes by my sighs and tears. But when I saw that by his incredible dilapidations

and profuseness, my son, who might have been the richest gentleman in France, was in danger of being the

poorest, there was no resisting the force of nature; and motherly love carried it over all other considerations

of duty, or the moderation I proposed to myself. I saw every day vast sums go away: moveables of

inestimable prices, offices, and all the rich remains of my uncle's fortune, the fruits of his labours, and the

rewards of his services. I saw as much sold as came to three millions, before I took any public notice of it;

and I had hardly anything left me of value but my jewels, when Monsieur Mazarine took occasion to seize

She therefore sought the king's interference, but as the duke had interest at court, she received but little

satisfaction. Then commenced disputes, which, after months of wrangling, ended by the duchess escaping in

male attire out of France, in company with a gay young cavalier, Monsieur de Rohan. After various

wanderings through Italy and many adventures in Savoy, she determined on journeying to England. That her

visit was not without a political motive, we gather from St. Evremond; who, referring to the ascendancy

which the Duchess of Portsmouth had gained over his majesty, and the uses she made of her power for the

interests of France, tells us, "The advocates for liberty, being excluded from posts and the management of

affairs, contrived several ways to free their country from that infamous commerce; but finding them

ineffectual, they at last concluded that there was no other course to take than to work the Duchess of

Portsmouth out of the king's favour, by setting up against her a rival who should be in their interest. The

Duchess of Mazarine was thought very fit for their purpose, for she outshined the other, both in wit and

Charles de St. Denis, Seigneur de St. Evremond, was a soldier, philosopher, and courtier, who had

distinguished himself by his bravery, learning, and politeness. Having fallen under the displeasure of the

French court, he had, in the year 1662, sought refuge in England, where he had been welcomed with the

courtesy due to his rank, and the esteem which befitted his merits. Settling in the capital, he mixed freely in

the companionship of wits, gallants, and courtiers who constituted its society; and delighted with London as a

residence, he determined on making England his country by adoption. An old friend and fervent admirer of

the Duchess of Mazarine, he had received the news of her visit with joy, and celebrated her arrival in verse.

The reputation of her loveliness and the history of her life having preceded her, the court became anxious to

behold her; the king, mindful of the relationship he had once sought; with the duchess, grew impatient to

welcome her. After a few days' rest, necessary to remedy the fatigue of her journey, she appeared at

Whitehall. By reason of her beauty, now ripened rather than impaired by time, and those graces which

attracted the more from the fascination they had formerly exercised, she at once gained the susceptible heart

of the monarch. St. Evremond tells us her person "contained nothing that was not too lovely." In the

"Character of the Duchess of Mazarine," which he drew soon after her arrival in London, he has presented a

portrait of her worth examining not only for sake of the object it paints, but for the quaint workmanship it

contains. "An illnatured curiosity," he writes, "makes me scrutinize every feature in her face, with a design

either to meet there some shocking irregularity, or some disgusting disagreeableness. But how unluckily do I

succeed in my design. Every feature about her has a particular beauty, that does not in the least yield to that

of her eyes, which, by the consent of all the world, are the finest in the universe. One thing there is that

entirely confounds me: her teeth, her lips, her mouth, and all the graces that attend it, are lost amongst the

great variety of beauties in her face and what is but indifferent in her, will not suffer us to consider what is

most remarkable in others. The malice of my curiosity does not stop here. I proceed to spy out some defect in

her shape; and I find I know not what graces of nature so happily and so liberally scattered in her person, that

The kingto whom the presence of a beautiful woman was as sunshine to the earthat once offered her his

affections, the gallants tendered their homage, the ladies of the court volunteered the flattery embodied in

imitation. And by way of practically proving his admiration, his majesty graciously allotted her a pension of

The sovereignty which the Duchess of Portsmouth had held for five years over the monarch's heart was now

in danger of downfall; and probably would have ended, but for Madame Mazarine's indiscretions. It

happened a few months after her arrival in London, the Prince of Monaco visited the capital. Young in years,

handsome in person, and extravagant in expenditure, he dazzled the fairest women at court; none of whom

had so much power to please him in all as the Duchess of Mazarine. Notwithstanding the king's generosity,

she accepted the prince's admiration; and resolved to risk the influence she had gained, that she might freely

love where she pleased. Her entertainment of a passion, as sudden in development as fervid in intensity,

enraged the king; but his fury served only to increase her infatuation, seeing which, his majesty suspended

The gay Prince of Monaco in due time ending his visit to London, and leaving the Duchess of Mazarine

behind him, she, through the interposition of her friends, obtained his majesty's pardon, was received into

She now ruled, not only mistress of the king's heart, but queen of a brilliant circle of wits and men of parts,

whose delight it became to heed the epigrams and eccentricities which fell from her lips. Her rooms at St.

James's, and her house in Chelsea, became the rendezvous of the most polite and brilliant society in England.

In the afternoons, seated amongst her monkeys, dogs, parrots, and pets, she discoursed on philosophy, love,

religion, politics, and plays; whilst at night her saloons were thrown open to such as delighted in gambling.

Then the duchess, seated at the head of the table, her dark eyes flashing with excitement, her red lips parted in

expectation, followed the fortunes of the night with anxiety: all compliments being suspended and all fine

speeches withheld the while, nought being heard but the rustle of cards and the chink of gold.

Dainty and luxurious suppers followed, when rare wines flowed, and wit long suppressed found joyous vent.

Here sat Charles beside his beautiful mistress, happy in the enjoyment of the present, careless of the needs of

his people; and close beside him my Lord of Buckingham, watchful of his majesty's face, hatching dark plots

whilst he turned deft compliments. There likewise were my Lord Dorset, the easiest and wittiest man living;

Sir Charles Sedley, one learned in intrigue; Baptist May, the monarch's favourite; Tom Killigrew who jested

on life's follies whilst he enjoyed them; the Countess of Shrewsbury, beautiful and amorous; and Madam

Ellen, who was ready to mimic or sing, dance or act, for his majesty's diversion.

And so, whilst a new day stole upon the world without, tapers burned low within the duchess's apartments;

and the king, his mistress, and a brave and gallant company ate, drank, and made merry.

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

Whilst the surface life of the merry monarch sped onward in its careless course, watchful eyes took heed of

potent signs boding storms and strife. The storm which shook the kingdom to its centre came anon; the strife

which dethroned a monarch was reserved for the succeeding reign. These were not effected by the king's

profligacy, indolence, or extravagance, but because of a change in the religious belief of the heirapparent to

The cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, which presently spread and overcast the political horizon, was first

observed towards the beginning of the year 1669. The Rev. J. S. Clarke, historiographer to George III.,

chaplain to the royal household, and librarian to the Prince Regent, in his "Life of James II., collected out of

Memoirs writ of his own hand," tells us that about this time the Duke of York "was sensibly touched in his

conscience, and began to think seriously of his salvation." Accordingly, the historian states, "he sent for one

Father Simons, a Jesuit, who had the reputation of a very learned man, to discourse with him upon that

subject; and when he came, he told him the good intentions he had of being a catholic, and treated with him

concerning his being reconciled to the church. After much discourse about the matter, the Jesuit very

sincerely told him, that unless he would quit the communion of the Church of England, he could not be

received into the Catholic Church. The duke then said he thought it might be done by a dispensation from the

pope, alleging the singularity of his case, and the advantage it might bring to the catholic religion in general,

and in particular to those of it in England, if he might have such dispensation for outwardly appearing a

protestant, at least till he could own himself publicly to be a catholic, with more security to his own person

and advantage to them. But the father insisted that even the pope himself had not the power to grant it, for it

was an unalterable doctrine of the Catholic Church, not to do ill that good might follow. What this Jesuit thus

said was afterwards confirmed to the duke by the pope himself, to whom he wrote upon the same subject. Till

this time his royal highness believed (as it is commonly believed, or at least said by the Church of England

doctors) that dispensations in any such cases are by the pope easily granted; but Father Simons's words, and

the letter of his holiness, made the duke think it high time to use all the endeavours he could, to be at liberty

Inasmuch as what immediately followed touches a point of great delicacy and vast importance, the words of

the historian, mainly taken from the "Stuart Papers," are best given here, "His royal highness wellknowing

that the king was of the same mind, and that his majesty had opened himself upon it to Lord Arundel of

Wardour, Lord Arlington, and Sir Thomas Clifford, took an occasion to discourse with him upon that subject

about the same time, and found him resolved as to his being a catholic, and that he intended to have a private

meeting with those persons above named at the duke's closet, to advise with them about the ways and

methods fit to he taken for advancing the catholic religion in his dominions, being resolved not to live any

longer in the constraint he was under. The meeting was on the 25th of January. When they were met

according to the king's appointment, he declared his mind to them on the matter of religion, and said how

uneasy it was to him not to profess the faith he believed; and that he had called them together to have their

advice about the ways and methods fittest to be taken for the settling of the catholic religion in his kingdoms,

and to consider of the time most proper to declare himself, telling them withal that no time ought to be lost;

that he was to expect to meet with many and great difficulties in bringing it about, and that he chose rather to

undertake it now, when he and his brother were in their full strength and able to undergo any fatigue, than to

delay it till they were grown older and less fit to go through with so great a design. This he spoke with great

earnestness, and even with tears in his eyes; and added, that they were to go about it as wise men and good

catholics ought to do. The consultation lasted long, and the result was, that there was no better way for doing

this work than to do it in conjunction with France, and with the assistance of his Most Christian majesty."

Accordingly the secret treaty with France was entered into, as already mentioned.

No further movement towards professing the catholic religion was made by the king or his brother for some

time. The tendencies of the latter becoming suspected, his actions were observed with vigilance, when it was

noted, that although he attended service as usual with the king, he no longer received the sacrament. It was

also remarked the Duchess of York, whose custom it had been to communicate once a month, soon followed

his example. Her neglect of this duty was considered the more conspicuous as she had been bred a staunch

protestant, and ever appeared zealous in her support of that religion. Moreover, it was noted that, from the

beginning of the year 1670, she was wont to defend the catholic faith from such errors as it had been charged

These matters becoming subjects of conversation at court soon reached the ears of Bishop Morley, who had

acted as her confessor since her twelfth year, confession being then much practised in the English Church.

Thereon he hastened to her, and spoke at length of the inferences which were drawn from her neglect of

receiving the sacrament, in answer to which she pleaded business and illhealth as sufficient excuses. But he,

suspecting other causes, gave her advice, and requested she would send for him in case doubts arose in her

mind concerning the faith she professed. Being now free from all uncertainties, she readily promised

compliance with his desire, and added, "No priest had ever taken the confidence to speak to her on those

The fact that she no longer communicated becoming more noticed as time passed, the king spoke to his

brother concerning the omission, when the duke told him she had become a catholic. Hearing this, Charles

requested him to keep her change of faith a secret, which was accordingly done, none being aware of the act

but Father Hunt, a Franciscan friar, Lady Cranmer, one of her women of the bedchamber, and Mr. Dupuy,

servant to the duke. In a paper she drew up relative to her adoption of the catholic religion, preserved in the

fifth volume of the "Harleian Miscellany," she professes being one of the greatest enemies that faith ever had.

She likewise declares no man or woman had said anything, or used the least persuasion to make her change

her religion. That had been effected, she adds, by a perusal of Dr. Heylin's "History of the Reformation;" after

which she spoke severally to Dr. Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury and Dr. Blandford, Bishop of

Worcester, who told her "there were many things in the Roman Church which it was very much to be wished

they had keptas confession, which was no doubt commanded by God; and praying for the dead, which was

one of the ancient things in Christianitythat for their parts they did it daily, though they would not own to

The duchess pondered over what she had read and heard, and being a woman accustomed to judge for herself,

and act upon her decisions, she, in the month of August, 1670 became a member of the Catholic Church, in

which communion she died seven months later. For fifteen months previous to her demise she had been

suffering from a complication of diseases, with which the medical skill of that day was unable to cope, and

these accumulating, in March, 1671, ended her days. The "Stuart Papers" furnish an interesting account of her

death. Seeing the hour was at hand which would sever her from all earthly ties, she besought her husband not

to leave her whilst life remained. She likewise requested that in case Dr. Blandford or any other of the

bishops should come to visit her, he would tell them she had become a member of the Catholic Church; but if

they insisted on seeing her she was satisfied to admit them, providing they would not distress her by

Soon after she had expressed these desires, Bishop Blandford arrived, and begged permission to see her,

hearing which the duke went into the drawingroom, where his lordship waited, and delivered the message

with which the duchess had charged him. Thereon the bishop said, "he made no doubt but that she would do

well since she was fully convinced, and had not changed out of any worldly end." He then went into the

room, and having made "a short Christian exhortation suitable to the condition she was in," took his

departure. Presently the queen came and sat by the dying woman, with whom she had borne many wrongs in

common; and later on, the Franciscan friar being admitted, the duchess "received all the last sacraments of

Though no mystery was now made concerning the faith in which she died, the duke, from motives of

prudence, continued to preserve the secret of his having embraced the same religion. He still publicly

attended service on Sundays with the king, but continued to absent himself from communion. At last, the

Christmastide of the year 1672 being at hand, his majesty besought Lord Arundel and Sir Thomas (now Lord)

Clifford to persuade the duke to take the sacrament with him, "and make him sensible of the prejudice it

would do to both of them should he forbear so to do, by giving the world so much reason to believe he was a

catholick." To this request these honest gentlemen replied it would be difficult to move the duke to his

majesty's desires; but even if they succeeded, it would fail to convince the world his royal highness was not a

catholic. With these answers Charles seemed satisfied; but again on Christmas Eve he urged Lord Clifford to

advise the duke to publicly communicate on the morrow. His royal highness, not being so unscrupulous as

The following Easter he likewise refrained from communicating. Evelyn tells us that "a most crowded

auditorie" had assembled in the Chapel Royal on this Sunday; possibly it had been drawn there to hear the

eloquence of Dr. Sparrow, Bishop of Exeterprobably to observe the movements of the king's brother. "I

staied to see," writes Evelyn, "whether, according to costome, the Duke of York received the communion

with the king; but he did not, to the amazement of everybody. This being the second year he had forborn and

put it off, and within a day of the parliament sitting, who had lately made so severe an act against ye increase

of poperie, gave exceeding griefe and scandal to the whole nation, that the heyre of it, and ye sonn of a

martyr for ye Protestant religion, should apostatize. What the consequence of this will be God only knows,

That the nation might no longer remain in uncertainty concerning the change the duke was suspected to have

made, a bill, commonly called the "Test Act," was, at the instigation of Lord Shaftesbury, introduced into the

House of Commons, on its reassembling. In substance this set forth, that all persons holding office, or place

of trust, or profit, should take the oaths of supremacy and allegiance in a public court; receive the sacrament

according to the Church of England in some parish church on the Lord's Day; and deliver a certificate of

having so received communion, signed by the respective ministers and churchwardens, and proved by two

credible witnesses on oath. After prolonged debates upon this singular bill, it was passed through both houses

of parliament, and received a reluctant consent from the king. [This act continued in force until the reign of

A great commotion followed the passing of this Act. Immediately the Duke of York resigned his post of lord

high admiral of England. Suspicion now became certainty; he was truly a papist. His enemies were elated

with triumph, his friends dejected by regret. Before public feeling had time to subside, it was thoroughly

startled by the news that Lord Clifford, who was supposed to be a staunch protestant, had delivered up his

staff of office as lord treasurer; and Lord Bellasis and Sir Thomas Strickland, papists both, "though otherwise

men of quality and ability," had relinquished their places at court. The king was perplexed, the parliament

divided into factions, the nation disturbed. No man knew who might next proclaim himself a papist. As days

passed, excitement increased; for hundreds who held positions in the army, or under the crownmany of

whom had fought for the king and his fatherby tendering their resignations, now proved themselves slaves

of what a vigorous writer calls the "Romish yoke: such a thing," he adds, "as cannot, but for want of a name

Public agitation steadily rose. Evelyn tells us, "he dare not write all the strange talk of the town." Distrust of

the king, fear of his brother, hatred of popery and papists, filled men's minds and blinded their reason with

prejudice. That the city had seven years ago been destroyed by fire, in accordance with a scheme of the

wicked Jesuits, was a belief which once more revived: the story of the gunpowder plot was again detailed.

Fearful suspicions sprang up and held possession of the vulgar mind, that the prosecutions suffered by

protestants under Queen Mary might be repeated in the reign of the present monarch, or of his brother. That

heaven might defend the country from being overrun by popery, the House of Commons besought his

majesty to order a day of fasting and humiliation. And by way of adding fury to the gathering tempest, the

bishops, Burnet states, "charged the clergy to preach against popery, which alarmed the court as well as the

The king therefore complained to Dr. Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury, that the discourse heard in every

pulpit throughout the capital and the kingdom was "calculated to inflame the people, and alienate them from

him and his government. "Upon which Dr. Sheldon called the bishops together, that he might consult with

them as to what answer he had best make. Whereon these wise men declared "since the king himself

professed the protestant religion, it would be a thing without a precedent that he should forbid his clergy to

preach in defence of a religion, while he himself said he was of it." The next action which served to inflame

public prejudice against catholicism, was the marriage of the Duke of York to a princess professing that faith.

Soon after the death of his wife, it was considered wise and well his royal highness should marry again. Of

the four sons and four daughters the duchess had borne him, three sons and one daughter had died before

their mother, and the surviving son and another daughter quickly followed her to the tomb; therefore, out of

eight children but two survived, Mary and Anne, at this time respectively aged nine and seven. It being

desirable there should be a male heirpresumptive to the crown, the king was anxious his brother should take

unto himself a second wife. And that a lady might be found worthy of the exalted station to which such a

union would raise her, the Earl of Peterborough was sent incognito to report on the manners and appearance

of the princesses of the courts of Neuburg and of Modena. Not being impressed by the merits of those

belonging to the former, he betook himself to the latter, where, seeing the young Princess d'Este, then in her

fifteenth year, he came to the conclusion no better choice could be made on behalf of the duke than this fair

lady. On communicating this opinion to his royal highness and to his majesty, the king commissioned him to

Difficulties regarding this desired union now arose. The young lady, having been bred in great simplicity and

ignorance, had never heard of such a country as England, or such a person as the Duke of York; and therefore

had no mind to adventure herself in a distant land, or wed a man of whom she knew nought. Moreover, she

had betrayed an inclination to spend her days in the seclusion of a convent, and had no thought of marriage.

Her mother, the Duchess of Modena, then regent, by reason of her husband's death and her son's minority,

was anxious for so advantageous an alliance. And being unable to gain her daughter's consent, she sought the

interference of the pope, who wrote to the young princess, that compliance with her mother's request would

"most conduce to the service of God and the public good." On this, Mary Beatrice Eleonora, Princess d'Este,

daughter of the fourth Duke of Modena, consented to become Duchess of York. Whereon the Earl of

Peterborough made a public entry into Modena, as ambassador extraordinary of Charles II.; and having

Meanwhile, news that the heir to the crown was about to wed a papist spread with rapidity throughout the

kingdom, carrying alarm in its course. If sons were born of the union, they would, it was believed,

undoubtedly be reared in the religion of their parents, and England in time became subject to a catholic king.

The possibility of such a fate was to the public mind fraught with horror; and the House of Commons, after

some angry debates on the subject, presented an address to the king, requesting he would abandon this

proposed marriage. To this he was not inclined to listen, his honour being so far involved in the business; but

notwithstanding his unwillingness, his councillors urged him to this step, and prayed he would stop the

princess, then journeying through France on her way to England. This so incensed him that he immediately

prorogued parliament, and freed himself from further interference on the subject.

On the 21st of November, 1673, the future duchess landed at Dover, where the duke awaited her, attended by

a scant retinue. For the recent protestations, made in the House of Commons against the marriage, having the

effect of scaring the courtiers, few of the nobility, and but one of the bishops, Dr. Crew of Oxford, ventured

to accompany him, or greet his bride. On the day of her arrival the marriage was celebrated, "according to the

usual form in cases of the like nature." The "Stuart Papers" give a brief account of the ceremony. "The Duke

and Duchess of York, with the Duchess of Modena her mother, being together in a room where all the

company was present, as also my Lord Peterborough, the bishop asked the Duchess of Modena and the Earl

of Peterborough whether the said earl had married the Duchess of York as proxy of the duke? which they

This unpopular union served to strengthen the gathering storm; Protests against popery were universally

heard; an article in the marriage settlement, which guaranteed the duchess a public chapel, was broken; and

the duke was advised by Lord Berkshire to retire into the country, "where he might hunt and pray without

offence to any or disquiet to himself." This counsel he refused to heed. Until his majesty should command

him to the contrary, he said, he would always attend upon him, and do such service as he thought his duty and

the king's security required of him. His enemies became more wrathful at this reply, more suspicious of

popery, and more fearful of his influence with the king, They therefore sought to have him removed from his

Consequently, when both Houses assembled on the 7th of January, 1674, the lords presented an address to the

monarch, praying he would graciously issue a proclamation, requiring all papists, or reputed papists, within

five miles of London, Westminster, or Southwark, to depart ten miles from these respective cities, and not

return during this session of Parliament. A few days afterwards an act was introduced into the House of

Commons proposing a second test, impossible for catholics to accept, the refusal of which would not only

render them incapable of holding any office, civil or military, or of sitting in either House of Parliament, but

"of coming within five miles of the court." This unjust bill, to which, if it passed both houses, Charles dared

not refuse assent, threw the court and country into a state of renewed excitement. Knowing it was a blow

levelled at the duke, his friends gathered round him, determined to oppose it by might and main; and after

great exertions caused a clause to be inserted excepting his royal highness from the test. This was ultimately

carried by a majority of two votes, which, says Clarke, "put the little Earl of Shaftesbury so out of humour,

that he said he did not care what became of the bill, having that proviso in it."

This noble earl, who was chief among the royal duke's enemies, was a prominent figure in the political

history of the time. Mr. Burnet tells us his lordship's strength lay in the knowledge of England, and of all

considerable men. "He understood," says the bishop, "the size of their understandings and their tempers; and

he knew how to apply himself to them so dexterously, that though by his changing sides so often it was very

visible how little he was to be depended on, yet he was to the last much trusted by all the discontented party.

He had no regard to truth or justice." As rich in resources as he was poor in honour, he renewed a plan for

depriving the Duke of York from succession to the crown; which, though it had failed when formerly

attempted, he trusted might now succeed. This was to declare the Duke of Monmouth the king's legitimate

son and heir to the throne of England, a scheme which the ambitious son of Lucy Walters was eager to

His majesty's affection for him had strengthened with time, and his favours had been multiplied by years. On

the death of the Duke of Albemarle, Captain General of the Forces, Monmouth had been appointed to that

high office; and some time later had been made General of the Kingdom of Scotland, posts of greatest

importance. Relying on the monarch's love and the people's admiration for this illegitimate scion of royalty,

Lord Shaftesbury hoped to place him on the throne. As the first step necessary in this direction was to gain

his majesty's avowal of a union with Lucy Walters, he ventured on broaching the subject to the king; at which

Charles was so enraged that he declared, "much as he loved the Duke of Monmouth, he had rather see him

hanged at Tyburn than own him as his legitimate son." There was, however, another man engaged in a like

This was one Ross, a Scotsman, who had been made governor of the young duke on his first coming into

England, and who had since acted as his friend and confidant. Now Ross, who had not failed to whisper

ambitious thoughts into his pupil's head, at this time sought Dr. Cosin, Bishop of Durham, and according to

the "Stuart Papers," told him "he might do a great piece of service to the Church of England in keeping out

popery, if he would but sign a certificate of the king's marriage to the Duke of Monmouth's mother, with

whom that bishop was acquainted in Paris. Ross also told the bishop, to make the thing more easy to him, that

during his life the certificate should not be produced or made use of." The same papers state that, as a

bishop's certificate is a legal proof of marriage, Dr. Cosin's compliance would have been invaluable to the

duke and his friends. His lordship, however, rejected the proposition, and laid the matter before the king, who

Horror of popery and fear of a papist sovereign increased with time, care having been taken by my Lord

Shaftesbury and his party that the public mind, once inflamed, should be kept ignited. For this purpose he

spread reports abroad that the Irish were about to rise in rebellion, backed by the French; and that the papists

in London had entered into a vile conspiracy to put their fellow citizens to the sword on the first favourable

opportunity. To give this latter statement a flavour of reality he, assuming an air of fright, betook himself one

night to the city, and sought refuge in the house of a fanatic, in order, he said, that he might escape the

A tempest, dark and dangerous, was gathering fast, which the court felt powerless to subdue. The king's

assurance to parliament that "he would endeavour to satisfy the world of his steadfastness for the security of

the protestant religion," had little avail in soothing the people. Many of them suspected him to be a catholic at

heart; others knew he had accepted the bounty of a country feared and detested by the nation. Deeds, not

words, could alone dispel the clouds of prejudice which came between him and his subjects; and accordingly

he set about the performance of such acts as might bring reconciliation in their train.

The first of these was the confirmation, according to the Protestant Church, of the Lady Mary, eldest daughter

of the Duke of York, and after him heir presumptive to the crown; the second and more important was the

marriage of that princess to William of Orange. This prince was son of the king's eldest sister, and therefore

grandson of Charles I. As a hero who, by virtue of his statesmanship and indomitable courage, had rescued

Holland from the hateful power of France, he was regarded not only as the saviour of his country, but as the

protector of protestantism. Already a large section of the English nation turned their eyes towards him as one

whom they might elect some day to weald the sceptre of Great Britain. Subtle, ambitious, and determined, a

silent student of humanity, a grave observer of politics, a sagacious leader in warfare, he had likewise begun

to look forward towards the chances of succeeding his uncle in the government of Englandin hopes of

which he had been strengthened by the private overtures made him by Shaftesbury, and sustained by the

The proposed union between him and the heiress presumptive to the crown was regarded by the nation with

satisfaction, and by the prince as an act strongly favouring the realization of his desires for sovereignty. Cold

and grave in temperament, sickly and repulsive in appearance, blunt and graceless in manner, he was by no

means an ideal bridegroom for a fair princess; but neither she nor her father had any choice given them in a

concern so important to the pacification of the nation. She, it was whispered at court, had previously given

her heart to a brave young Scottish laird; and her father, it was known, had already taken an instinctive dislike

to the man destined to usurp his throne. In October, 1677, the Prince of Orange came to England, ostensibly

to consult with King Charles regarding the establishment of peace between France and the Confederates; but

the chief motive of his visit was to promote his marriage, which had some time before been proposed, and

owing to political causes had been coolly received by him. Now, however, his anxiety for the union was

made plain to the king, who quickly agreed to his desires. "Nephew," said he to the sturdy Dutchman, "it is

not good for man to be alone, and I will give you a help meet for you; and so," continues Burnet, "he told him

The same afternoon the monarch informed his council that "the Prince of Orange, desiring a more strict

alliance with England by marriage with the Lady Mary, he had consented to it, as a thing he looked on as

very proper to unite the family, and which he believed would be agreeable to his people, and show them the

care he had of religion, for which reason he thought it the best alliance he could make." When his majesty

had concluded this speech, the Duke of York stepped forward, and declared his consent to the marriage. He

hoped "he had now given a sufficient testimony of his right intentions for the public good, and that people

would no more say he designed altering the government in church or state; for whatever his opinion on

religion might be, all that he desired was, that men might not be molested merely for conscience' sake."

The duke then dined at Whitehall with, the king, the Prince of Orange, and a noble company; after which he

returned to St. James's, where he then resided. Dr. Edward Luke, at this time tutor to the Lady Mary, and

subsequently Archdeacon of Exeter, in his interesting manuscript diary, informs us that on reaching the

palace, the duke, with great tenderness and fatherly affection, took his daughter aside, "and told her of the

marriage designed between her and the Prince of Orange; whereupon her highness wept all that afternoon and

the following day." Her tears had not ceased to flow when, two days after the announcement of her marriage,

Lord Chancellor Finch, on behalf of the council, came to congratulate her; and Lord Chief Justice Rainsford,

This union, which the bride regarded with so much repugnance, was appointed to take place on the 4th of

November, that date being the bridegroom's birthday, as likewise the anniversary of his mother's nativity. Dr.

Luke gives a quaint account of the ceremony. "At nine o'clock at night," he writes, "the marriage was

solemnized in her highness's bedchamber. The king; who gave her away, was very pleasant all the while; for

he desired that the Bishop of London would make haste lest his sister [the Duchess of York] should be

delivered of a son, and so the marriage be disappointed. And when the prince endowed her with all his

worldly goods [laying gold and silver on the book], he willed to put all up in her pockett, for 'twas clear

gains. At eleven o'clock they went to bed, when his majesty came and drew the curtains, saying, 'Hey! St.

For a time both court and town seemed to forget the trouble and strife which beset them. Bonfires blazed in

the streets, bells rang from church towers, the populace cheered lustily; whilst at Whitehall there were many

brilliant entertainments. These terminated with a magnificent ball, held on the 15th instant, the queen's

birthday; at the conclusion of this festivity the bride and bridegroom were to embark in their yacht, which

was to set sail next morning for Holland. For this ball the princess had "attired herself very richly with all her

jewels;" but her whole appearance betrayed a sadness she could not suppress in the present, and which the

future did not promise to dispel. For already the bridegroom, whom the maids of honour had dubbed the

"Dutch monster" and "Caliban," had commenced to reveal glimpses of his unhandsome character; "and the

court began to whisper of his sullennesse or clownishnesse, that he took no notice of his princess at the playe

and balle, nor came to see her at St. James', the day preceding that designed for their departure."

The wind being easterly, they were detained in England until the 19th, when, accompanied by the king, the

Duke of York, and several persons of quality, they went in barges from Whitehall to Greenwich. The princess

was sorely grieved, and wept unceasingly. When her tutor "kneeled down and kissed her gown" at parting,

she could not find words to speak, but turned her back that she might hide her tears; and, later on, when the

queen "would have comforted her with the consideration of her own condition when she came into England,

and had never till then seen the king, her highness replied, 'But, madam, you came into England; but I am

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

The marriage of the Lady Mary, though agreeable to the public mind, by no means served to distract it from

the turmoil by which it was beset. Hatred of catholicism, fear of the Duke of York, and distrust of the king,

disturbed the nation to its core. Rumours were now noised abroad, which were not without foundation, that

the monarch and his brother had renewed the treaty with France, by which Louis engaged to send troops into

England to support Charles, when the latter saw fit to lay aside duplicity, and proclaim himself a catholic.

And, notwithstanding the rigorous Test Acts, it was believed many high positions at court were held by those

who were papists at heart. Occasion was therefore ripe for the invention of a monstrous fraud, the history of

The chief contrivers of this imposture were Titus Oates and Dr. Tonge. The first of these was son of a

ribbonweaver, who, catching the fanatical spirit of the Cromwellian period, had ranted as an Anabaptist

preacher. Dissent, however, losing favour under the restoration, Oates, floating with the current of the times,

resolved to become a clergyman of the Church of England, He therefore took orders at Cambridge, officiated

as curate in various parishes, and served as chaplain on board a manofwar. The time he laboured as

spiritual shepherd to his respective flocks was necessarily brief; for his grossly immoral practices becoming

notable, he was in every case ousted from his charge. The odium attached to his name was moreover

increased by the fact, that his evidence in two cases of malicious prosecution had been proved false; for

which he had been tried as a perjurer. Deprived of his chaplaincy for a revolting act of profligacy, driven

from congregations he had scandalized, homeless and destitute, he in an evil hour betook himself to Dr.

Ezrael Tonge, to whom he had long been known, and besought compassion and relief.

The Rev, Dr. Tonge, rector of St. Michael's, Wood Street, was a confirmed fanatic and political alarmist. For

some years previous to this time, he had published quarterly treatises dealing with such wicked designs of the

Jesuits as his heated brain devised. These he had printed and freely circulated, in order, as he acknowledged,

"to arouse and awaken his majesty and the parliament" to a sense of danger. He had begun life as a gardener,

but left that honest occupation that he might cultivate flowers of rhetoric for the benefit of Cromwell's

soldiers. Like Titus Oates, he had become suddenly converted to orthodox principles on return of the king,

and had, through interest, obtained the rectorship of St. Michael's. Bishop Burnet considered him "a very

mean divine, (who) seemed credulous and simple, and was full of projects and notions."

Another historian who lived in those days, the Rev. Laurence Eachard, Archdeacon of Stowe, states Dr.

Tonge was "a man of letters, and had a prolific head filled with all the Romish plots and conspiracies since

the reformation." According to this author, Tonge took Oates into his house, provided him with lodging, diet,

and clothes; and when the latter complained he knew not where to get bread, the rector told him "he would

put him in a way." After this, finding Oates a man of great ingenuity and cunning, "he persuaded him," says

Archdeacon Eachard, "to insinuate himself among the papists, and get particular acquaintance with them;

which being effected, he let him understand that there had been several plots in England to bring in popery,

and that if he would go beyond sea among the Jesuits, and strictly observe their ways, it was possible there

might be one at present; and if he could make that out, it would be his preferment for ever; but, however, if he

could get their names, and some information from the papists, it would be very easy to rouse people with the

Hungering for gold, and thirsting for notoriety, Oates quickly agreed to the scheme laid before him.

Accordingly he became acquainted with, and was received into the Catholic Church by, Father Berry, a

Jesuit, and in May, 1677, was sent by the Jesuits to study in one of their seminaries, situated in Valladolid, in

Spain. Oates, however, though he had proved himself an excellent actor, could not overcome his evil

propensities, and before seven months had passed, he was expelled from the monastery.

Returning to England, he sought out Dr. Tonge, to whom he was unable to recount the secret of a single plot.

Confident, however, that wicked schemes against the lives and properties of innocent protestants were being

concocted by wily Jesuits, the fanatical divine urged Oates to present himself once more before them, bewail

his misconduct, promise amendment, and seek readmission to their midst. Following his advice, Oates was

again received by the Jesuits, and sent to their famous seminary at St. Omer's; where, though he had reached

the age of thirty years, he was entered among the junior students. For six months he remained here, until his

vices becoming noted, he was turned away in disgrace. Again he presented himself before the rector of St.

Michael's, knowing as little of popish plots as he did on his previous return. But Tonge, though disappointed,

was not disheartened; if no scheme existed, he would invent one which should startle the public, and save the

nation. Such proposals as he made towards the accomplishment of this end were readily assented to by Oates,

in whose breast wounded pride and bitter hate rankled deep. Therefore, after many consultations they

resolved to draw up a "Narrative of a Horrid Plot." This was repeatedly changed and enlarged, until

eventually it assumed the definite shape of a deposition, consisting of fortythree distinct articles, written

with great formality and care, and embodying many shocking and criminal charges.

The narrative declared that in April, 1677, the deponent was employed to carry letters from the Jesuits in

London to members of their order in Spain; these he broke open on the journey, and discovered that certain

Jesuits had been sent into Scotland to encourage the presbyterians to rebel. Arrived in Valladolid, he heard

one Armstrong, in a sermon delivered to students, charge his majesty with most foul and blackmouthed

scandals, and use such irreverent, base expressions as no good subjects could repeat without horror. He then

returned to England, and was soon after sent to St. Omer with fresh letters, in which was mentioned a design

to stab or poison his majestyPere la Chaise, the French king's confessor, having placed ten thousand

pounds at the disposal of the Jesuits that they might, by laying out such a sum, the more successfully

accomplish this deed. While abroad the deponent had read many letters, relating to the execution of Charles

II., the subverting of the present government, and the establishment of the Romish religion. Returning again

to England, he became privy to a treaty with Sir George Wakeham, the queen's physician, to poison the king;

and likewise with an agreement to shoot him, made between the Jesuits and two men, named Honest William

and Pickering. He had heard a Jesuit preach a sermon to twelve persons of quality in disguise, in which he

asserted "that protestants and other heretical princes were IPSO FACTO deposed because such; and that it

was as lawful to destroy them as Oliver Cromwell or any other usurper." He also became aware that the

dreadful fire had been managed by Strange, the provincial of the Jesuits, who employed eightysix men in

distributing seven hundred fireballs to destroy the city; and that notwithstanding his vast expenses, he

gained fourteen thousand pounds by plunder carried on during the general confusion, a box of jewels,

consisting of a thousand carat weight of diamonds, being included in the robbery.

The document containing these remarkable statements was finished in August, 1678. It now remained to have

it brought before the king or the council. Tonge was resolved this should he done in a manner best calculated

to heighten the effect of their narrative; at the same time he was careful to guard the fact that he and Oates

had an intimate knowledge of each other. Not knowing any one of interest at court, he sought out Christopher

Kirby, a man employed in the king's laboratory, of whom he had some slight knowledge, and, pledging him

to the strictest secrecy, showed him the "Narrative of the Horrid Plot," and besought his help in bringing it

This aid was freely promised; and next day, the date being the 13th of August, when the monarch was about

to take his usual airing in the park, Kirby drew near, and in a mysterious tone bade his majesty take care, for

his enemies had a design against his life, which might be put into execution at any moment. Startled by such

words, the king asked him in what manner was it intended his life should be taken; to which he replied, "It

might be by pistol; but that to give a more particular account of the matter, required greater privacy." The

monarch, who quickly recovered his first surprise, resolved to take his usual exercise; and, subduing his

curiosity, he bade Kirby attend him on his return from the park, and tell him what he knew of the subject.

When the time arrived, Kirby saw his majesty alone, and related to him in brief that two men waited but an

opportunity to shoot him; and Sir George Wakeham had been hired to poison him; which news, he

concluded, had been imparted to him by a worthy man living close at hand, who would attend his majesty's

Bewildered by such intelligence, yet suspicious of its veracity, the king ordered Kirby to summon his

informant that evening by eight o'clock. When that hour came his majesty repaired to the Red Room, and

there met Dr. Tonge, who delivered his narrative into his hands. The rector was convinced the great moment

he had so long awaited, in which he would behold the monarch aroused to a sense of his danger, had arrived.

He was doomed to bitter disappointment. His majesty coolly took the narrative, and without opening it, said it

should be examined into. On this Tonge begged it might be kept safe and secret, "lest the full discovery

should otherwise be prevented and his life endangered." The monarch replied that, before starting with the

court to morrow for Windsor, he would place it in the hands of one he could trust, and who would answer

for its safety. He then bade him attend on the Lord Treasurer Danby next morning.

In obedience to this command, Tonge waited on his lordship at the appointed time, and by the character of his

replies helped to develop his story of the plot. When asked if the document he had given his majesty was the

original of the deponent, Tonge admitted it was in his own handwriting. On this, Lord Danby expressed a

desire to see the original, and likewise become acquainted with its author. Nothing abashed, the rector replied

the manuscript was in his house, and accounted for its possession by stating that, singularly enough, it had

been thrust under his doorhe did not know by whom, but fancied it must be by one who, some time before,

had discussed with him on the subject of this conspiracy. Whereon his lordship asked him if he knew the

man, and was answered he did not, but he had seen him lately two or three times in the streets, and it was

Being next questioned as to whether he had any knowledge of Honest William, or Pickering, the villains who

sought the king's life, he answered he had not. Immediately, however, he remembered it was their habit to

walk in St. James's Park, and said, if any man was appointed to keep him company, he was almost certain he

would have opportunities of letting that person see these abominable wretches. Finally, Lord Danby asked

him if he knew where they dwelt, for it was his duty to have them arrested at once; but of their abode Tonge

was completely ignorant, though he was hopeful he should speedily be able to obtain the required

He was therefore dismissed, somewhat to his satisfaction, being unprepared for such particular examination;

but in a couple of days he returned to the charge, determined his tale should not be discredited for lack of

effrontery, On this occasion he said he had met the man he suspected of being author of the document, who

owned himself as such, and stated that his name was Titus Oates, but requested Tonge would keep it a strict

secret, "because the papists would murder him if they knew what he was doing." Moreover, Oates had given

him a second paper full of fresh horrors concerning this most foul plot. Taking this with him, the lord

treasurer hastened to Windsor, that he might consult the king, having first left a servant with Tonge, in hopes

the latter might catch sight of Honest William and Pickering in their daily walk through the park, and have

them arrested. On Danby recounting Tonge's statements to the king, his majesty was more convinced than

before the narrative was wholly without foundation, and refused to make it known to his council or the Duke

of York. Therefore the lordtreasurer, on conclusion of a brief visit, left Windsor for his country residence,

For some days no fresh disclosure was made concerning this horrid plot, until late one night, when Dr. Tonge

arrived in great haste at Lord Danby's house, and informed him some of the intended regicides had resolved

on journeying to Windsor next morning, determined to assassinate the king. He added, it was in his power to

arrange that the earl's servant should ride with them in their coach, or at least accompany them on horseback,

and so give due notice of their arrival, in order that they might be timely arrested. Alarmed by this

intelligence, Danby at once hastened to Windsor, and informed the king of what had come to his knowledge.

Both endured great suspense that night, and next day their excitement was raised to an inordinate pitch by

seeing the earl's servant ride towards the castle with all possible speed. When, however, the man was brought

into his majesty's presence, he merely delivered a message from Dr. Tonge, stating the villains "had been

prevented from taking their intended journey that day, but they proposed riding to Windsor next day, or

within two days at farthest." Before that time had arrived, another message came to say, "one of their horses

Taking these foolish excuses, as well as Dr. Tonge's prevaricating answers and mysterious statements, into

consideration, the king was now convinced the "Narrative of a Horrid Plot" was an invention of a fanatic or a

rogue. He was, therefore; desirous of letting the subject drop into obscurity; but Lord Danby, foreseeing in

the sensation which its avowal would create, a welcome cloud to screen the defects of his policy, which

parliament intended to denounce, urged his majesty to lay the matter before his privy council. This advice the

king refused to accept, saying, "he should alarm all England, and put thoughts of killing him into people's

heads, who had no such ideas before." Somewhat disappointed, the lord treasurer returned once more to

Wimbledon, the king remaining at Windsor, and no further news of the plot disturbed the even tenour of their

At the end of that time Dr. Tonge, now conscious of the false steps he had taken, conceived a fresh scheme

by which his story might obtain credence, and he gain wealth and fame. Accordingly he wrote to Danby,

informing him a packet of letters, written by the Jesuits and concerning the plot, would, on a certain date, be

sent to Mr. Bedingfield, chaplain to the Duchess of York. Such information was most acceptable to Danby at

the moment; he at once started for Windsor, and laid this fresh information before the king. To his lordship's

intense surprise, his majesty handed him the letters. These, five in number, containing treasonable

expressions and references to the plot, had been some hours before handed by Mr. Bedingfield to the Duke of

York, saying, he "feared some ill was intended him by the same packet, because the letters therein seemed to

be of a dangerous nature, and that he was sure they were not the handwriting of the persons whose names

were subscribed to the letters." On examination, they were proved to be most flagrant forgeries. Written in a

feigned hand, and signed by different names, they were evidently the production of one man; the same want

of punctuation, style of expression, and peculiarities of spelling being notable in all. The Duke of York,

foreseeing malice was meant by them, forcibly persuaded the king to place the epistles before the privy

council. Accordingly, they were handed to Sir William Jones, attorney general, and Sir Robert Southwell,

who stated, upon comparing them with Dr. Tonge's narrative, they were convinced both were written by the

Meanwhile, Tonge and Oates, aware of the coldness and doubt with which his majesty had received the

"Narrative of the Horrid Plot," and ignorant of the fact he had placed the letters before his privy council,

resolved to make their story public to the world. It therefore happened on the 6th of September they presented

themselves before Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, a justice of the peace, in the parish of St. Martin's, who, not

without considerable persuasion, consented to receive a sworn testimony from Titus Oates regarding the truth

of his narrative, which had now grown from fortythree to eightyone articles. This action prevented further

A few days later the court returned to town for the winter, when the Duke of York besought the privy council

to investigate the strange charges made in the declaration. Accordingly, on the 28th of the month, Tonge and

Oates were summoned before it, when the latter, making many additions to his narrative, solemnly affirmed

its truth. Aghast at so horrible a relation, the council knew not what to credit. The evil reputation Oates had

borne, the baseness of character he revealed in detailing his actions as a spy, the mysterious manner in which

the fanatical Tonge accounted for his possession of the document, tended to make many doubt; whilst others,

believing no man would have the hardihood to bring forward such charges without being able to sustain them

by proof, contended it was their duty to sift them to the end. Believing if he had been entrusted with secret

letters and documents of importance, he would naturally retain some of them in order to prove his intended

charges, the council asked Oates to produce them; but of these he had not one to show. Nor, he confessed,

could he then furnish proof of his words, but promised if he were provided with a guard, and given officers

and warrants, he would arrest certain persons concerned in the plot, and seize secret documents such as none

could dispute. These being granted him, he immediately caused eight Jesuits to be apprehended and

imprisoned. Then he commenced a search for treasonable letters, not only in their houses, but in the homes of

such catholics as were noted for their zeal. His investigations were awaited with impatience; nor were they

One of the first dwellings which Titus Oates investigated was that of Edward Coleman. This gentleman, the

son of an English divine, had early in life embraced catholicity, for the propagation of which he thenceforth

became most zealous. Coming under notice of the court, he became the confidant of the Duke of York, and

by him was made secretary to the duchess. A man of great mental activity, religious fervour, and considerable

ambition, he had, about four years previous to this time, entered into a correspondence with the confessor of

the French king and other Jesuits, regarding the hopes he entertained of Charles II. professing catholicity.

Knowing him to be bold in his designs and incautious in his actions, the duke had discharged him from his

post as secretary to the duchess, but had retained him in his dependence. This latter circumstance, together

with a suspicion of the confidence which had existed between him and his royal highness, prompted Oates to

have him arrested, and his house searched. Coleman, having received notice of this design, fled from his

home, incautiously leaving behind him some old letters and copies of communications which had passed

between him and the Jesuits. These were at once seized, and though not containing one expression which

could be construed as treasonable, were, from expectations they set forth of seeing catholicity re established

in England, considered by undiscerning judges, proofs of the statements made by Oates.

On the strength of his discovery, Oates hastened to Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, and swore false informations;

becoming aware of which, Coleman, conscious of his innocence, delivered himself up, in hopes of meeting a

The Privy council now sat morning and evening, in order to examine Oates, whose evidence proved

untrustworthy and contradictory to a bewildering degree. When it was pointed out to him the five letters,

supposed to come from men of education, contained illspelling, bad grammar, and other faults, he, with

much effrontery, declared it was a common artifice among the Jesuits to write in that manner, in order to

avoid recognition; but inasmuch as real names were attached to the epistles, that argument was not considered

just. The subject was not mentioned again. When an agent for these wicked men in Spain, he related, he had

been admitted into the presence of Don John, and had seen him counting out large sums of money, with

which he intended to reward Sir George Wakeham when he had poisoned the king. Hearing this, his majesty

inquired what kind of person Don John was. Oates said he was tall, lean, and black; whereas the monarch

knew him to be small, stout, and fair. And on another occasion, when asked where he had heard the French

king's confessor hire an assassin to shoot Charles, he replied, "At the Jesuits' monastery close by the Louvre;"

at which the king, losing patience with the impostor, cried out, "Tush, man! the Jesuits have no house within

a mile of the Louvre!" Presently Oates named two catholic peers, Lord Arundel of Wardour and Lord

Bellasis, as being concerned in the plot, when the king again spoke to him, saying these lords had served his

father faithfully, and fought his wars bravely, and unless proof were clear against them, he would not credit

they sought him ill. Then Oates, seeing he had gone too far, said they did not know of the conspiracy, but it

had been intended to acquaint them with it in good time. Later on he swore falsely against them.

Meanwhile the wildest sensation was caused by the revelations of this "hellish plot and attempt to murder the

king." The public mind, long filled with hatred of papacy, was now inflamed to a degree of fury which could

only be quenched by the blood of many victims. To the general sensation which obtained, a new terror was

On the evening of Saturday, the 12th of October, Sir Edmondbury Godfrey was missing from his home in the

parish of St. Martin's. The worthy magistrate was an easy going bachelor of portly appearance, much given to

quote legal opinions in his discourse, and to assert the majesty of the law as represented in his person. He was

alike respected for his zeal by the protestants, and esteemed for his lenity by the catholics. Bishop Burnet

records the worthy knight "was not apt to search for priests or masshouses;" and Archdeacon Eachard

affirms "he was well known to be a favourer rather than a prosecutor of the papists." Accordingly, his

disappearance at first begot no evil suspicions; but as he did not return on Monday, his servants became

alarmed at the absence of a master whose regularity was proverbial. His brothers were of opinion he was in

debt, and sought escape from his creditors; whilst his friends, after their kind, were ready to name certain

houses of doubtful repute in which they were certain he had taken temporary lodgings. On his papers being

examined, it was found he had set his affairs in order, paid all his debts, and destroyed a quantity of his letters

and documents. It was then remembered he had been occasionally susceptible to melancholiaa disease he

inherited from his father, who had perished by his own hand. It was noted some days before that on which he

was missed, he had appeared listless and depressed. It was known the imprisonment of his friend Coleman

had weighed heavily on his spirits. A terrible fear now taking possession of his relatives and friends, thorough

search was made for him, which proved vain until the Thursday following his disappearance, when he was

accidentally discovered lying in a ditch, a cloth knotted round his neck, and a sword passed through his body,

"at or near a place called Primrose Hill, in the midway between London and Hampstead."

If he had been murdered, no motive appeared to account for the deed; neither robbery nor revenge could have

prompted it. His rings and money, gloves and cane, were found on and near his body; and it was known he

had lived in peace with all men. Nor did an inquest lasting two days throw any light upon the mystery. If it

were proved he had died by his own hand, the law of that day would not permit his brothers to inherit his

property, which was found to be considerable. It was therefore their interest to ignore the fact that

strangulation pointed to FELO DE SE, and to assume he had been murdered. Accordingly they prohibited the

surgeons from opening the body, lest examination should falsify conclusions at which they desired to arrive.

A verdict was ultimately returned "that he was murdered by certain persons unknown to the jurors, and that

his death proceeded from suffocation and strangling by a certain piece of linen cloth of no value."

Occurring at such a moment, his death was at once attributed to the papists, who, it was said, being incensed

that the magistrate had received the sworn testimonies of Oates, had sought this bloody revenge. Fear now

succeeded bewilderment; desires of vengeance sprang from depths of horror. For two days the mangled

remains of the poor knight were exposed to public view, "and all that saw them went away inflamed." They

were then interred with all the pomp and state befitting one who had fallen a victim to catholicism, a martyr

to protestantism. The funeral procession, which took its sad way through the principal thoroughfares from

Bridewell to St. Martin'sintheFields, numbered seventytwo divines, and over twelve hundred persons of

quality and consideration. Arriving at the church, Dr. Lloyd, a clergyman remarkable for his fine abhorrence

of papists, ascended the pulpit, where, protected by two men of great height and strength, he delivered a,

discourse, pointing to the conclusion that Sir Edmondbury Godfrey had been sacrificed to the catholic

conspiracy, and instigating his hearers to seek revenge. Sir Roger North tells us the crowd in and about the

church was prodigious, "and so heated, that anything called papist, were it cat or dog, had probably gone to

pieces in a moment. The catholics all kept close in their houses and lodgings, thinking it a good composition

The whole city was terrorstricken. "Men's spirits were so sharpened," says Burnet, "that it was looked on as

a very great happiness that the people did not vent their fury upon the papists about the town." Tonge and

Oates went abroad protected by body guards, arresting hundreds of catholics; cannon were mounted around

Whitehall and St. James's; patrols paraded the streets by day and night; the trained bands were ready to fall in

at a moment's notice; preparations were made for barricading the principal thoroughfares; the city gates were

kept closed so that admission could be only had through the wickets; and the Houses of Parliament demanded

a guard should keep watch on the vaults over which they sat, lest imitators of Guy Fawkes might blow them

to pieces. Moreover, it was not alone the safety of the multitude, but the protection of the individual which

was sought to be secured. In the dark confusion which general terror produced, each man felt he might be

singled out as the next victim of this diabolical plot, and therefore devised means to guard his life from the

hands of murderous papists. North, in his "Examen," speaking of this period, tells us: "There was much

recommendation of silk armour, and the prudence of being provided with it against the time the Protestants

were to be massacred. And, accordingly, there were abundance of those silken back, breast, and headpots

made and sold, that were pretended to be pistol proof; in which any man dressed up was as safe as in a house,

for it was impossible anyone could go to strike him for laughing; so ridiculous was the figure, as they say, of

hogs in armour. This was the armour of defence; but our sparks were not altogether so tame as to carry their

provision no further, for truly they intended to be assailants upon fair occasion, and had for that end

recommended also to them a certain pocket weapon, which for its design and efficacy had the honour to be

called a protestant flail. It was for street and crowd work; and the engine lurking perdue in a coat pocket,

might readily sally out to execution, and so, by clearing a great hall, or piazza or so, carry an election by a

choice of polling called knocking down. The handle resembled a farrier's blood stick, and the fall was joined

to the end by a strong nervous ligature, that in its swing fell just short of the hand, and was made of LIGNUM

One day, whilst the town was in this state of consternation, Tonge sent for Dr. Burnet, who hastened to visit

him in the apartments allotted him and Oates at Whitehall. The historian says he found Tonge "so lifted up

that he seemed to have lost the little sense he had. Oates came in," he continues, "and made me a compliment

that I was one that was marked out to be killed. He had before said the same to Stillingfleet of him. But he

had made that honour which he did us too cheap, when he said Tonge was to be served in the same manner,

because he had translated 'The Jesuits' Morals' into English. He broke out into great fury against the Jesuits,

and said he would have their blood. But I, to divert him from that strain, asked him what were the arguments

that prevailed on him to change his religion and to go over to the Church of Rome? He upon that stood up,

and laid his hands on his breast, and said, 'God and His holy angels knew that he had never changed, but that

he had gone among them on purpose to betray them.' This gave me such a character of him, that I could have

The agitation now besetting the public mind had been adroitly fanned into flame by the evil genius of Lord

Shaftesbury. Eachard states that if he was not the original contriver of this disturbance, "he was at least the

grand refiner and improver of all the materials. And so much he seemed to acknowledge to a nobleman of his

acquaintance, when he said, 'I will not say who started the game, but I am sure I had the full hunting of it.'" In

the general consternation which spread over the land he beheld a means that might help the fulfilment of his

strong desires. Chief among these were the exclusion of the Duke of York from the throne, and the realization

of his own inordinate ambition. A deist in belief, he abhorred catholicism; a worshipper of self, he longed for

power. He had boasted Cromwell had wanted to crown him king, and he narrated to Burnet that a Dutch

astrologer had predicted he would yet fill a lofty position. He had long schemed and dreamed, and now it

seemed the result of the one and fulfilment of the other were at hand. The pretended discovery of this plot

threatened to upheave the established form of government, for the king was one at heart with those about to

be brought to trial and death. A quarter of a century had not passed since a bold and determined man had

risen up and governed Great Britain. Why should not history repeat itself in this respect? the prospect was

alluring. Possessing strong influence, great vanity, and an unscrupulous character, Shaftesbury resolved to stir

On the 21st of October, Parliament assembled, when Lord Danby, much against his majesty's inclination,

brought the subject of the plot before the Commons. This was a movement much appreciated by the House,

which, fired by the general indignation, resolved to deal out vengeance with a strong hand. As befitted such

intention, they began by requesting his majesty would order a day of general fasting and prayer, to implore

the mercy of Almighty God. The king complying with this desire, they next, "in consideration of the bloody

and traitorous designs," besought him to issue a proclamation "commanding all persons being popish

recusants, or so reputed," to depart ten miles from the city. Accordingly, upwards of thirty thousand citizens

left London before the 7th of the following month, "with great lamentations leaving their trades and

habitations." Many of them in a little while secretly returned again. A few days before this latest petition was

presented to the monarch, Oates had been examined before the House for over six hours; and so delighted

was he by the unprejudiced manner in which his statements were received, that he added several items to

them. These were not only interesting in themselves, but implicated peers and persons of quality to the

number of twentysix. The former, including Lords Stafford, Powis, Petre, Bellasis, and Arundel of

At the end of his examination he was several times asked if he knew more of the plot, or of those concerned

with it, to which he emphatically replied he did not. Three days later he remembered a further incident which

Both Houses now sat in the forenoon and afternoon of each day; excitement was not allowed to flag. Oates

seldom appeared before the Commons without having fresh revelations to make; but the fertility of his

imagination by no means weakened the strength of his evidence in the opinions of his hearers. "Oates was

encouraged," writes John Evelyn, "and everything he affirmed taken for gospel." Indignation against the

papists daily increasing in height, the decrees issued regarding them became more rigorous in severity.

On the 2nd of November the king, in obedience to his Parliament, offered a reward of twenty pounds for the

discovery of any officer or soldier who, since the passing of the Test Act, "hath been perverted to the Romish

religion, or hears mass." Two days later a bill was framed "for more effectually preserving the king's person

and government, by disabling papists from sitting in either House of Parliament." As it was feared a clause

would be inserted in this, excluding the Duke of York, the enemies of his royal highness more plainly

avowed their object by moving that an address be presented to the king, praying his brother should "withdraw

himself from his majesty's person and counsels." This was the first step towards the Bill of Exclusion from

Succession which they hoped subsequently to obtain. The monarch, however, determined to check such

designs whilst there was yet time; and accordingly made a speech to the peers, in which he said to them,

"Whatever reasonable bills you shall present to be passed into laws, to make you safe in the reign of my

successor, so they tend not to impeach the right of succession, nor the descent of the crown in the true line,

The intended address was therefore abandoned for the present; but the bill for disabling catholics from sitting

in either House of Parliament, having a clause which excepted the Duke of York from that indignity, passed

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

Before the remains of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey were laid to rest, a proclamation was issued by the king,

offering a reward of five hundred pounds for discovery of the murderers. If one of the assassins betrayed

those who helped him in the deed, he should receive, not only the sum mentioned, but likewise a free pardon,

and such protection for his security as he could in reason propose. Two days after this had been made public,

a man named William Bedlow put himself in communication with Sir William Coventry, Secretary of State,

Archdeacon Eachard tells us this man "was one of a base birth and worse manners, who from a poor footboy

and runner of errands, for a while got into a livery in the Lord Bellasis's family; and having for his villainies

suffered hardships and want in many prisons in England, he afterwards turned a kind of post or letter carrier

for those who thought fit to employ him beyond sea. By these means he got the names and habitations of men

of quality, their relations, correspondents, and interests; and upon this bottom, with a daring boldness, and a,

dexterous turn of fancy and address, he put himself into the world. He was skilful in all the arts and methods

of cheating; but his masterpiece was his personating men of quality, getting credit for watches, coats, and

horses; borrowing money, bilking vintners and tradesmen, lying and romancing to the degree of imposing

upon any man of good nature. He lived like a wild Arab upon prey, and whether he was in Flanders, France,

Spain, or England, he never failed in leaving the name of a notorious cheat and impostor behind him."

On the 7th of November, Bedlow was brought before the king, and examined by two Secretaries of State.

Here he made the extraordinary declaration that he had seen the body of the murdered magistrate lying at

Somerset Housethen the residence of the queen; that two Jesuits, named La Faire and Walsh, told him

they, with the assistance of an attendant in the queen's chapel, had smothered Sir Edmondbury Godfrey

between two pillows; that he had been offered two thousand guineas if he would safely remove the body,

which on his refusal was carried away, a couple of nights after the murder, by three persons unknown to him,

who were servants of the queen's household. Hearing this statement, Sir William Coventry asked him if he

knew anything of the popish plot, when he affirmed on oath he was entirely ignorant regarding it; he likewise

That night he was lodged in Whitehall, in company with Tonge and Oates; and next morning appeared before

the House of Lords, when it was evident his memory had wonderfully improved since the previous day. His

story now assumed a more concise form. In the beginning of October, he stated, he had been offered the sum

of four thousand pounds, to be paid by Lord Bellasis, provided he murdered a man whose name was withheld

from him, This he refused. He was then asked to make the acquaintance and watch the movements of Sir

Edmondbury Godfrey. With this he complied. Soon after dusk on the 12th of October, the magistrate had

been dragged into the court of Somerset House by the Jesuits, and asked if he would send for the documents

to which Oates had sworn. On his refusal he had been smothered with a piece of linen cloth; the story of

suffocation by pillows, being at variance with the medical evidence, was now abandoned. One of the Jesuits,

La Faire, had asked Bedlow to call at Somerset House that night at nine o'clock; and on presenting himself,

he was conducted through a gloomy passage into a spacious and sombre room, where a group of figures stood

round a body lying on the floor. Advancing to these, La Faire turned the light of a lantern he carried on the

face of the prostrate man, when Bedlow recognised Sir Edmondbury Godfrey. He was then offered two

thousand guineas if he would remove the body, which was allowed to remain there three days. This he

promised to accomplish, but afterwards, his conscience reproving him, he resolved to avoid the assassins; and

rather than accept the sum proffered, he had preferred discovering the villainy to the Government.

This improbable story obtained no credit with the king, nor indeed with those whose minds were free from

prejudice. "His majesty," writes Sir John Reresby, "told me Bedlow was a rogue, and that he was satisfied he

had given false evidence concerning the death of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey." Many circumstances regarding

the narrator and his story showed the viciousness of the one and the falsity of the other. The authority just

mentioned states, when Bedlow "was taxed with having cheated a great many merchants abroad, and

gentlemen at home, by personating my Lord Gerard and other men of quality, and by divers other cheats, he

made it an argument to be more credited in this matter, saying nobody but a rogue could be employed in such

designs." Concerning the murder, it chanced the king had been at Somerset House visiting the queen, at the

time when, according to Bedlow, the deed had been committed. His majesty had been attended by a company

of guards, and sentries had been placed at every door; yet not one of them had witnessed a scuffle, or heard a

noise. Moreover, on the king sending Bedlow to Somerset House, that he might indicate the apartment in

which the magistrate's remains had lain three days, he pointed out a room where the footman waited, and

But the dishonesty of his character and falsity of his statements by no means prevented the majority of his

hearers from believing, or pretending to believe, his statements; and therefore, encouraged by the ready

reception they met, he ventured to make fresh and startling revelations. Heedless of the oath he had taken on

the first day of his examination, regarding his ignorance of the popish plot, he now asserted he was well

acquainted with all its details. For some four years he had been in the secret employment of the wicked

Jesuits, and knew they intended to stab and poison his majesty, establish catholicity in England, and make the

pope king. So far, indeed, had their evil machinations been planned, that several popish peers already held

commissions for posts they expected to fill in the future. Lord Bellasis and Lord Powis were appointed

commanders of the forces in the north and south; whilst Lord Arundel of Wardour had permission to grant

such positions as he pleased. Then the Dukes of Buckingham, Ormond, and Monmouth, with Lords

Shaftesbury and Ossory, together with many others, were to be murdered by forty thousand papists, who were

ready to rise up all over the country at a moment's notice. "Nor was there," he added, "a Roman Catholic of

any quality or credit but was acquainted with these designs and had received the sacrament from their father

It by no means pleased Oates that Bedlow should surpass him in his knowledge of this hellish plot. Therefore,

that he might not lose in repute as an informer, he now declared he was also aware of the commissions held

by popish peers. He, however, assigned them in a different order. Arundel was to be made chancellor; Powis,

treasurer; Bellasis general of the army; Petre, lieutenantgeneral; Ratcliffe, majorgeneral; Stafford,

paymastergeneral; and Langhorn, advocategeneral. Nay, his information far outstripped Bedlow's, for he

swore that to his knowledge Coleman had given four ruffians eighty guineas to stab the king, and Sir George

Wakeham had undertaken to poison his majesty for ten thousand pounds. When, however, he was brought

face to face with these men, he was unable to recognise them, a fact he accounted for by stating he was

All England was scared by revelations so horrible; "the business of life," writes Macpherson, "was interrupted

by confusion, panic, clamour, and dreadful rumours." In London, two thousand catholics were cast into

prison; houses were daily searched for arms and treasonable documents; and in good time merciless

One of the first victims of this socalled plot was William Staley, a catholic banker of fair renown. The

manner in which his life was sacrificed will serve as an example of the injustice meted to those accused. One

day, William Staley happened to enter a pastrycook's shop in Covent Garden, opposite his bank, where there

chanced to stand at the time a fellow named Carstairs; one of the infamous creatures who, envious of the

honours and riches heaped on Oates and Bedlow, resolved to make new discoveries and enjoy like rewards.

At this time he was, as Bishop Burnet states, "looking about where he could find a lucky piece of villainy."

Unfortunately the banker came under his notice, and Bedlow and an associate pretended to have heard Staley

say the king was a rogue and a persecutor of the people whom he would stab if no other man was found to do

the deed. These words Carstairs wrote down, and next morning called on the banker, showed him the

treasonable sentence, and said he would swear it had been uttered by him, unless he, Staley, would purchase

his silence. Though fully aware of his danger, he refused to do this; whereon Carstairs had him instantly

arrested and committed for trial. Hearing of his situation, and knowing the infamous character of his accusers,

Dr. Burnet thought it his duty to let the lord chancellor and the attorneygeneral know "What profligate

wretches these witnesses were." His interference was received with hostility. The attorneygeneral took it ill

that he should disparage the king's evidence; Lord Shaftesbury avowed those who sought to undermine the

credit of witnesses were to be looked on as public enemies; whilst the Duke of Lauderdale said Burnet

desired to save Staley because of the regard he had for anyone who would murder his majesty. Frightened by

such remarks at a time when no man's life or credit was safe, Burnet shrank from further action; but rumour

of his interference having got noised abroad, it was resented by the public to such an extent, that he was

Within five days of his arrest, William Staley was condemned to death. In vain he protested his innocence,

pointed out the improbability of his using such words in a public room, and referred to his character as a loyal

The next victim was Coleman. He denied having hired assassins to murder his majesty, or entertained desires

for his death; but honestly stated he had striven to advance his religion, not by bloodshed, but by tolerance.

Whilst lying in chains at Newgate prison under sentence of death members of both Houses of Parliament

visited him, and offered him pardon if he confessed a knowledge of the plot; but, in answer to all persuasions

A little later, three Jesuits, named Ireland, Whitehead, and Fenwick, and two attendants of the queen's chapel,

named Grove and Pickering, were executed on a charge of conspiracy to kill the king. Oates and Bedlow

swore these Jesuits had promised Grove fifteen hundred pounds as price of the murder; Pickering chose as his

reward to have thirty thousand masses, at a shilling a mass, said for him. Three times they had attempted this

deed with a pistol; but once the flint was loose, another time there was no powder in the pan, and again the

pistol was charged only with bullets. These five men died denying their guilt to the last.

Meanwhile, Dr. Tonge, the ingenious inventor of the plot, had sunk into insignificance by comparison with

his audacious pupil. Not only did the latter have apartments at Whitehall allotted him, and receive a pension

of twelve hundred a year, but he was lauded as the saviour of his country, complimented with the title of

doctor of divinity, honoured in public, and entertained in private. Eachard mentions "a great supper in the

city," given in compliment to Oates by "twenty eminent rich citizens;" and Sir John Reresby writes of

meeting him at the dinnertable of Dr. Gunning, Bishop of Ely. Nothing could exceed the insolence and

arrogance of the impostor. He appeared in a silk gown and cassock, a long scarf, a broad hat with satin band

and rose, and called himself a doctor of divinity. No man dared contradict or oppose him, lest he should be

denounced as a conniver of the plot, and arrested as a traitor. "Whoever he pointed at was taken up and

committed," says North. "So that many people got out of his way as from a blast, and glad they could prove

their last two years' conversation. The very breath of him was pestilential, and if it brought not imprisonment,

it surely poisoned reputation." Sir John, speaking of him at the bishop's dinnertable, says "he was blown up

with the hopes of running down the Duke of York, and spoke of him and his family after a manner which

showed himself both a fool and a knave. He reflected not only on him personally, but upon her majesty;

nobody daring to contradict him, for fear of being made a party to the plot. I at least did not undertake to do

it, when he left the room in some heat. The bishop told me this was his usual discourse, and that he had

checked him formerly for taking so indecent a liberty, but he found it was to no purpose."

The impostor's conversation on this occasion furnishes the key note of a vile plot now contrived to intercept

the lawful succession, either by effectually removing the queen, and thereby enabling the king to marry

again; or otherwise excluding the Duke of York by act of parliament from lawful right to the crown. Though

Shaftesbury's hand was not plainly seen, there can be no doubt it was busily employed in working out his

The blow was first aimed at her majesty by Bedlow, who, on the 25th of November, accused her of

conspiring to kill her husband. About eighteen months previously, he said, there had been a consultation in

the chapel gallery at Somerset House, which had been attended by Lord Bellasis, Mr. Coleman, La Faire,

Pritchard, Latham, and Sheldon, four Jesuits, and two Frenchmen whom he took to be abbots, two persons of

quality whose faces he did not see, and lastly by her majesty. The Jesuits afterwards confided in him as a

person of trust, that the queen wept at a proposal to murder the king which had been made, but subsequently

yielding to arguments of the French abbots, had consented to the design. Indeed, Bedlow, who was in the

sacristy when her majesty passed through at the termination of this meeting, noticed her face had much

changed. Here his story ended; but, as was now usual, it was taken up and concluded by Oates.

Appearing at the Bar of the House of Commons, this vile impostor cried out, "Aye, Taitus Oates, accause

Caatharine, Quean of England, of haigh traison." Then followed his audacious evidence. In the previous July,

Sir George Wakeham, in writing to a Jesuit named Ashby, stated her majesty would aid in poisoning the

king. A few days afterwards, Harcourt and four other Jesuits having been sent for, attended the queen at

Somerset House. On that occasion Oates waited on them; they went into a chamber, he stayed without.

Whilst there he heard a woman's voice say she would endure her wrongs no longer, but should assist Sir

George Wakeham in poisoning the king. He was afterwards admitted to the chamber, and saw no woman

there but her majesty; and he heard the same voice ask Harcourt, whilst be was within, if he had received the

The appetite of public credulity seeming to increase by that on which it fed, this avowal was readily believed.

That the accusation had not been previously made; that Oates had months before sworn he knew no others

implicated in the plot beyond those he named; that the queen had never interfered in religious matters; that

she loved her husband exceeding well, were facts completely overlooked in the general agitation. Parliament

"was in a rage and flame;" and next day the Commons drew up an address to the king, stating that "having

received information of a most desperate and traitorous design against the life of his sacred majesty, wherein

the queen is particularly charged and accused" they besought him that "she and all her family, and all papists

and reputed papists, be forthwith removed from his court." Furthermore, the House sent a message to the

Peers, desiring their concurrence in this request; but the Lords made answer, before doing so they would

examine the witnesses against her majesty. This resolution was loudly and indecently protested against by

The king had discredited the story of the plot from the first; but remembering the unhappy consequences

which had resulted upon the disagreement of the monarch and his parliament in the previous reign, he weakly

resolved to let himself be carried away by the storm, other than offer it resistance. On the condemnation of

the Jesuits, he had appeared unhappy and dissatisfied; "but," says Lord Romney, "after he had had a little

advice he kept his displeasure to himself." The Duke of York states, in the Stuart Papers, that "the seeming

necessity of his affairs made his majesty think he could not be safe but by consenting every day to the

execution of those he knew in his heart to be most innocent." Now, however, when foul charges were made

against the queen, calculated not merely to ruin her honour but destroy her life, he resolved to interfere. He

therefore requested she would return to Whitehall, where she should be safe under his protection; and feeling

assured Oates had received instructions from others more villainous than their tool, he ordered a strict guard

to be kept upon him. This he was, however, obliged to remove next day at request of the Commons.

On the examination before the House of Lords of Oates and Bedlow, their evidence proved so vague and

contradictory that it was rejected even by the most credulous. When Bedlow was asked "why be had not

disclosed such a perilous matter in conjunction with his previous information touching the murder of Sir

Edmondbury Godfrey," he coolly replied, "it had escaped his memory." On Oates being sent to point out the

apartment in which he had seen her majesty and the Jesuits, he first selected the guardroom, and afterwards

the privy chamber, places in which it would have been impossible to have held secret consultation. Aware

that the king was resolved to protect her majesty, and conscious the evidence of her accusers was more wildly

improbable than usual, the Lords refused to second the address of the Commons, when the charge against this

Though the queen happily escaped the toils of her enemies, the reign of terror was by no means at an end. At

request of the king, the Duke of York left England and took refuge in Brussels; the catholic peers imprisoned

in the Tower were impeached with high treason; Hill, Green, and Berry, servants of her majesty, charged with

the murder of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, were, without a shadow of evidence, hurried to the scaffold, as were

soon after Whitebread, Fenwick, Harcourt, Gavan and Turner, Jesuits all, and Langhorn, a catholic lawyer,

for conspiring to murder the king. On the morning when these unfortunate men stood ignominiously bound to

the gallows at Tyburn, the instruments of death before their eyes, the angry murmurs of the surging mob

ringing in their ears, suddenly the sound of a voice crying aloud, "A pardon! a pardon!" was heard afar off,

and presently a horseman appeared riding at full speed. The soldiers with some difficulty making way for him

through a line of excited people, he advanced to the foot of the scaffold, and handed a roll of paper bearing

the king's seal to the sheriff, who, opening it, read a promise of pardon to those now standing face to face

with death, provided "they should acknowledge the conspiracy, and lay open what they knew thereof." To

this they replied they knew of no plot, and had never desired harm to the king; and, praying for those who had

The firmness and patience with which the victims of judicial murder had one and all met death, refusing

bribes, and resisting persuasions to own themselves guilty, could not fail in producing some effect upon the

public mind; and towards the middle of the year 1679 the first signs of reaction became visible, when three

Benedictine monks and the queen's physician were tried for conspiracy "to poison the king, subvert the

government, and introduce popery." During the examination, Evelyn tells us, "the bench was crowded with

the judges, lord mayor, justices, and innumerable spectators." After a tedious trial of nine hours, the jury

brought the prisoners in not guilty, "without," says Evelyn, "sufficient disadvantage and reflection on

As my Lord Shaftesbury had not yet succeeded in his desired project of excluding the Duke of York from

succession, the symptoms of change in public opinion were thoroughly distasteful to him. He therefore

resolved to check them immediately, and stimulate the agitation and fear that had for many months reigned

paramount through out the nation. For this purpose he had recourse to his former method of circulating wild

and baseless reports. Accordingly a rumour was soon brought before the House of Commons of a horrible

plot hatched by the papists to burn London to the ground. This, it was alleged, would be effected by a

servantmaid setting a clothespress on fire in the house of her master, situated in Fetter Lane. Two vile

Irishmen were to feed the flames, and meanwhile the catholics would rise in rebellion, and, assisted by an

army of sixty thousand French soldiers, kill the king, and put all protestants to the sword. Though this tale

was in due time discredited, yet it served its purpose in the present. The violent alarm it caused had not

subsided when another terrible story, started on the excellent authority of Lord Shaftesbury's cook, added a

new terror. This stated the Duke of York had placed himself at the head of the French troops, with intention

of landing in England, murdering the king and forcing papacy on his subjects. The scare was sufficiently

effectual to cause Parliament to petition his majesty that he might revoke all licenses recently granted catholic

householders to reside in the capital; and order the execution of all priests who administered sacraments or

celebrated mass within the kingdom. Soon after this address, Lord Russell was sent by the Commons to the

Peers, requesting their concurrence in the statement that "the Duke of York's being a papist, the hope of his

coming to the crown had given the greatest countenance and encouragement to the conspiracies and designs

of the papists." And now, in May, 1679, the condition of popular feeling promising well for its success. the

Bill of Exclusion was introduced, ordaining that "James, Duke of York should be incapable of inheriting the

crowns of England and Ireland; that on the demise of his majesty without heirs of his body, his dominions

should devolve, as if the Duke of York were also dead, on that person next in succession who had always

professed the protestant religion established by law." This passed the House of Commons by a majority of

Alarmed by this bill, Charles resolved to show signs of resentment, and at the same time check the increasing

power of the Commons, by a sudden and decisive movement. Therefore, without previously hinting at his

intentions, he prorogued parliament before the bill was sent to the House of Lords. This was a keen surprise

to all, and a bitter disappointment to Shaftesbury, who vowed those who advised the king to this measure

should answer for it with their heads. Owing to various delays, the Bill of Exclusion was not brought before

the Peers until eighteen months later. Its introduction was followed by a debate lasting six hours, in which

Shaftesbury distinguished himself by his force and bitterness. At nine o'clock at night the House divided,

when the measure was rejected by a majority of thirty three votes, amongst which were those of the fourteen

Mortified by this unexpected decision, the violent passions of the defeated party hurried them on to seek the

blood of those peers lodged in the Tower. Of the five, William Howard, Viscount Staffordyoungest son of

the Earl of Arran, and nephew of the Duke of Norfolkwas selected to be first put upon his trial; inasmuch

as, being over sixty years, and a sufferer from many infirmities, it was judged he would be the least capable

of making a vigorous defence. Three perjured witnesses swore he had plotted against the king's life, but no

proof was forthcoming to support their evidence. Notwithstanding this was "bespattered and falsified in

almost every point," it was received as authentic by the judges, who made a national cause of his prosecution,

and considered no punishment too severe for a papist. After a trial of five days sentence of death was

pronounced upon him, and on the 29th of December, 1680, he was beheaded on Tower Hill.

Like those who had suffered from similar charges, he protested his innocence to the last; but his words met

with a reception different from theirs. Their dying speeches had been greeted by groans, hisses, and signs of

insatiable fury; but his declarations fell upon silent and sympathizing hearts. When he had made denial of the

crimes of which he was accused, a great cry rose from the mob, "We believe youwe believe you, my lord;"

and then a single voice calling out "God bless you!" the words were taken up and repeated by a vast throng,

so that the last sounds he heard on earth were those of prayer. He died with a firmness worthy of his caste.

Having laid his head upon the block, the executioner brandished his axe in the air, and then set it quietly

down at his feet. Raising his head, Lord Stafford inquired the cause of delay; the executioner replied he

awaited a sign. "Take your time," said he who stood at the verge of eternity; "I shall make no sign." He who

held the axe in his hand hesitated a second, and then said in a low and troubled voice, "Do you forgive me,

sir?" To which Lord Stafford made brief answer, "I do." Then he laid his head again upon the bloodstained

block. Once more the glitter of steel flashed through the air, a groan arose from the crowd, and Lord

A reaction now set in, and gained strength daily. The remaining peers were in due time liberated; the blood of

innocent victims was no longer shed; and the Duke of York was recalled. Such was the end of the popish

plot, which, says Archdeacon Eachard, "after the strictest and coolest examinations, and after a full length of

time, the government could find very little foundation to support so vast a fabrick, besides downright

swearing and assurance; not a gun, sword, nor dagger, not a flask of powder or dark lanthorn, to effect this

strange villainy, and with the exception of Coleman's writings, not one slip of an original letter of

commission among those great numbers alledged to uphold the reputation of the discoveries."

Concerning those through whose malice such disturbance was wrought, and so much blood shed, a few words

may be added. Within twelve months of Lord Stafford's execution, Shaftesbury was charged with high

treason, but escaping condemnation, fled from further molestation to Holland, where, after a residence of six

weeks, he died. Tonge departed this life in 1680, unbenefited by the monstrous plot he had so skilfully

devised; and in the same year Bedlow was carried to the grave after an illness of four days. Oates survived to

meet a share of the ignominy and punishment due to his crimes. After a residence of three years in Whitehall,

he was driven out of the palace on account of "certain misdemeanors laid to his charge," and deprived of his

salary. Two years later, in May, 1683, he was accused of calling the Duke of York a traitor, and using

scandalous words towards his royal highness. Upon hearing of the case the jury fined him one hundred

thousand pounds. Unable to pay the sum, he was cast into prison, where he remained six years, until liberated

in the reign of William and Mary, His punishment was not, however, at an end. At the Michaelmas term of

1684 he was accused of having wilfully perjured himself at the late trials. As he pleaded not guilty, his case

was appointed to be heard at the King's Bench Court. His trial did not take place until May, 1685, on which

occasion the lord chief justice, in summing up the evidence, declared, "There does not remain the slightest

doubt that Oates is the blackest and most perjured villain on the face of the earth."

After a quarter of an hour's absence from court, the jury returned a verdict of guilty, and sentence was

pronounced against him. He was stripped of his canonical habit; forced to walk through all the courts of

Westminster Hall proclaiming his crimes; to stand an hour on the pillory opposite Westminster Hall gate on

Monday; an hour on the pillory at the Royal Exchange on Tuesday; and on Wednesday he was tied to a cart

and whipt at the hands of the common hangman from Aldgate to Newgate, in the presence, says Eachard, "of

innumerable spectators, who had a more than ordinary curiosity to see the sight."

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

During the first six years of the merry monarch's reign, London town, east of Temple Bar, consisted of

narrow and tortuous streets of quaintly gabled houses, pitched roofed and plaster fronted. Scarce four years

had passed after the devastating fire which laid this portion of the capital in ashes, when a new and stately

city rose upon the ruins of the old. Thoroughfares lying close by the Thames, which were wont to suffer from

inundations, were raised; those which from limited breadth had caused inconvenience and bred pestilence

were made wide; warehouses and dwellings of solid brick and carved stone, with doors, window frames,

and breastsummers of stout oak, replaced irregular though not unpicturesque habitations; whilst the halls of

companies, eminent taverns, and abodes of great merchants, were now built "with fair courtyards before

them, and pleasant gardens behind them, and fair spacious rooms and galleries in them, little inferior to some

princes' palaces." Moreover, churches designed by the genius of Christopher Wren, adorned with spires,

This new, handsome, and populous city presented an animated, ever changing, and merry scene. From "the

high street which is called the Strand," far eastwards, great painted signs, emblazoned with heraldic arms, or

ornamented with pictures of grotesque birds and animals, swung above shopdoors and taverns. Stalls laden

with wares of every description, "set out with decorations as valuable as those of the stage," extended into the

thoroughfares. In the new Exchange, built by the worshipful company of mercers at a cost of eight thousand

pounds, and adorned by a fair statue of King Charles II. in the habit of a Roman emperor, were galleries

containing rows of very rich shops, displaying manufactures and ornaments of rare description, served by

At corners and nooks of streets, under eaves of churches and great buildings, and other places of shelter, sat

followers of various trades and vendors of divers commodities, each in the place which had become his from

daily association and long habit. These good people, together with keepers of stalls and shops, extolled their

wares in deafening shouts; snatches of song, shouts of laughter, and the clang of pewter vessels came in

bursts of discord from open tavern doors; women discoursed with or abused each other, according to their

temper and inclination as they leaned from the jutting smallpaned windows and open balconies of their

homesteads; hackney coaches or "hell carts," as they drove by, cast filth and refuse lying in kennels upon the

clothes of passengers; the carriers of sedanchairs deposited their burthens to fight for right of way in narrow

Through the busy concourse flowing up and down the thoroughfares from dawn to dusk, streetcriers took

their way, bearing wares upon their heads in wicker baskets, before them on broad trays, or slung upon their

backs in goodly packs. And as they passed, their voices rose above the general din, calling "Fair lemons and

oranges, oranges and citrons!" "Cherries, sweet cherries, ripe and red!" "New flounders and great plaice; buy

my dish of great eels!" "Rosemary and sweet briar; who'll buy my lavender?" "Fresh cheese and cream!"

"Lilywhite vinegar!" "Dainty sausages!" which calls, being frequently intoned to staves of melody, fell with

pleasant sounds upon the ear. [These hawkers so seriously interfered with legitimate traders, that in 1694 they

were forbidden to sell any goods or merchandise in any public place within the city or liberties, except in

open markets and fairs, on penalty of forty shillings for each offence, both to buyers and sellers.] Moreover,

to these divers sights and sounds were added ballad singers, who piped ditties upon topics of the day; quacks

who sold nostrums and magic potions; dancers who performed on tightropes; wandering musicians;

fireeaters of great renown; exhibitors of dancing dolls, and such like itinerants "as make show of motions

and strange sights," all of whom were obliged to have and to hold "a license in red and black letters, under the

hand and seal of Thomas Killigrew, Esq., master of the revels to his sacred majesty Charles II."

Adown the Strand, Fleet Street, and in that part of the city adjoining the Exchange, coffeehouses abounded

in great numbers. Coffee, which in this reign became a favourite beverage, was introduced into London a

couple of years before the restoration. It had, however, been brought into England at a much earlier period.

John Evelyn, in the year 1638, speaks of it being drunk at Oxford, where there came to his college "one

Nathaniel Conoposis out of Greece, from Cyrill the patriarch of Constantinople, who, returning many years

after, was made Bishop of Smyrna." Twelve good years later, a coffeehouse was opened at Oxford by one

Jacobs, a Jew, where this beverage was imbibed "by some who delighted in novelty." It was, however,

according to Oldys the antiquarian, untasted in the capital till a Turkey merchant named Edwards brought to

London a Ragusan youth named Pasqua Rosee, who prepared this drink for him daily. The eagerness to taste

the strange beverage drawing too much company to his board, Edwards allowed the lad, together with a

servant of his soninlaw, to sell it publicly; whence coffee was first sold in St. Michael's Alley in Cornhill

Though coffeedrinkers first met with much ridicule from wits about town, and writers of broadsheet ballads,

the beverage became gradually popular, and houses for its sale quickly multiplied. Famous amongst these, in

the reign of the merry monarch, besides that already mentioned, was Garraway's in Exchange Alley; the

Rainbow, by the Inner Temple Gate; Dick's, situated at No. 8, Fleet Street; Jacobs', the proprietor of which

moved in 1671 from Oxford to Southampton Buildings, Holborn; the Grecian in the Strand, "conducted

without ostentation or noise;" the Westminster, noted as a resort of peers and members of parliament; and

These houses, the forerunners of clubs, were, according to their situation and convenience, frequented by

noblemen and men of quality, courtiers, foreign ministers, politicians, members of learned professions, wits,

citizens of various grades, and all who loved to exchange greetings and gossip with their neighbours and

friends. Within these lowceilinged comfortable coffeehouse rooms, fitted with strong benches and oak

chairs, where the black beverage was drunk from handless wide brimmed cups, Pepys passed many cheerful

hours, hearing much of the news he so happily narrates, and holding pleasant discourse with many notable

men. It was in a coffeehouse he encountered Major Waters, "a deaf and most amorous melancholy

gentleman, who is under a despayer in love, which makes him bad company, though a most goodnatured

man." And in such a place he listened to "some simple discourse about quakers being charmed by a string

about their wrists;" and saw a certain merchant named Hill "that is a master of most sorts of musique and

other things, the universal character, art of memory, counterfeiting of hands, and other most excellent

In days before newspapers came into universal circulation, and general meetings were known, coffeehouses

became recognised centres for exchange of thought and advocacy of political action. Aware of this, the

government, under leadership of Danby, not desiring to have its motives too freely canvassed, in 1675 issued

an order that such "places of resort for idle and disaffected persons" should be closed. Alarmed by this

command, the keepers of such houses petitioned for its withdrawal, at the same time faithfully promising

libels should not be read under their roofs. They were therefore permitted to carry on their business by

Next in point of interest to coffeehouses were taverns where men came to make merry, in an age when

simplicity and good fellowship largely obtained. As in coffeehouses, gossip was the order of the day in such

places, each tavern being in itself "a broacher of more news than hogsheads, and more jests than news."

Those of good standing and fair renown could boast rows of bright flagons ranged on shelves round panelled

walls; of hosts, rotund in person and genial in manner; and of civil drawers, who could claim good breeding.

The Bear, at the bridgefoot, situated at the Southwark side, was well known to men of gallantry and women

of pleasure; and was, moreover, famous as the spot where the Duke of Richmond awaited Mistress Stuart on

her escape from Whitehall. The Boar's Head, in Eastcheap, which gained pleasant mention in the plays of

William Shakespeare, when rebuilt, after the great fire, became a famous resort. The Three Cranes, in the

Vintry, was sacred to the shade of rare Ben Jonson. The White Bear's Head, in Abchurch Lane, where French

dinners were served from five shillings a head "to a guinea, or what sum you pleased," was the resort of

cavaliers, The Rose Tavern, in the Poultry, was famous for its excellent ale, and no less for its mighty pretty

hostess, to whom the king had kissed hands as he rode by on his entry. The Rummer was likewise of some

note, inasmuch as it was kept by one Samuel Prior, uncle to Matthew Prior, the ingenious poet. On the

balcony of the Cock, near Covent Garden, Sir Charles Sedley had stood naked in a drunken frolic; and at the

King's Head, over against the Inner Temple Gate, Shaftesbury and his friends laid their plots, coming out

afterwards on the double balcony in front, as North describes them, "with hats and no peruques, pipes in their

mouths, merry faces and dilated throats, for vocal encouragement of the canaglia below."

All day long the streets were crowded by those whom business or diversion carried abroad; but when night

fell apace, the keepers of stalls and shops speedily secured their wares and fastened their doors, whilst the

honest citizen and his family kept within house. For the streets being unlighted, darkness fell upon them,

relieved only as some person of wealth rode homewards from visiting a friend, or a band of late revellers

returned from a feast, when the glare of flambeaux, carried by their attendants, for a moment brought the

outlines of houses into relief, or flashed red light upon their diamond panes, leaving all in profound gloom on

The condition of the thoroughfares favouring the inclination of many loose persons, they wandered at large,

dealing mischief to those whose duty took them abroad. From the year 1556, in the reign of Queen Mary, "fit

persons with suitable strength" had been appointed to walk the streets and watch the city by night; to protect

those in danger, arrest suspected persons, warn householders of danger by fire and candle, help the poor, pray

for the dead, and preserve the peace. These burly individuals were known as watch or bell men; one was

appointed for each ward, whose duty it was to pass through the district he guarded ringing his bell, "and when

that ceaseth," says Stow, "he salutes his masters and mistresses with his rhymes, suitable to the seasons and

In the third year of the reign of King Charles II., whilst Sir John Robinson was mayor of London town, divers

good orders were made by him and his common council for the better service of these watches. The principal

of these set forth that each should be accompanied by a constable and a beadle selected from the inhabitants

of their respective wards, who should be required in turn to render voluntary service in guarding the city,

from nine of the clock at night till seven in the morning, from Michaelmas to the 1st of April; and from that

These rules were not, however, vigorously carried out; the volunteers were frequently unwilling to do duty, or

when, fearful of fine, they went abroad, they usually spent their time in tippling in alehouses, so that, as

Delaune remarks, "a great many wicked persons capable of the blackest villainies do creep about, as daily

and sad experience shows." It was not only those who, with drawn swords, darted from some deep porch or

sheltering buttress, in hopes of enriching themselves at their neighbour's expense, that were to be dreaded. It

was a fashion of the time for companies of young gentlemen to saunter forth in numbers after route or supper,

when, being merry with wine and eager for adventure, they were brave enough to waylay the honest citizen

and abduct his wife, beat the watch and smash his lantern, bedaub signboards and wrench knockers, overturn

a sedanchair and vanquish the carriers, sing roystering songs under the casements of peaceful sleepers, and

play strange pranks to which they were prompted by young blood and high spirits.

Among those who made prominent figures in such unholy sports was the king's eldest son, my Lord Duke of

Monmouth. He and his young grace of Albemarleson to that gallant soldier now deceased, who was

instrumental in restoring his majestytogether with some seven or eight young gentlemen, whilst on their

rounds one Sunday morning encountered a beadle, whose quaint and ponderous figure presented itself to their

blithe minds as a fit object for diversion in lieu of better. Accordingly they accosted him with rough words

and unceremonious usage, the which he resenting, they came to boisterous threats and many blows, that

ended only when the poor fellow lay with outstretched limbs stark dead upon the pavement. Sir Charles

Sedley and Lord Brockhurst were also notable as having been engaged in another piece of what has been

called "frolick and debauchery," when "they ran up and down all night almost naked through the streets, at

It was not until the last years of the merry monarch's reign that there was introduced "an ingenious and useful

invention for the good of this great city, calculated to secure one's goods, estates, and person; to prevent fires,

robberies and housebreakings, and several accidents and casualties by falls to which man is liable by walking

in the dark" This was a scheme for lighting the streets, by placing an oillamp in front of every tenth house

on each side of the way, from Michaelmas to Ladyday, every night from six of the clock till twelve,

beginning the third night after every full moon, and ending on the sixth night after every new moon; one

hundred and twenty nights in all. The originator of this plan was one Edward Hemming, of London,

gentleman. His project was at first ridiculed and opposed by "narrowsouled and selfinterested people,"

who were no doubt children of darkness and doers of evil deeds; but was eventually hailed with delight by all

honest men, one of whom, gifted with considerable imagination, declared these poor oillamps "seemed but

In this reign the city proper was confined eastward of Temple Bar; to the west lay the palaces of Somerset

House and Whitehall, the stately parks, and great houses of the nobility surrounded by wide gardens and

wooded grounds. Monsieur Sorbiere, who in this reign made a journey into England, an account of which he

subsequently published "to divert a person of quality who loved him extremely," resided close by Covent

Garden during his stay. It was usual, he writes, for people in the district to say, "I go to London," for "indeed

'tis a journey for those who live near Westminster. 'Tis true," he adds, "they may sometimes get thither in a

quarter of an hour by water, which they cannot do in less than two hours by land, for I am persuaded no less

time will be necessary to go from one end of its suburb to the other." For a crown a week this ingenious and

travelled gentleman had lodgings in Covent Garden, not far removed from Salisbury House, a vicinity which

he avows was "certainly the finest place in the suburbs." Covent Garden itself has been described by John

Strype, native of the city of London, as "a curious large and airy square enclosed by rails, between which

railes and houses runs a fair street." The square, or, as it was commonly called, garden, was well gravelled for

greater accommodation of those who wished to take the air; and that its surface might more quickly dry after

rain, it was raised by an easy ascent to the centre, where stood a sundial fixed on a black marble pillar, at the

The west side of the square was flanked by the handsome portico of St. Paul's Church, erected at the expense

of Francis, Earl of Bedford, from designs by Mr. Inigo Jones; the south side opened to Bedford Gardens,

"where there is a small grotto of trees, most pleasant in the summer season. Here, on Tuesdays, Thursdays,

and Saturdays, a market was held, well stocked with roots, fruits, herbs, and flowers. On the north and east

sides stood large and stately houses of persons of quality and consideration, the fronts of which, being

supported by strong pillars, afforded broad walks, known as the Piazza, and found convenient in wet and

Here amongst other houses was that of my Lord Brouncker, where Mr. Pepys enjoyed a most noble French

dinner and much good discourse, in return for which he gave much satisfaction by the singing of a new

ballad, to wit, Lord Dorset's famous song, "To all ye ladies now on land." Not far distant, its face turned to

the Strand, was the stately residence of the Duke of Bedford, a large dark building, fronted by a great

courtyard, and backed by spacious gardens enclosed by redbrick walls. Likewise in the Strand stood

Arundel House, the residence of Henry Frederick Howard, Earl of Arundel and Surrey, and Earl Marshal of

England; Hatfield House, built by Thomas Hatfield, Bishop of Durham, as a town residence for himself and

his heirs lawfully begotten; York House, richly adorned with the arms of Villiers and Mannersone gloomy

chamber of which was shown as that wherein its late noble owner, George, first Duke of Buckingham, was

stabbed by Felton; Worcester House, at one time occupied by Lord Chancellor Clarendon; and Essex House,

situated near St. Clement Danes, the town residence of Arthur Capel, Earl of Essex, "a sober, wise, judicious,

and pondering person, not illiterate beyond the rate of most noblemen of this age."

There were also many other noble mansions lying westward, amongst them being those of the Dukes of

Ormond and Norfolk in St. James's Square, which was built at this time; Berkeley House, which stood on the

site now occupied by Berkeley Square, a magnificent structure containing a staircase of cedar wood, and

great suites of lofty rooms; Leicester House, situated in Leicester Fields, subsequently known as Leicester

Square, behind which stretched a goodly common; Goring House, "a very pretty villa furnished with silver

jars, vases, cabinets, and other rich furniture, even to wantonnesse and profusion," on the site of which

Burlington Street now stands; Clarendon House, a princely residence, combining "state, use, solidity, and

beauty," surrounded by fair gardens, that presently gave place to Bond Street; Southampton House, standing,

as Evelyn says, in "a noble piazzaa little town," now known as Bloomsbury Square, whose pleasant

grounds commanded a full view of the rising hills of Hampstead and Highgate; and Montagu House,

described as a palace built in the French fashion, standing on the ground now occupied by the British

Museum, which in this reign was backed by lonely fields, the dread scenes of "robbery, murder, and every

Besides the grounds and gardens surrounding these stately mansions, a further aspect of space and freshness

was added to the capital by public parks. Foremost amongst these was St. James's, to which the merry

monarch added several fields, and for its greater advantage employed Monsieur La Notre, the famous French

landscapegardener. Amongst the improvements this ingenious man effected were planting trees of stately

height, contriving a canal one hundred feet broad and two hundred and eighty feet long, with a decoy and

duck island, [The goodnatured Charles made Monsieur St. Evremond governor of Duck Island, to which

position he attached a salary much appreciated by the exile. The island was removed in 1790 to make room

for fresh improvements.] and making a pleasant pathway bordered by an aviary on either side, usually called

Bird Cage Walk. An enclosure for deer was formed in the centre of the park; not far removed was the famous

Physic Garden, where oranges were first seen in England; and at the western end, where Buckingham Palace

has been erected, stood Arlington House, described as "a most neat box, and sweetly seated amongst gardens,

The great attraction of St. James's Park was the Mall, which Monsieur Sorbiere tells us was a walk "eight

hundred and fifty paces in length, beset with rows of large trees, and near a small wood, from whence you

may see a fine mead, a long canal, Westminster Abbey, and the suburbs, which afford an admirable

prospect." This path was skirted by a wooded border, and at the extreme end was set with iron hoops, "for the

purpose of playing a game with a ball called the mall." ["Our Pall Mall is, I believe, derived from paille

maille, a game somewhat analogous to cricket, and imported from France in the reign of the second Charles.

It was formerly played in St. James's Park, and in the exercise of the sport a small hammer or mallet was used

to strike the ball. I think it worth noting that the Malhe crest is a mailed arm and hand, the latter grasping a

In St. James's Park Samuel Pepys first saw the Duke of York playing at "pelemele"; and likewise in 1662

witnessed with astonishment people skate upon the ice there, skates having been just introduced from

Holland; on another occasion he enjoyed the spectacle of Lords Castlehaven and Arran running down and

killing a stout buck for a wager before the king. And one sultry July day, meeting an acquaintance here, the

merry soul took him to the farther end, where, seating himself under a tree in a corner, he sung him some

blithesome songs. It was likewise in St. James's Park the Duke of York, meeting John Milton one day, asked

him if his blindness was not to be regarded as a just punishment from heaven, due to his having written

against the martyred king. "If so, sir," replied the great poet and staunch republican, "what must we think of

his majesty's execution upon a scaffold?" To which question his royal highness vouchsafed no reply.

It was a favourite custom of his majesty, who invariably rose betimes, to saunter in the park whilst the day

was young and pass an hour or two in stroking the heads of his feathered favourites in the aviary, feeding the

fowls in the pond with biscuits, and playing with the crowd of spaniels ever attending his walks. For his

greater amusement he had brought together in the park a rare and valuable collection of birds and beasts;

amongst which were, according to a quaint authority, "an onocratylus, or pelican, a fowl between a stork and

a swana melancholy waterfowl brought from Astracan by the Russian ambassador." This writer tells us,

"It was diverting to see how the pelican would toss up and turn a flat fish, plaice or flounder, to get it right

into its gullet at its lower beak, which being filmy stretches to a prodigious wideness when it devours a great

fish. Here was also a small waterfowl, not bigger than a morehen, that went almost quite erect like the

penguin of America. It would eate as much fish as its whole body weighed, yet ye body did not appear to

swell the bigger. The Solan geese here are also great devourers, and are said soon to exhaust all ye fish in a

pond. Here was a curious sort of poultry not much exceeding the size of a tame pidgeon, with legs so short as

their crops seemed to touch ye earth; a milkwhite raven; a stork which was a rarity at this season, seeing he

was loose and could fly loftily; two Balearian cranes, one of which having had one of his leggs broken, and

cut off above the knee, had a wooden or boxen leg and thigh, with a joint so accurately made that ye creature

could walke and use it as well as if it had ben natural; it was made by a souldier. The park was at this time

stored with numerous flocks of severall sorts of ordinary and extraordinary wild fowle breeding about the

decoy, which, looking neere so greate a citty, and among such a concourse of souldiers and people, is a

singular and diverting thing. There are also deere of several countries, white, spotted like leopards; antelopes,

an elk, red deere, roebucks, staggs, Guinea goates, Arabian sheepe, etc. There are withypotts or nests for the

Hyde Park, lying close by, likewise afforded a pleasant and convenient spot for recreation. Here, in a large

circle railed off and known as the Ring, the world of quality and fashion took the air in coaches. The king and

queen, surrounded by a goodly throng of maids of honour and gentlemen in waiting, were wont to ride here

on summer evenings, whilst courtiers and citizens looked on the brilliant cavalcade with loyal delight. Horse

and foot races were occasionally held in the park, as were reviews likewise, Cosmo, Grand Duke of Tuscany,

"a very jolly and good comely man," whilst visiting England in 1669, was entertained by his majesty with a

On arriving at Hyde Park, he found a great concourse of people and carriages waiting the coming of his

majesty, who presently appeared with the Duke of York and many lords and gentlemen of the court. Having

acknowledged an enthusiastic greeting, Charles retired under shade of some trees, in order to protect himself

from the sun, and then gave orders for the troops to march past. "The whole corps," says the Grand Duke,

"consisted of two regiments of infantry, and one of cavalry, and of three companies of the bodyguard, which

was granted to the king by parliament since his return, and was formed of six hundred horsemen, each armed

with carabines and pistols, all well mounted and dressed, which are uniform in every; thing but colour. When

they had marched by, without firing either a volley or a salve, his majesty dismounted from his horse, and

Besides such diversions as were enjoyed in the parks, the people had various other sources of public

amusement; amongst these puppetshows, exhibitions of strength and agility, bearbaiting, cockfighting,

and dancing obtained. Until the restoration, puppetshows had not been seen for years; for these droll dolls,

being regarded as direct agents of Satan, were discountenanced by the puritans. With the coming of his

majesty they returned in vast numbers, and were hailed with great delight by the people. One of these

exhibitions which found special favour with the town, and speedily drew great audiences of gallants and

ladies of quality, was situated within the rails of Covent Garden. And so perfect were the marionettes of this

booth in the performance of divers sad tragedies and gay comedies, that they had the honour of receiving a

royal command to play before their majesties at Whitehall. Amongst the most famous tumblers, or, as they

were then styled, posturemakers, of this reign were Jacob Hall the friend of my Lady Castlemaine, and

Joseph Clarke, beloved by the citizens. Though the latter was "a wellmade man and rather gross than thin,"

we are told he "exhibited in the most natural manner almost every species of deformity and dislocation; he

could dislocate his vertebrae so as to render himself a shocking spectacle; he could also assume all the

uncouth faces he had seen at a quaker's meeting, at the theatre, or any public place. He was likewise the

plague of all the tailors about town. He would send for one of them to take measure of him, but would so

contrive it as to have a most immoderate rising in one of his shoulders; when his clothes were brought home

and tried upon him, the deformity was removed into the other shoulder, upon which the tailor begged pardon

for the mistake, and mended it as fast as he could; but on another trial found him as straightshouldered a

man as one would desire to see, but a little unfortunate in a hump back. In fact, this wandering tumour

puzzled all the workmen about town, who found it impossible to accommodate so changeable a customer."

Florian Marchand, "the waterspouter," was another performer who enjoyed considerable fame. Such was the

dexterity of this conjurer that, "drinking only fountainewater, he rendered out of his mouth in severall

glasses all sorts of wine and sweete waters." A Turk, who walked up an almost perpendicular line by means

of his toes, danced blindfold on a tight rope with a boy dangling from his feet, and stood on his head on the

top of a high mast, shared an equal popularity with Barbara Vanbeck, the bearded woman, and "a monstrous

beast, called a dromedary." These wondrous sights, together with various others of a like kind, which were

scattered throughout the town and suburbs during the greater part of the year, assembled in full strength at the

fairs of St. Margaret, Southwark, and St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield. These gatherings, which usually lasted

a fortnight, were looked forward to with considerable pleasure, and frequented not only by citizens bent on

Nay, even her majesty was tempted on one occasion to go a fairing, as we gather from a letter addressed to

Sir Robert Paston, contained in Ives's select papers. "Last week," says the writer thereof, "the queen, the

Duchess of Richmond, and the Duchess of Buckingham had a frolick to disguise themselves like country

lasses, in red petticoates, waistcoates, etc., and so goe see the faire. Sir Bernard Gascoign, on a cart jade, rode

before the queen; another stranger before the Duchess of Buckingham, and Mr. Roper before Richmond.

They had all so overdone it in their disguise, and look'd so much more like antiques than country volk, that as

soon as they came to the faire, the people began to goe after them; but the queen going to a booth to buy a

pair of yellow stockins for her sweethart, and Sir Bernard asking for a pair of gloves, sticht with blew, for his

sweethart, they were soon, by their gebrish, found to be strangers, which drew a bigger flock about them. One

amongst them [who] had seen the queen at dinner, knew her, and was proud of her knowledge. This soon

brought all the faire into a crowd to stare at the queen. Being thus discovered, they as soon as they could got

to their horses; but as many of the faire as had horses, got up with their wives, children, sweetharts, or

neighbours behind them, to get as much gape as they could till they brought them to the court gate. Thus by

On another occasion my Lady Castlemaine went to Bartholomew fair to see the puppets play "Patient

Grissel;" and there was the street "full of people expecting her coming out," who, when she appeared,

"suffered her with great respect to take the coach." Not only the king's mistress, but likewise the whole court

went to St. Margaret's fair to see "an Italian wench daunce and performe all the tricks on the high rope to

admiration; and monkies and apes do other feates of activity." "They," says a quaint author, "were gallantly

clad A LA MODE, went upright, saluted the company, bowing and pulling off their hats, with as good a

grace as if instructed by a dancing master. They turned heels over head with a basket having eggs in it,

without breaking any; also with lighted candles on their heads, without extinguishing them; and with vessells

The cruel sport of bull and bear baiting was also commonly practised. Seated round an amphitheatre, the

people witnessed these unfortunate animals being torn to pieces by dogs, the owners of which frequently

jumped into the arena to urge them to their sanguinary work, on the result of which great wagers depended.

Indignation arising against those who witnessed such sights may be somewhat appeased by the knowledge

that infuriated bulls occasionally tossed the torn and bleeding carcases of their tormentors into the faces and

laps of spectators. Pepys frequently speaks of dense crowds which assembled to witness this form of cruelty,

which he designates as good sport; and Evelyn speaks of a gallant steed that, under the pretence that he had

killed a man, was baited by dogs, but fought so hard for his life "the fiercest of them could not fasten on him

till he was run through with swords." Not only bull and bear baiting, cock and dog fighting were encouraged,

but prize combats between man and man were regarded as sources of great diversion. Pepys gives a vivid

picture of a furious encounter he, in common with a great and excited crowd, witnessed at the beargarden

stairs, at Bankside, between a butcher and a waterman. "The former," says he, "had the better all along, till

byandby the latter dropped his sword out of his hand; and the butcher, whether not seeing his sword

dropped I know not, but did give him a cut over the wrist, so as he was disabled to fight any longer. But

Lord! to see how in a minute the whole stage was full of watermen to revenge the foul play, and the butchers

to defend their fellow, though most blamed him; and then they all fell to it to knocking down and cutting

many on each side. It was pleasant to see, but that I stood in the pit, and feared that in the tumult I might get

Among the more healthy sports which obtained during the reign were horseracing, tennis, and bowling. The

monarch had, at vast expense, built a house and stables at Newmarket, where he and his court regularly

repaired, to witness racing. Here likewise the king and "ye jolly blades enjoyed dauncing, feasting, and

revelling, more resembling a luxurious and abandoned route than a Christian court." He had likewise a

tenniscourt and bowling green at Whitehall, where at noonday and towards eve, blithe lords, and ladies in

brave apparel, might be seen at play. Bowling was a game to which the people were much devoted, every

suburban tavern having its green, where good friends and honest neighbours challenged each other's strength

and skill. And amongst other pleasant sports and customs were those practised on Mayday, when maids rose

betimes to bathe their faces in dew, that they might become sweetcomplexioned to men's sight; and

milkmaids with garlands of spring flowers upon their pails, and posies in their breasts, danced to the merry

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. Ridinghabits first seen.His majesty invents a national

costume.Introduction of the penny post.Divorce suits are known.Society of Antiquaries.Lord

Few courts have been more brilliant than that of the merry monarch. All the beauty of fair women, the

gallantry of brave men, and the gaiety of wellapproved wits could compass, perpetually surrounded his

majesty, making the royal palace a lordly pleasure house. Noble banquets, magnificent balls, and brilliant

suppers followed each other in quick succession. Three times a weekon Wednesdays, Fridays, and

Sundaysthe king and queen dined publicly in ancient state, whilst rare music was discoursed, and many

ceremonies observed, amongst these being that each servitor of the royal table should eat some bread dipped

in sauce of the dish he bore. On these occasions meats for the king's table were brought from the kitchen by

yeomen of the guard, or beefeaters. These men, selected as being amongst the handsomest, strongest, and

tallest in England, were dressed in liveries of red cloth, faced with black velvet, having the king's cipher on

the back, and on the breast the emblems of the Houses of York and Lancaster. By them the dishes were

handed to the gentlemen in waiting, who served royalty upon their knees. "You see," said Charles one day to

the Chevalier de Grammont, "how I am waited on." "I thank your majesty for the explanation," said the saucy

Frenchman; "I thought they were begging pardon for offering you so bad a dinner." [This mode of serving the

The costliness and splendour of some royal entertainments require the description of an eyewitness to be

fully realized. Evelyn, speaking of a great feast given to the Knights of the Garter in the banquetinghall,

tells us "the king sat on an elevated throne, at the upper end of the table alone, the knights at a table on the

right hand, reaching all the length of the roome; over against them a cupboard of rich gilded plate; at the

lower end the musick; on the balusters above, wind musick, trumpets, and kettledrums. The king was served

by the lords and pensioners who brought up the dishes. About the middle of the dinner the knights drank the

king's health, then the king theirs, when the trumpets and musick plaid and sounded, the guns going off at the

Tower. At the banquet came in the queene and stood by the king's left hand hand, but did not sit. Then was

the banquetting stuff flung about the roome profusely. In truth the crowd was so great that I now staied no

longer than this sport began for fear of disorder. The cheere was extraordinary, each knight having forty

Concerning the habit mentioned by Evelyn, of mobs rushing into banquethalls, in order to possess

themselves of all on which they could lay hands, many instances are mentioned. The Duke of Tuscany,

amongst other authorities, narrates the inconvenience it caused at a supper he gave the king. When his

majesty drove to the duke's residence he was preceded by trumpeters and torch bearers, attended by the

horseguards and a retinue of courtiers, and accompanied by a vast crowd. On alighting from the coach the

Duke of Tuscany, together with the noblemen and gentlemen of his household, received and conducted him

through passages lighted by torches to the banquethall. From the ceiling of this saloon was suspended a

chandelier of rock crystal, blazing with tapers; beneath it stood a circular table, at the upper end of which was

placed a chair of state for the king. The whole entertainment was costly and magnificent. As many as eighty

dishes were set upon the table; foreign wines, famous for great age and delicate flavour, sparkled in goblets

of chased gold; and finally, a dessert of Italian fruits and Portuguese sweetmeats was served. But scarce had

this been laid upon the board, when the impatient crowd which had gathered round the house and forced its

way inside to witness the banquet, now violently burst into the saloon and carried away all that lay before

them. Neither the presence of the king nor the appearance of his soldiers guarding the entrance with carbines

was sufficient to prevent entrance or hinder pillage. Charles, used to such scenes, left the table and retired

A quaint and curious account of a less ceremonious and more convivial feast, also graced by the king's

presence, was narrated by Sir Hugh Cholmely to a friend and gossip. This supper was given by Sir George

Carteret, a man of pleasant humour, and moreover treasurer of the navy. By the time the meats were

removed, the king and his courtiers waxed exceedingly merry, when Sir William Armorer, equerry to his

majesty, came to him and swore, "'By God, sir,' says he, 'you are not so kind to the Duke of York of late as

you used to be.' 'Not I?' says the king. 'Why so?' 'Why,' says he, 'if you are, let us drink his health.' 'Why, let

us,' says the king. Then he fell on his knees and drank it; and having done, the king began to drink it. 'Nay,

sir,' says Armorer; 'by God, you must do it on your knees!' So he did, and then all the company; and having

done it, all fell acrying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another, the king the Duke of York, the

Throughout this reign the uttermost hospitality and goodfellowship abounded. Scarce a day passed that

some noble house did not throw open its doors to a brilliant throng of guests; few nights grew to dawn that

the vicinities of St. James's and Covent Garden were not made brilliant by the torches of those accompanying

revellers to their homes. The fashionable hour for dinner was three of the clock, and for greater satisfaction of

guests it now became the mode to entertain them after that meal with performances of mountebanks and

musicians, Various diaries inform us of this custom. When my Lord Arlington had bidden his friends to a

feast, he subsequently diverted them by the tricks of a fellow who swallowed a knife in a horn sheath,

together with several pebbles, which he made rattle in his stomach, and produced again, to the wonder and

amusement of all who beheld him. [At a great dinner given by this nobleman, Evelyn, who was present, tells

us that Lord Stafford, the unfortunate nobleman afterwards executed on Tower Hill, "rose from the table in

some disorder, because there were roses stuck about the fruite when the descert was set on the table; such an

antipathie it seems he had to them, as once Lady St. Leger also had, and to that degree, that, as Sirr Kenelm

Digby tell us, laying but a rose upon her cheeke when she was asleepe, it raised a blister; but Sir Kenelm was

a teller of strange things."] The master of the mint, worthy Mr. Slingsby, a man of finer taste, delighted his

guests with the performances of renowned good masters of music, one of whom, a German, played to great

perfection on an instrument with five wire strings called the VOIL D'AMORE; whilst my Lord Sunderland

treated his visitors to a sight of Richardson, the renowned fire eater, who was wont to devour brimstone on

glowing coals; melt a beerglass and eat it up; take a live coal on his tongue, on which he put a raw oyster,

and let it remain there till it gaped and was quite broiled; take wax, pitch and sulphur, and drink them down

flaming; hold a fiery hot iron between his teeth, and throw it about like a stone from hand to hand, and

Other means of indoor amusement were practised in those days, which seem wholly incompatible with the

gravity of the nation in these latter times. Pepys tells us that going to the court one day he found the Duke and

Duchess of York, with all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet on the ground playing "I love my love with an

A, because he is soandso; and I hate him with an A, because of this and that;" and some of the ladies were

mighty witty, and all of them very merry. Grown persons likewise indulged in games of blind man's buff, and

amusements of a like character; whilst at one time, the king, queen, and the whole court falling into much

extravagance, as Burnet says, "went about masked, and came into houses unknown, and danced there with a

great deal of wild frolic. In all this they were so disguised, that without being in the secret, none could

distinguish them. They were carried about in hackney chairs. Once the queen's chairmen, not knowing who

she was, went from her; so she was alone and was much disturbed, and came to Whitehall in a hackney

Dancing was also a favourite and common amusement amongst all classes. Scarce a week went by that

Whitehall was not lighted up for a ball, at which the king, queen, and courtiers danced bransles, corants, and

French figures; [The bransle, or brawl, had all the characteristics of a countrydance; several persons taking

part in it, and all at various times joining hands. The corant was a swift lively dance, in which two persons

only took part, and was not unlike our modern galop.] and no night passed but such entertainments were

likewise held in the city. Billiards and chess were also played, whilst gambling became a ruling passion. The

queen, Duchess of York, and Duchess of Cleveland had each her cardtable, around which courtiers thronged

to win and lose prodigious sums. The latter being a thorough rake at heart, delighted in the excitement which

hazard afforded; and the sums changing owners at her hoard were sometimes enormous. Occasionally she

played for a thousand, or fifteen hundred pounds at a cast, and in a single night lost as much as twentyfive

hundred guineas. It is related that once when playing basset she lost all her money; but, being unwilling to

retire, and hopeful of regaining her losses, she asked young Churchill, on whom she had bestowed many

favours, to lend her twenty pieces. Though the wily youth had a thousand before him on the table, he coolly

refused her request, on the plea that the bank which he was then keepingnever lent. "Not a person in the

place," says the narrator of this anecdote, "but blamed him; as to the duchess, her resentment burst out into a

bleeding at her nose, and breaking of her lace, without which aid it is believed her vexation had killed her on

The courtly Evelyn speaks of a certain Twelfthnight, when the king opened the revels in his privy chamber

by throwing dice, and losing one hundred pounds; and Pepys describes the groomporters' rooms where

gambling greatly obtained, and "where persons of the best quality do sit down with people of any, though

meaner." Cursing and swearing, grumbling and rejoicing, were heard here to an accompanying rattle of

guineas; the whole causing dense confusion. And amongst the figures crouching round the tables of this hell,

that of my Lord St. Albans was conspicuous. So great, indeed, was his passion for gambling, that when

approaching his eightieth year, and quite blind, he was unable to renounce his love for cards, but with the

help of a servant who named them to him, indulged himself in this way as of yore.

As may be expected, disputes, frequently ending in duels, continually arose betwixt those who gambled.

Although the king had, on his restoration, issued a proclamation against this common practice, threatening

such as engaged in it with displeasure, declaring them incapable of holding any office in his service, and

forbidding them to appear at court, yet but little attention was paid his words, and duels continually took

place, Though most frequently resorted to as a means of avenging outraged honour, they were occasionally

the result of misunderstanding. A pathetic story is told of a fatal encounter, caused by a trifle light as air,

which took place in the year 1667 at Covent Garden, between Sir Henry Bellasis and Tom Porter the same

witty soul who wrote a play called "The Villain," which was performed at the Duke's Theatre, and described

These worthy gentlemen and loyal friends loved each other exceedingly. One fatal day, both were bidden to

dine with Sir Robert Carr, at whose table it was known all men drank freely; and having feasted, they two

talked apart, when bluff Sir Henry, giving words of counsel to honest Tom, from force of earnestness spoke

louder than his wont. Marvelling at this, some of those standing apart said to each other, "Are they

quarrelling, that they talk so high?" overhearing which the baronet replied in a merry tone, "No, I would have

you know I never quarrel but I strike; and take that as a rule of mine." At these words Tom Porter, being

anxious, after the manner of those who have drunk deep, to apprehend offence in speech of friend or foe,

cried out he would like to see the man in England that durst give him a blow. Accepting this as a challenge,

Sir Henry dealt him a stroke on the ear, which the other would have returned in anger but that they were

And presently Tom Porter, leaving the house full of resentment for the injury he had received, and of

resolution to avenge it, met Mr. Dryden the poet, to whom he recounted the story. He concluded by

requesting he might have his boy to bring him word which way Sir Henry Bellasis would drive, for fight he

would that night, otherwise he felt sure they should be friends in the morning, and the blow would rest upon

him. Dryden complying with his request, Tom Porter, still inflamed by fury, went to a neighbouring

coffeehouse, when presently word arrived Sir Harry's coach was coming that way. On this Tom Porter

rushed out, stopped the horses, and bade the baronet alight. "Why," said the man, who but an hour before had

been his best friend, "you will not hurt me in coming out, will you?" "No," answered the other shortly. Sir

Henry then descended, and both drew their swords. Tom Porter asked him if he were ready, and hearing he

was, they fought desperately, till of a sudden a sharp cry was heard; Sir Henry's weapon fell upon the ground,

and he placed one hand to his side, from which blood flowed freely. Then calling his opponent to him, he

looked in his face reproachfully, kissed him lovingly, and bade him seek safety. "For, Tom," said he,

struggling hard to speak, "thou hast hurt me; but I will make shift to stand upon my legs till thou mayest

withdraw, and the world not take notice of you, for," continued he, with much tenderness, "I would not have

thee troubled for what thou hast done." And the little crowd who had gathered around carried him to his

Throughout this merry reign, many fantastic changes took place in the costumes of courtiers and their

followers. At the restoration, the dress most common to women of all ranks consisted of a gown with a laced

stomacher and starched neckerchief, a sadcoloured cloak with a French hood, and a high crowned hat.

Such habiliments, admitting of little variety and less ornament, found no favour in the eyes of those who

returned from foreign courts with the king, and therefore a change was gradually effected. The simple gown

of wool and cotton gave place to loose and flowing draperies of silk and satin; the stiff neckerchief was

removed to display fair shoulders and voluptuous breasts; the hat was bedecked by feathers of rare plumage

and rich colour; the cloaks changed hues from sad to gay; the hoods being of "yellow bird's eye," and other

bright tints. Indeed, the prodigal manner in which ladies of quality now exposed their bosoms, though

pleasing to the court, became a matter of grave censure to worthy men. One of these in a pamphlet, entitled

"A Just and Seasonable Reprehension of Naked Breasts and Shoulders," charges women of fashion with

"overlacing their gown bodies, and so thrusting up their breasts in order that they might show them

halfnaked." It was not only at balls and in chambers of entertainment, he avowed, they appeared in this

manner, but likewise at church, where their dress was "not only immodest, but sometimes impudent and

lascivious;" for they braved all dangers to have the satisfaction of being seen, and the consolation of giving

The ridinghabit, first introduced in 1664 caused considerable notice, and no small amount of mirth. The

garb, as it was called, consisted of a doublet buttoned up the breast, a coat with long skirts, a periwig and tall

hat, so that women clad in this fashion might be mistaken for men, if it were not for the petticoat which

dragged under the coat. At the commencement of the reign, ladies of the court wore their hair after the French

fashion, cut short in front and frizzed upon the forehead. When the queen arrived, her hair was arranged A

LA NEGLIGENCE, a mode declared mighty pretty; but presently a fashion came in vogue of wearing "false

locks set on wyres to make them stand at a distance from the head; as fardingales made the clothes stand out

in Queen Elizabeth's reign." Painting the face, which had been practised during the Commonwealth, became

fashionable; as did likewise the use of patches and vizards or masks; which from the convenience they

afforded wearers whilst witnessing an immoral play, or conducting a delicate intrigue, came greatly into use.

According to Randal Holmes's notes on dress, in the Harleian Library, the male costume at the restoration

consisted of "a shortwaisted doublet, and petticoat breechesthe lining, being lower than the breeches, is

tied above the knees. The breeches are ornamented with ribands up to the pocket, and half their breadth upon

the thigh; the waistband is set about with ribands, and the shirt hanging out over them." This dress gradually

increased in richness and ornamentation: the doublet and breeches being changed from cloth to velvet and

satin, the hat trimmed with plumes of gay feathers, and the neck adorned with bands of cambric, trimmed

with Flanders and Brussels lace. The perfection and costliness to which the costume eventually reached is

best shown by a description of Sir Richard Fanshaw ambassador of the king, as presented in the diary of his

spouse. "Sir Richard was dressed," she writes, "in a very rich suit of clothes of a dark FILLEMONTE

brocade, laced with silver and gold lace nine lacesevery one as broad as my hand, and a little silver and

gold lace laid between them, both of very curious workmanship; his suit was trimmed with scarlet taffety

ribbon; his stockings of white silk upon long scarlet silk ones; his shoes black, with scarlet shoestrings and

gaiters; his linen very fine, laced with rich Flanders lace; a black beaver buttoned on the left side with a jewel

of twelve hundred pounds' value, a rich curious wrought gold chain, made in the Indies at which hung the

king his master's picture, richly set with diamonds; on his fingers he wore two rich rings; his gloves trimmed

The uttermost extravagance and luxury in dress now obtained; indeed, to such a passion and pride did it reach

that the monarch resolved on giving it some check by inventing a suit of plainer pretensions, which should

This determination he solemnly declared to his council in October, 1666, and on the 14th of the month

appeared clad in a long vest slashed with white silk, reaching the knee, having the sword girt over it, a loose

coat, straight Spanish breeches ruffled with black ribbons, and buskins instead of shoes and stockings.

Though the habit was pronounced decent and becoming to his majesty, and was quickly adopted by the

courtiers, there were those amongst his friends who offered him a wager he would not persist in wearing it

long. At this the king stated his resolution afresh of never changing; but before the month was out he had

made an alteration, for inasmuch as the vest being slashed with white, was said by a wag to make the wearers

look like magpies, his majesty changed the colour of the silk to black. This "manly and comely habit" might

have become permanently the fashion, if the King of France, by way of ridiculing the merry monarch, had not

caused his footmen to be clad in like manner. Therefore, in less than two years, this mode gave place to

others more fantastical. The vest was retained, but the shape and material were altered; the surcoat of cloth

was discarded for velvet and rich plush, adorned with buckles of precious stones and chains of gold; the

Spanish leather boots were laid aside for highheeled shoes with rosettes and silver buckles. Towards the

close of the reign the costume became much plainer. Through all these varying fashions the periwig,

introduced in 1663, held its own, increasing in length and luxuriance with time. On its first coming into

general use, the clergy had cried out against it as ministering to the vanity and extravagance of the age; but in

a while many of them adopted its use, for, as Granger remarks, "it was observed that a periwig procured

many persons a respect and even veneration which they mere strangers to before, and to which they had not

Amongst other strange innovations and various improvements known in this reign, the introduction of a

penny post may be considered the most useful. King James I., of happy memory, had, in imitation of like

regulations in other countries, established a general post for foreign parts; King Charles I. had given orders to

Thomas Witherings, Esquire, his postmastergeneral, to settle "a running post or two, to run night and day

between Edinburgh, in Scotland, and the city of London, to go thither and back in six days;" but the

organization of a penny post, for the conveyance of letters and parcels throughout the capital and suburbs,

was reserved for the reign of the merry monarch. This beneficial scheme was originated by an upholsterer

named Murray, who communicated it to one William Dockwra, a man who for over ten years had laboured

with fidelity in the Custom House. Uniting their efforts, they, with great labour and vast expense, carried the

The principal office was stationed at the residence of William Dockwra, in Lime Street; seven sortinghouses

and as many as four hundred receivinghouses were speedily established in the cities of London,

Westminster, and the suburbs; and a great number of clerks and messengers were employed to collect, enter,

and deliver parcels and letters not exceeding one pound in weight nor ten pounds in value. Stamps were used

as an acknowledgment that postage was paid, and likewise to mark the hours when letters were sent out from

the offices, by which, in case of delay, its cause might be traced to the messengers; and deliveries took place

ten times in the vicinity of the Exchange and Inns of Court, and four times in the suburbs daily. All persons

were requested to post their communications before six o'clock in the winter, and seven in the summer, on

Saturday nights, "that the many poor men employed may have a little time to provide for their families

against the Lord's Day." And it was moreover intimated that upon three days at Christmas, and two at Easter

and Whitsuntide, as likewise upon the 30th of January, the post would not be delivered.

From the first this scheme promised success, the manner in which it was carried out being wholly admirable;

yet there were many who raised their voices against it persistently. Porters and messengers declared it took

away their means of subsistence; whilst those of higher grade were confident it was a contrivance of the

papists, which enabled them to carry out their wicked schemes with greater security. But these illusions

vanished with time; and the penny post became such a success that Government laid claim to it as a branch of

the General Post Office, and annexed its revenues to the Crown. [In the year 1703 Queen Anne bestowed a

grant on Elizabeth, Dowager countess of Thanet, to erect a penny postoffice in Dublin, similar to that in

Another innovation in this interesting reign were stagecoaches, described as affording "admirable

commodiousness both for men and women of better rank, to travel from London and to almost all the villages

near this great city, that the like hath not been known in the world, wherein one may be transported to any

place, sheltered from foul weather and foul ways, free from endamaging one's health or body by hard jogging

or overviolent emotion, and this not only at a low price, as about a shilling for every five miles in a day; for

the stagecoaches called flying coaches make forty or fifty miles in a day, as from London to Cambridge or

Oxford, and that in the space of twelve hours, not counting the time for dining, setting forth not too early, nor

Likewise were divorce suits introduced whilst Charles II. sat upon the throne for the first timeif the case of

Henry VIII. be exceptedwhen my Lord Rosse, in consequence of the misconduct of his lady, had a bill

brought into the House of Lords for dissolving his marriage and enabling him to wed again. There being at

this period, 1669, a project for divorcing the king from the queen, it was considered Lord Rosse's suit, if

successful, would facilitate a like bill in favour of his majesty. After many and stormy debates his lordship

gained his case by a majority of two votes. It is worth noting that two of the lords spiritual, Dr. Cosin, Bishop

The social history of this remarkable reign would be incomplete without mention of the grace and patronage

which Charles II. extended towards the Society of Antiquaries. This learned body, according to Stow, had

been in existence since the days of Elizabeth; but for lack of royal acknowledgment of its worth and lore, was

permitted to languish in neglect and finally become extinct. However, under the commonwealth the society

had revived, from the fact that numbers of the nobility being unemployed in affairs of state, and having no

court to attend, applied themselves whilst in retirement to the study of chemistry, mathematics, mechanism,

and natural philosophy. The Duke of Devonshire, Marquis of Worcester, Viscount Brouncker, Honourable

Robert Boyle, and Sir Robert Murray, built laboratories, made machines, opened mines, and perfected

inventions. When the temper of the times permitted, these men, with various others of like tastes, drew

together, held weekly meetings at Gresham College in Bishopsgate Street, discoursed on abstruse subjects,

and heard erudite lectures, from Dr. Petty on chemistry, from Dr. Wren on astronomy, from Mr. Laurence

Rooke on geometry; so that the Society of Antiquaries may be said to have been founded in the last years of

Now Charles II., having some knowledge of chemistry and science, looked upon the society with favourable

eyes; and in the first year of his restoration desired to become one of its members; expressed satisfaction it

had been placed upon a proper basis in his reign; represented the difficulty of its labours; suggested certain

investigations, and declared his interest in all its movements. Moreover, in the year 1662 he bestowed on the

society a charter in which he styled himself its founder and patron; presented it with a silver mace to be borne

before the president on meeting days; and gave it the use of the royal arms for a seal. Nor did his concern for

its welfare cease here. He was frequently present at its meetings, and occasionally witnessed, and assisted

"with his own hands," in the performance of experiments. Some of these were of a singularly interesting

character; amongst which may be mentioned infusion of the blood of an animal into the veins of a man. This

took place in the year 1667, the subject being one Arthur Coga, a minister poor in worldly substance, who, in

exchange for a guinea, consented to have the operation performed on him. Accordingly two surgeons of great

skill and learning, named Lower and King, on a certain day injected twelve ounces of sheep's blood into his

veins. After which he smoked an honest pipe in peace, drank a glass of good canary with relish, and found

himself no worse in mind or body. And in two days more fourteen ounces of sheep's blood were substituted

Nor were experiments in vivisection unknown to the Royal Society, as it was called, for the "Philosophical

Transactions" speak of a dog being tied through the back above the spinal artery, thereby depriving him of

motion until the artery was loosened, when he recovered; and again, it is recorded that Dr. Charleton cut the

The weighty discourses of the learned men who constituted the society frequently delighted his majesty;

though it must be confessed he sometimes laughed at them, and once sorely puzzled them by asking the

following question. "Supposing," said Charles, assuming a serious expression, and speaking in a solemn tone,

"two pails of water were placed in two different scales and weighed alike, and that a live bream or small fish

was put into one, now why should not the pail in which it was placed weigh heavier than the other?" Most

members were troubled to find the king a fitting reply, and many strange theories were advanced by way of

explaining why the pail should not be found heavier, none of them being thought satisfactory. But at last a

man sitting far down the table was heard to express an opinion, when those surrounding him laughed; hearing

which the king, who had not caught his words, asked him to repeat them. "Why, your majesty," said he

boldly, "I do believe the pail would weigh heavier." "Oddsfish!" cried Charles, bursting out into laughter,

The Royal Society was composed of men of quality with a genius for investigation, and men of learning

eager for further knowledge. Persons of all nationalities, religions, and professions were admitted members;

and it was continually enriched by the addition of curiosities, amongst which in particular were an herb which

grew in the stomach of a thrush; the skin of a Moor tanned, with the beard and hair white; a clock, having

movements directed by loadstone; an ostrich, whose young had been born alive; mummies; strange fish; and

the hearts and livers of vipers. Likewise was the society endowed with gifts, amongst the most notable being

Fostered by this society, science received its first impulse towards the astounding progress it has since

achieved. Nay, in this reign the germs of some inventions were sown, which, subsequently springing into

existence, have startled the world by their novelty, utility, and power, Monsieur Sorbiere, when in England,

was shown a journal kept by Montconis, concerning the transactions of the Royal Society, in which several

new devices, "which scarce can be believed unless seen," were described. Amongst these were an instrument

for showing alterations in the weather, whether from heat, cold, wind, or rain; a method for blowing up ships;

a process for purifying salt water, so that it could be drunk; and an instrument by which those ignorant of

drawing could sketch and design any object. He also states Dr. Wallis had taught one born deaf and dumb to

In 1663, "the right honourable (and deservedly to be praised and admired) Edward Somerset, Marquis of

Worcester," published a quaint volume entitled "A Century of the Names and Scantlings of such Inventions

as at present I can call to mind to have tried and perfected, which (my former notes being lost) I have, at the

instance of a powerful friend, endeavoured to set down in such a way as may sufficiently instruct me to put

any of them in practice." Amongst these are enumerated false decks, such as in a moment should kill and take

prisoners as many as should board the ship, without blowing her up, and in a quarter of an hour's time should

recover their former shape without discovering the secret; a portable fortification, able to contain five

hundred men, which in the space of six hours might be set up, and made cannonproof; a dexterous

tinderbox which served as a pistol, and was yet capable of lighting a fire or candle at any hour of the night

without giving its possessor the trouble of stretching his hand from bed; a lock, the ways of opening which

might be varied ten millions of times, but which on a stranger touching it would cause an alarm that could not

be stopped, and would register what moneys had been taken from its keeping; a boat which would work

against wind and tide; with various other discoveries to the number of one hundred, all arrived at from

The means of propelling a boat against such disadvantages, to which the Marquis of Worcester alludes, was

in all probability by steampower. This he described as "an admirable and most forcible way to drive up

water by fire," the secret of which he is believed to have first discovered. [Before the century was concluded,

Captain Savery contrived a steamengine which was certainly the first put to practical uses. It has been stated

that he owed the knowledge of this invention to hints conveyed in Lord Worcester's little volume.] In the

preface to his little book, the marquis states he had sacrificed from six to seven hundred thousand pounds in

bringing his various inventions to perfection; after which it is satisfactory to find he derived some profit from

one of them, conceived, as he says, "by heavenly inspiration." This was a waterengine for drying

marshlands and mines, requiring neither pump, suckers, barrels, bellows, nor external nor additional help,

save that afforded from its own operations. This engine Sorbiere describes as one of the most curious things

he had a mind to see, and says one man by the help of this machine raised four large buckets full of water in

an instant forty feet high, through a pipe eight inches long. An act of parliament was passed enabling the

marquis to reap the benefit and profit from this invention, subject to a tenth part which was reserved for the

The Royal Society soon became one of the foremost objects of interest in the city. Foreigners of distinction

were conducted to its rooms that they might behold the visible signs of knowledge it could proudly boast; and

Amongst these latter may be mentioned the eccentric Duchess of Newcastle; a lady who dressed her footmen

in velvet coats, habited herself in antique gowns, wrote volumes of plays and poetry, desired the reputation of

learning, and indulged in circumstances of pomp and state. Having expressed her desire to be present at one

of the meetings of the Royal Society, the council prepared to receive her, not, it must be admitted, without

some fear her extravagance would expose them to the ridicule of the town, and place them fit the mercy of

ballad mongers. So it happened one fair Mayday, in the year 1667 a vast concourse of people had

assembled to witness her arrival at Arundel House in the Strand, where the society held its meetings for some

years after the burning of Gresham College. And she in good time reaching there, surrounded by her maids of

honour, gentlemen in waiting, and lackeys, was met by the president, Viscount Brouncker, having his mace

carried before him, and was conducted to the great room. When the meeting was over, various experiments

were tried for her satisfaction; amongst others a piece of roasted mutton was turned into pure blood. The

while she witnessed these sights, crowds of gallants gathered round her that they might catch and retain such

fine things as fell from her lips; but she only cried out her wonder and admiration at all she saw; and at the

end of her visit was conducted in state to her coach by several noble lords, notable amongst whom was a

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

CastlemaineThe story of his marriage.Andrew Marvell, poet and politician.John Bunyan.

The men of genius who lived in the days of the merry monarch have rendered his reign, like that of Elizabeth,

illustrious in the annals of literature. The fact of "Paradise Lost," the "Pilgrim's Progress," "Hudibras," and

"Alexander's Feast" being given to the world whilst Charles II. occupied the throne, would have sufficiently

marked the epoch as one exceeding in intellectual brilliancy; but besides these works, an abundance of plays,

poems, satires, treatises, and histories added fresh lustre to this remarkable age.

At the period of the restoration, John Milton had reached his fiftysecond year. He had studied in the

University of Cambridge; published the "Masque of Comus;" likewise a treatise against the Established

Church; taught school at Aldersgate Street; married a wife and advocated divorce; printed a pamphlet to

compose the minds of those disturbed by the murder of Charles I.; as also a defence of his murderers,

justifying the monarch's execution, for which the author was awarded a thousand pounds; had become

secretary to Cromwell, whom he stooped to flatter; and had even, on the advent of his majesty's return,

written and set forth "A Ready and Easy Way to establish a Free Commonwealth." ["To your virtue," writes

John Milton to Oliver Cromwell, "overpowering and resistless, every man gives way, except some who,

without equal qualifications, aspire to equal honours, who envy the distinctions of merit greater than their

own, and who have yet to learn that, in the coalition of human society, nothing is more pleasing to God, or

more agreeable to reason, than that the highest mind should have the sovereign power. Such, sir, are you, by

general confession: such are the things achieved by you, the greatest and most glorious of our countrymen,

the director of our public councils, the leader of unconquered armies the father of your country; for by that

On the landing of Charles II. Milton withdrew to the privacy afforded by a residence in Bartholomew Close,

near West Smithfield. For a time he was apprehensive of punishment. His pamphlet justifying the late king's

execution was, with others of a like kind, burned by the common hangman; but though parliament ordered the

attorneygeneral would prosecute the authors of these works, Milton was neither seized nor brought to trial.

Soon after his arrival, Charles published an act of grace promising free pardon to those instrumental in

overthrowing his father's government, with the exception of such as had contrived his death; and inasmuch as

Milton had but justified that monstrous act after it had taken place, he escaped condemnation. Moreover, he

received a special pardon, which passed the privy seal in December, 1660. His escape has been attributed to

his friend Davenant. This loyal soldier had, when taken by Cromwell's troopers in the civil war, been

condemned to speedy death; from which, by Milton's intercession, he escaped; an act of mercy Davenant now

repaid in kind, by appealing to his friends in behalf of the republican's safety.

Having secured his freedom, Milton lived in peace and obscurity in Jewin Street, near Aldersgate Street.

During the commonwealth his first wife, the mother of his three children, had died; on which he sought

solace and companionship in a union with Catherine W., who survived her marriage but twelve

months; and being left free once more, he, in the year of grace 1661, entered into the bonds of holy

matrimony for a third time, with Elizabeth Minshul, a lady of excellent family and shrewish temper, who

rendered his daughters miserable in their father's lifetime, and defrauded them after his death.

In order to support his family he continued to keep a school, and likewise employed himself in writing

"Paradise Lost" the composition of which he had begun five years previously. From his youth upwards he

had been ambitious to furnish the world with some important work; and prevision of resulting fame had given

him strength and fortitude in periods of difficulty and depression. And now the time had arrived for

realization of his dream, though stricken by blindness, harassed by an unquiet wife, and threatened by

poverty, he laboured sore for fame. The more fully to enjoy quiet necessary to his mental condition, he

removed to a house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. His life was one of simplicity. He rose as early as four

o'clock in summer and five in winter, and being "smit with the love of sacred song," had a chapter of the

Bible read to him; studied until twelve, dined frugally at one, and afterwards held discourse with such friends

One of these was Thomas Elwood, a quaker much esteemed amongst good men, who, in order that he might

enjoy the advantages of the poet's conversation, read Latin to him every afternoon save Sunday. The whilst

his voice rose and fell in regular monotony, the blind man drank his words with thirsty ears; and so acute

were the senses remaining to him, that when Elwood read what he did not understand, Milton perceived it by

the inflection of his voice, and stopped him to explain the passage. In fair weather the poet wandered abroad,

enjoying the fragrance of sweet pasture land, and the warmth of glad sunlight he might not behold. And anon,

seated in a highbacked chair without his door, his straight pale face full of repose and dignity, his light

brown hair falling in curls upon his shoulders, his large grey eyes, "clear to outward view of blemish or of

spot," fixed on vacancy, his figure clad in coarse clothhe received those who sought his society.

In their absence the poet spent solitary hours conning over as many lines of the great poem as his memory

could store, until one of his friends arrived, and relieved him by taking the staazas down. Frequently his

nephew, Edward Philips, performed this task for him. To him Milton was in the habit of showing his work as

it advanced, and Philips states he found it frequently required correction in orthography and punctuation, by

reason of the various hands which had written it. As summer advanced, he was no longer favoured by a sight

of the poem; inquiring the reason of which, Milton told him "his vein never happily flowed but from the

autumnal equinox to the vernal; and that whatever he attempted at other times was never to his satisfaction,

In the year 1665 "Paradise Lost" was completed, but no steps were taken towards its publication, as the

author, in company with his neighbours, fled from the dreaded plague. The following year the citizens were

harassed by losses sustained from the great fire, so that Milton did not seek to dispose of his poem until 1667;

when, on the 27th of April, it was sold to Samuel Simmons, a publisher residing in Aldersgate Street. The

agreement entered into stated Milton should receive an immediate payment of five pounds, with the

stipulation that he should be given an equal sum on sale of thirteen hundred copies of the first edition, and

five pounds on disposal of the same number of the second edition, and yet five pounds more after another

such sale of the third edition. Each edition was to number fifteen hundred books. Two years after the

publication of "Paradise Lost," its author received the second payment of five pounds; five years later a third

payment was made him; before the fourth fell due his life had been set free from care.

From the first his poem had come in contact with a few receptive minds, and borne the blessed fruit of

appreciation. Richardson recounts that Sir John Denham, a poet and man of culture, one morning brought a

sheet of the great epic fresh from the press to his friend Sir George Hungerford. "Why, what have you there?"

asked the latter. "Part of the noblest poem that was ever written in any, language or in any age," said Sir John,

as he laid the pages before him. And a few weeks later my Lord Dorset, looking over a bookstall in Little

Britain, found a copy of this work, which he opened carelessly at first, until he met some passages which

struck him with surprise and filled him with admiration: observing which the honest bookseller besought him

to speak in favour of the poem, for it lay upon his hands like so much wastepaper. My lord bought a copy,

carried it home, read and sent it to Dryden, who, in due time returning the volume, expressed his opinion of

its merits in flattering terms. "The author," said he, "cuts us all outaye, even the ancients too."

Such instances as these were, however, few in number. That the work did not meet with wider appreciation

and quicker sale is not surprising when it is called to mind that from 1623 to 1664 but two editions of

Shakespeare's works, comprising in all about one thousand copies, had been printed. In an age when learning

was by no means universal, and polite reading uncommon, it was indeed a scource of congratulation, rather

than a topic for commiseration, that the work of a republican had in two years reached a sale of thirteen

Before a third edition was required his fame had spread. The house in which he had been born, in Bread

Street, was shown with pride to foreign visitors; parents sent their sons to read to him, that they might reap

the benefit of his remarks. The latter testimony to his genius was a tribute the blind poet appreciated. But it

happened there were times and seasons when these obliging youths were not at hand, or when it was

inconvenient for him to receive them. On such occasions he demanded that his daughters should read him the

books he required, though these were frequently written in Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, and Spanish

languages of which they were wholly ignorant. The torment this inflicted on those striving to pronounce

unaccustomed words which had no meaning to their ears, and the torture endured by him, may readily be

conceived. Expressions of complaint on the one side, and of pain on the other, continually interrupted the

readings, which were eventually wholly abandoned; the poet sending his children, whose education was so

limited that they were unable to write, to learn "ingenious sorts of manufacture proper for women,

When in 1665 Milton had shown his poem to Elwood, the good quaker observed, "Thou hast said a great deal

upon Paradise Lost: what hast thou to say upon Paradise Found?" This question resting in the poet's mind, in

due time produced fruit; for no sooner had his first poem been published than he set about composing the

latter, which, under the name of "Paradise Regained," was given to the world in 1670 "This," said he to

Elwood, "is owing to you; for you put it into my head by the question which you put to me, which otherwise I

had not thought of." This poem, he believed, had merits far superior to those of "Paradise Lost," which he

could not bear to hear praised in preference to "Paradise Regained." In the same year he published "Samson

Agonistes," and two years later a treatise on "Logic," and another on "True Religion, Heresy, Schism,

Toleration, and the Best Methods to Prevent the Growth of Popery." In this, the mind which had soared to

heaven and descended to hell in its boundless flight, argues that catholics should not be allowed the right of

public or private worship. In the last year of his life he republished his "Juvenile Poems," together with

He had now reached his sixtysixth year. His life had been saddened by blindness, his health enfeebled by

illness, his domesticity troubled by his first marriage and his last, his desires disappointed by the result of

political events. So that when, on the 10th of November, 1674, death summoned him, he departed without

Amongst those who visited Milton was John Dryden, whom the author of "Paradise Lost" regarded as "a

good rhymester, but no poet," an opinion with which posterity has not held. At the restoration, John Dryden

was in his twentyninth year. The son of Sir Erasmus Dryden, Baronet, of Canons Ashby, he enjoyed an

income of two hundred pounds a year, a sum then considered sufficient to defray the expenses of a young

man of good breeding. He had passed through Westminster School, taken a degree at Cambridge, written a

eulogistic stanza on the death of Cromwell, and a joyous poem on the happy restoration of the merry

Three years after the arrival of his majesty, Dryden's comedy entitled "The Wild Gallant" was produced, this

being the first of twentyeight plays which followed. In the year 1668 he had the honour to succeed Sir

William Davenant as poet laureate, the salary attached to which office was one hundred pounds a year and a

tierce of wine. His dignity was moreover enhanced, though his happiness was by no means increased, by his

marriage with the Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire. For my lady's temper sorely

marred the poet's peace, and left such impressions upon his mind, that to the end of his days his invectives

against the bonds of matrimony were bitter and deep. In justice it must be mentioned the Lady Elizabeth's

mental condition was supposed to be unsettled; a conjecture which was proved true by a madness which

Dryden was now a well known figure in town, consorting with men of the highest quality and parts, and

gossiping with wits and players who frequented Will's coffeehouse. Here, indeed, a special chair was

appropriated to his use; which being placed by the fire in winter, and on the balcony in summer, he was

pleased to designate as his winter and his summer seat. At Will's he was wont to hold forth on the ingenuity

of his plays, the perfection of his poems, and the truth of astrology. It was whilst leaving this coffee house

It happened at one time the brilliant, poetical, and mercurial Earl of Rochester extended his favour and

friendship towards Dryden, gratified by which, the poet had, after the manner of those days, dedicated a play

to him, "Marriage a la Mode." This favour his lordship received with graciousness, and no doubt repaid with

liberality. After a while, Dryden, led by choice or interest, sought a new patron in the person of the Earl of

Mulgrave. For this nobleman Rochester had long entertained a bitter animosity, which had arisen from

rivalry, and had been intensified from the fact that Rochester, refusing to fight him, had been branded as a

coward. Not daring to attack the peer, Rochester resolved to avenge himself upon the poet. In order to effect

his humiliation, the earl at once bestowed his favour on Elkanah Settle, a playwright and poet of mean

abilities. He had originally been master of a puppetshow, had written verses to order for city pageants, and

His patron being at this time in favour with the king, introduced Settle to the notice of the court, and induced

the courtiers to play his second tragedy, "The Empress of Morocco," at Whitehall, before their majesties. This

honour, which Dryden, though poet laureate, had never received, gave Elkanah Settle unmerited notoriety;

the benefit of which was apparent by the applause his tragedy received when subsequently produced at the

Duke's Theatre in Dorset Gardens. Nor did the honour and profit which "The Empress of Morocco" brought

him end here; it was published by William Cademan, and had the distinction of being the first English play

ever illustrated, or sold for the price of two shillings. It was scarce to be expected, in an age when men

ventilated their merest grievances by the publication of pamphlets, Dryden could refrain from pointing out to

the public the mistake into which they had fallen by honouring this man. Nor was he singular in his feelings

of animosity. The poets Shadwell and Crowne, believing themselves ignored and neglected, whilst their rival

was enriched and exalted, joined Dryden in writing a merciless criticism upon Settle's tragedy. This was

entitled "The Empress of Morocco, or some few erratas to be printed instead of the sculptures [Illustrations.],

with the second edition of the play." In this Settle was described as "an animal of a most deplored intellect,

without reading and understanding;" whilst his play was characterized as "a tale told by an idiot, full of noise

and fury signifying nothing." To these remarks and others of like quality, Settle replied in the same strain, so

that the quarrel diverted the town and even disturbed the quiet of the universities. Time did ample justice to

both men; lowering Settle to play the part of a dragon in a booth at Bartholomew Fair, and consecrating

Before the clamour resulting from this dispute had ended, Rochester, fickle and eccentric, grew weary of his

PROTEGE and consequently abandoned him. He had not, however, tired of humiliating the laureate, and to

mortify him the more, introduced a new poet at court, This was John Crowne, a man then little known to the

town, and now best remembered as author of "Sir Courtly Nice," a comedy of wit and entertainment. So well

did he succeed in obtaining favour at court, through Rochester's influence, that the queen ordered him to

write a masque. This command he immediately obeyed, producing "Calisto, or the Chaste Nymph," which

was acted at Whitehall by the Duke of York's fair daughters, the Princesses Mary and Anne, together with

many gracious ladies and noble lords. Dryden, probably the better to hide the mortification he felt at seeing

his office as laureate unceremoniously usurped, offered to write an epilogue for the occasion; but this service

was, through Rochester's interference, rejected. The masque proved a brilliant success; "the dancing, singing,

and music, which were all in the highest perfection, and the graceful action, incomparable beauty, and

splendid habits of those ladies who accompanied them, afforded the spectators extraordinary delight."

The author's gratitude for his lordship's patronage was only equalled by his disappointment upon its hasty

withdrawal. Growing weary of him, Rochester found a more worthy object for his favour in Thomas Otway,

a poet rich in all the miseries which afflicted genius in those days. Son of the rector of Woolbeding, pupil at

Winchester School, and commoner of Christchurch, Cambridge, he had on his arrival in town vainly sought

employment as an actor, and barely earned bread as a playwriter. Before he became a PROTEGE of my

Lord Rochester he had written "Alcibiades," a tragedy, he being then, in 1665, in his twenty fifth year. His

next play was "Don Carlos, Prince of Spain," which, through the earl's influence, gained great success. In the

preface to this tragedy he acknowledges his unspeakable obligations to my lord, who he says made it his

business to establish "Don Carlos" in the good opinion of the king and of his royal highness the Duke of

York. Unwarned by the fate of his predecessors, and heedless of the fickleness of his patron, he basked in

hope in the present, mercifully unconscious of the cruel death by starvation which awaited him in the future.

Alas! Rochester not only forsook him, but loaded him with satire in a poem entitled "Session of the Poets."

In verses which he wrote soon after, entitled "An Allusion to the Tenth Satire," Rochester likewise attacked

Dryden; who, in the preface of his "All for Love," replied in like manner. Then there appeared an "Essay on

Satire," which ridiculed the king, dealt severely with his mistresses, said uncivil things of the courtiers in

general, and of my Lord Rochester in particular. The noble earl was indeed described as being "lewd in every

limb," affected in his wit, mean in his actions, and cowardly in his disposition. Now, though this was

conceived and brought forth by my Lord Mulgrave, Rochester suspected Dryden of its authorship, and

resolved to punish him forthwith. Accordingly on the night of the 18th of December, 1679, when Dryden was

passing through Rose Street, Covent Garden, on his homeward way from Will's Coffee House, he was

waylaid by some ruffians, and, before he could draw his sword, promptly surrounded and severely beaten.

This occurrence caused considerable sensation throughout the town, and though surmises arose in many

minds as to who had hired the bravoes, it was found impossible to prove them. In hope of gaining some clue

to the instigator of the attack, Dryden caused the following advertisement to be inserted in the LONDON

GAZETTE AND DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE for three consecutive days: "Whereas John Dryden, Esq.,

was on Monday, the 18th instant, at night, barbarously assaulted and wounded in Rose Street, in Covent

Garden, by divers men unknown; if any person shall make discovery of the said offenders to the said Mr.

Dryden, or to any justice of the peace, he shall not only receive fifty pounds, which is deposited in the hands

of Mr. Blanchard Goldsmith, next door to Temple Bar, for the said purpose; but if he be a principal or an

accessory in the said fact, his majesty is graciously pleased to promise him his pardon for the same."

Dryden sought no opportunity for revenge; for which restraint, outliving Rochester, and having a noble mind

and generous disposition, he was no doubt glad at heart. Not only did he survive the earl, but likewise the

king. To the company and conversation of that gracious sovereign the poet was frequently admitted, a

privilege which resulted in satisfaction and pleasure to both. One pleasant day towards the end of his

majesty's reign, whilst they walked in the Mall, Charles said to him, "If I were a poet, and indeed I think I am

poor enough to be one, I would write a satire on sedition." Taking this hint, Dryden speedily set himself to

work, and brought a poem on such a subject to his royal master, who rewarded him with a hundred broad

Amongst Dryden's friends was the excellent and ingenious Abraham Cowley, whose youth had given the

promise of distinction his manhood fulfilled. It is related that when quite a lad, he found in the window recess

of his mother's apartment a copy of Spencer's "Faerie Queene." Opening the book, he read it with delight, and

his receptive mind reflecting the poet's fire, he resolved likewise to exercise the art of poesy. In 1628, when at

the age of ten, he wrote "The Tragic History of Pyramus and Thisbe;" five years later he published a volume

of poems; and whilst yet a schoolboy wrote his pastoral comedy, "Love's Riddle."

When at St. John's College, Oxford, he gave proof of his loyalty by writing a poem entitled the "Puritan and

the Papist," which gained him the friendship of courtiers. On the Queen of Charles I. taking refuge in France,

he soon followed her, and becoming secretary to the Earl of St. Albans, conducted the correspondence

between her majesty and the king, ciphering and deciphering their letters, and such as were sent or received

by those immediately concerned in the cause of royalty. In this situation he remained until four years

previous to the restoration, when he was sent into England for the purpose of observing the condition of the

nation, and reporting the same. Scarce had he set foot in London when he was seized, examined, and only

liberated on a friend offering bail for him to the amount of one thousand pounds.

The better to disguise the object of his visit, and lull suspicions of republicans, he took out the degree of

Doctor of Physic at Oxford; after which he retired into Kent, where he devoted a great portion of his time to

the study of botany and the composition of poetry. On Cromwell's death he hastened to France, and remained

there until the king's return; which he celebrated by a song of triumph. Like hundreds of others who had

served Charles in his exile, he looked forward to gratitude and reward, but met disappointment and neglect.

Amongst the numerous places and employments the change of government opened in court and state, not one

Nay, his hardships did not end here; for having, in 1663, produced his merry comedy, "Cutter of Coleman

Street," it was treated with severity as a censure upon the king. Feeling over nervous to witness the result of

its first representation, the poet absented himself from the playhouse; but thither his friends Dryden and Sprat

sped, hoping they might be able to bear him tidings of its triumph. When they returned to him at night and

told him of its fate, "he received the news of its ill success," says Sprat, "not with so much firmness as might

have been expected from so great a man." Of all intent to satirize the king he was entirely innocenta fact he

set before the public in the preface to his play on its publication. Having, he argues, followed the fallen

fortunes of the royal family so long, it was unlikely he would select the time of their restoration to quarrel

Feeling his grievances acutely, he now published a poem called "The Complaint," which met with but little

success; whereon, depressed by illfortune and disgusted by ingratitude, he sought consolation in the peace

of a country life. Through the influence of his old friend, Lord St. Albans, and the Duke of Buckingham, he

obtained a lease of the queen's lands at Chertsey, which produced him an income of about three hundred

pounds a yeara sum sufficient for his few wants and moderate desires. He resided here but two years, when

he died, on the 28th of July, 1667. Milton, on hearing of his death, was troubled. The three greatest English

The ungrateful neglect with which he was treated in life was sought to be atoned for by useless honours paid

him after death. His remains were first conveyed to Wallingford House, then a residence of the Duke of

Buckingham, from whence they were carried in a coach drawn by six horses, and followed by all the men of

letters and wits of the town, divers stately bishops, courtiers, and men of quality, whose carriages exceeded

one hundred in number, to Westminster Abbey. Here the Poet was laid at rest beside Geoffrey Chaucer, and

not far removed from gentle Spenser, whose words had first inspired his happy muse.

The literary wealth of this reign was furthermore enhanced by the genius of Butler, the inimitable author of

"Hudibras," concerning whom little is known, save that he was born in 1612, and spent his life in poverty. He

passed some years as clerk to a justice of the peace; he also served a great man's steward, and acted as

secretary to Sir Samuel Luke, one of Cromwell's officers. With those of the commonwealth he held no part;

that he was a royalist at heart his great satire indicates. The first part of this was published in the third year of

the restoration, and was introduced to the notice of his majesty by my Lord Dorset. So delighted was the

monarch by its wit that its lines were continually on his lips, an example speedily followed by the courtiers. It

was considered certain a man possessing such brilliant genius and loyal nature would be rewarded with place

or pension; but neither boon was bestowed upon him. Resting his hopes on future achievements, the second

part of "Hudibras" appeared in 1664; but again his recompense was delayed. Clarendon made him promises

of valuable employments, which were never fulfilled; and to soothe his disappointment the king sent him a

Indignant at the neglect from which he suffered, his friend Wycherley spoke to the Duke of Buckingham on

his behalf, saying it was a shame to the court a man of Butler's parts should be allowed to suffer want. With

this his grace readily agreed, and promised to use his influence towards remedying the poet's ill fortune; but

time went by, and his condition remained unaltered. Whereon Wycherley conceived the idea of bringing

Butler and the duke together, that the latter might the more certainly remember him. He therefore succeeded

in making his grace name an hour and place in which they might meet. So it came to pass they were together

one day at the Roebuck Tavern; but scarce had Buckingham opened his lips when a pimp of his

acquaintance"the creature was likewise a knight"passed by with a couple of ladies. To a man of

Buckingham's character the temptation was too seductive to be neglected; accordingly, he darted after those

who allured him, leaving the needy poet, whom he saw no more. Butler lived until 1680, dying in poverty.

Longueville, having in vain solicited a subscription to defray the expenses of the poet's burial in Westminster

Wycherley, the friend of Butler, though a child of the Muses, was superior to poverty. He was born in the

year of grace 1640, and early in life sent for his better education into France. Returning to England soon after

the king had come unto his own, young Wycherley entered Queen's College, Oxford, from whence he

departed without obtaining a degree. He then betook himself to town, and became a law student. The Temple,

however, had less attraction for him than the playhouse. Indeed, before leaving Oxford he had, written a

couple of comediesto wit, "Love in a Wood," and "The Gentleman Dancing Master," a fact entitling him to

be considered a man of parts. Not satisfied with this distinction, he soon developed tastes for pleasures of the

town, and became a man of fashion. His wit illuminated choice gatherings of congenial spirits at

coffeehouses; his epigrams were repeated by boon companions in the precincts of the court.

In the year 1672 his comedy "Love in a Wood" was produced. It immediately gained universal favour, and,

moreover, speedily attracted the attention of his majesty's mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland. Wycherley was

a man well to look upon: her grace was a lady eager for adventure. Desiring his acquaintance, and impatient

of delay, she introduced herself to his notice in a manner eminently characteristic of the age. It happened

when driving one day through Pall Mall, she encountered Wycherley riding in his coach in an opposite

direction. Thrusting her head out of the window of her vehicle, she saluted the author with a title unknown to

The fashionable playwright understanding the motive which prompted her remark, hastily ordered his coach

to follow hers; and, overtaking her, uncovered and began a speech becoming so ardent a gallant.

"Madam," said he, "you have been pleased to bestow a title on me which belongs only to the fortunate. Will

"Well," replied her grace, well pleased at this beginning, "what if I am there?"

"Why, then," answered he, "I will be there to wait on your ladyship, though I disappoint a fine woman who

"So," said this frail daughter of Eve, greedily swallowing his flattery, "you are sure to disappoint a woman

"Yes," quoth he, readily enough, "if the one who has not favoured me is the finer woman of the two. But he

who can be constant to your ladyship till he can find a finer, is sure to die your captive."

That night her grace sat in the front row of the king's box at Drury Lane playhouse, and sure enough there

was handsome Will Wycherley sitting in the pit underneath. The gentleman cast his eyes upwards and sighed;

the lady looked down and played with her fan; after which preliminaries they fell into conversation which

both found far more interesting than the comedy then being enacted before their eyes. This was the beginning

of an intimacy concerning which the court made merry, and of which the town spoke scandal. My lady

disguised herself as a country wench, and visited his chambers, Mr. Wycherley dedicated his play, "Love in a

Wood," to her in elegant phraseology, He was of opinion that she stood as little in need of flattery as her

beauty did of art; he was anxious to let the world know he was the greatest admirer she had; and he was

desirous of returning her his grateful acknowledgment for the favours he had received from her.

The interest of this romance was presently intensified by the introduction of a rival in the person of the Duke

of Buckingham. Probably from fear an intrigue with such a prominent figure would, if indulged in, quickly

become known to the king, she refused to encourage Buckingham's love. His grace was not only a passionate

lover, but likewise a revengeful man; accordingly, he resolved to punish my lady for her lack of good taste. It

therefore became his habit to speak of her intrigues before the court, and to name the individuals who

received her favours. Now Wycherley, being amongst these, grew fearful his amour with the duchess should

become known to the king, from whom at this time he expected an appointment. Accordingly, he besought

his good friends, Lord Rochester and Sir Charles Sedley, to remonstrate on his behalf with the duke. These

gentlemen undertook that kindly office, and in order to make the rivals acquainted, besought his grace to sup

with the playwright. The duke complying with their request, met Wycherley in a friendly spirit, and soon

professed himself delighted with his wit; nay, before the feast was over he drank his health in a bumper of red

wine, and declared himself Mr. Wycherley's very good friend and faithful servant henceforth.

Moreover, he was as good as his word; for, being master of the horse, he soon after appointed Wycherley an

equerry, and subsequently gave him a commission as captain of a regiment of which he was colonel. Nor did

the duke's services to the dramatist end here; for when occasion offered he introduced him to the merry

monarch, and so pleased was the king with the author's conversational powers that he admitted him to his

friendship. His majesty's regard for Wycherley gradually ripened, and once when he lay ill of fever at his

lodgings in Bow Street, Covent Garden, the merry monarch visited him, cheered him with words of kindness,

and promised he would send him to Montpelier when he was well enough to travel. For this good purpose

Charles sent him five hundred pounds, and Wycherley spent the winter of 1679 abroad.

Previous to this date he had written, besides his first comedy, three others which had been received with great

favour by the town, viz., "The Gentleman Dancing Master," "The Country Wife," and "The Plain Dealer."

Soon after his return to England the crisis of his life arrived, and he married. His introduction to the lady

whom fate ordained to become his wife is not the least singular episode in a remarkable biography. Being at

Tunbridge Wells, then a place of fashion and liberty, he was one day walking with a friend named Fairbeard.

And it happened as they were passing a bookstall they overheard a gentlewoman inquire for the "Plain

"Madam," says Mr. Fairbeard, uncovering, "since you are for the 'Plain Dealer,' there he is for you;" whereon

"This lady," says that gentleman, making her a profound bow, "can bear plain speaking; for she appears to be

so accomplished, that what would be compliment said to others, spoken to her would be plain dealing."

"No truly, sir," replied the lady; "I am not without my faults, like the rest of my sex; and yet, notwithstanding

all my faults, I love plain dealing, and never am more fond of it than when it points out my errors."

"Then, madam," said Mr. Fairbeard, "you and the plain dealer seem designed by heaven for each other."

These pretty speeches having been delivered and received with every mark of civility, Mr. Wycherley made

his exit with the lady, who was none other than the Countess of Drogheda, a young widow gifted with beauty

and endowed by fortune. Day by day he waited on her at her lodging, accompanied her in her walks, and

attended her to the assemblies. Finally, when she returned to town he married her. It is sad yet true the union

did not result in perfect happiness. Mr. Wycherley had a reputation for gallantry, the Countess of Drogheda

was the victim of suspicion. Knowing jealousy is beget by love, and mindful of sacrifices she had made in

marrying him, Wycherley behaved towards her with much kindness. In compliance with her wishes he

desisted visiting the court, a place she probably knew from experience was rife with temptation; and

moreover when he cracked a bottle of wine with convivial friends at the Cock Tavern, opposite his lodgings

in Bow Street, he, for the greater satisfaction of his wife, would leave the windows open of the room in which

he sat, that she might from the vantage ground of her home see there were no hussies in the company.

As proof of her love, she, when dying, settled her fortune upon him; but unhappily his just right was disputed

by her family. The case therefore went into litigation, for the expenses of which, together with other debts,

Wycherley was cast into prison. Here the brilliant wit, clever writer, and boon companion, was allowed to

remain seven long years. When released from this vile bondage, another king than the merry monarch

The name of Andrew Marvel is inseparably connected with this period. He was born in the year 1620 in the

town of Kingston uponHull; his father being a clever schoolmaster, worthy minister, and "an excellent

preacher, who never broached what he had never brewed, but that which he had studied some compitent time

before." At the age of fifteen, Andrew Marvell was sent to Trinity College, Cambridge. But he had not long

been there when he withdrew himself, lured, as some authorities state, by wiles of the wicked Jesuits;

repulsed, as others say, by severities of the head of his college. Leaving the university, he set out for London,

where his father, who hastened thither in search of him, found him examining some old volumes on a

bookstall. He was prevailed to return to his college, where, in 1638, he took his degree as bachelor of arts.

On the completion of his studies and death of his father, he travelled through Holland, France, and Italy.

Whilst abroad he began to produce those satirical verses such as were destined to render him famous. One of

his earliest efforts in this direction was aimed at the Abbe de Maniban, a learned ecclesiastic, whose chief

fault in Marvell's eyes lay in the fact of his professing to judge characters from handwriting.

Whilst in Italy, Andrew Marvell met John Milton, and they having many tastes and convictions in common,

became fast friends. In 1653, the former returned to England, and for some time acted as tutor to Mistress

Fairfax; he being an excellent scholar, and a great master of the Latin tongue. He now led a peaceful and

obscure life until 1657. In that year, Milton, "laying aside," as he wrote, "those jealousies, and that emulation

which mine own condition might suggest to me," introduced him to Bradshaw; soon after which he was made

He had not been long engaged in this capacity, when the usurper died; and Marvell's occupation being gone,

the goodly burgesses of the town of Hull, who loved him well, elected him as their representative in

parliament, for which service, in accordance with a custom of the time, he was paid. The salary, it is true, was

not large, amounting to two shillings a day for borough members; yet when kindly feeling and honest

satisfaction mutually existed between elector and representative, as in Marvell's case, the wage was at times

supplemented by such acceptable additions as homecured pork and homebrewed ale, "We must first give

you thanks," wrote Marvell on one occasion to his constituents, on the receipt of a cask of beer, "for the kind

present you have pleased to send us, which will give occasion to us to remember you often; but the quantity

He now, in the warfare of political life, made free use of his keen wit and bitter sarcasm as serviceable

weapons. These were chiefly employed in exposing measures he considered calculated to ruin the country,

though they might gratify the king. However, he had no hatred of monarchy, but would occasionally divert

Charles by the sharpness of his satire and brilliancy of his wit. Considering how valuable these would be if

employed in service of the court, Charles resolved to tempt Marvell's integrity. For this purpose the Lord

Treasurer Danby sought and found him in his chamber, situated in the second floor of a mean house standing

in a court off the Strand. Groping his way up the dark and narrow staircase of the domicile, the great minister

stumbled, and falling against a door, was precipitated into Marvell's apartment, head foremost. Surprised at

his appearance, the satirist asked my Lord Danby if he had not mistaken his way. "No," said the courtier with

a bow, "not since I have found Mr. Marvell." He then proceeded to tell him that the king, being impressed by

a high sense of his abilities, was desirous of serving him. Apprehending what services were expected in

return, Marvell answered that he who accepted favours from the court was bound to vote in its interests.

"Nay," said my lord, "his majesty but desires to know if there is any place at court you would accept." On

which Marvell replied he could receive nothing with honour, for either he must treat the king with ingratitude

by refusing compliance with court measures, or be a traitor to his country by yielding to them. The only

favour he therefore begged was, that his majesty would esteem him a loyal subject; the truer to his interests in

refusing his offers than he would be by accepting them. It is stated that Lord Danby, surprised at so much

purity in an age of corruption, furthermore tempted him with a bag of gold, which Marvell obstinately refused

He died suddenly in the year 1678, leaving behind him a reputation for humour and satire which has rarely

Besides these poets and dramatists, there were other great men, who as prose writers, helped to render the

literary history of the period remarkable for its brilliancy. Amongst these were Lord Clarendon, High

Chancellor of England, concerning whom much has already been said; and Thomas Hobbs of Malmesbury,

better known as author of "The History of the Causes of the Civil War," and of "Human Nature," than as a

translator of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Dr. Gilbert Burnet, author of "The History of his Own Times;" and

Dr. Ralph Cudworth, author of "The True Intellectual System of the Universe," were likewise men of note.

But one whose name is far more familiar than any writer of his time is John Bunyan, author of "The Pilgrim's

He was the son of a tinker, and was born within a mile of Bedford town in the year 1628. He imbibed at an

early age the spirit of Puritanism, fought in the civil wars, took to himself a wife, and turned preacher. Six

months after the merry monarch landed, Bunyan was flung into Bedford gaol, where, rather than refrain from

puritanical discourses, in the utterance of which he believed himself divinely inspired, he remained, with

some short intervals of liberty, for twelve years. When offered freedom at the price of silence, he replied, "If

you let me out today, I will preach tomorrow." Nay, even in his confinement he delivered sermons to his

fellowprisoners; and presently he commenced to write. His convictions leading him to attack the liturgy of

the Church of England, and the religion of the Quakers, his productions became popular amongst dissenters.

At length, by an act annulling the penal statutes against Protestant Nonconformists and Roman Catholics,

passed in 1671, he was liberated. When he left prison he carried with him a portion of his "Pilgrim's

Progress," which was soon after completed and published, though at what date remains uncertain. In 1678 a

second edition was printed, and such was the growth of its popularity, that six editions were issued within the

Now he became famous, his lot was far different from what it had been; his sermons were heard by eager

audiences, his counsel was sought by those in trouble, his prayers were regarded as the utterances of

inspiration. Once a year he rode, attended by vast crowds, from Bedford Town to London City, that he might

preach to those burdened by sin; and from the capital he made a circuit of the country, where he was hailed as

a prophet. His life extended beyond the reign of King Charles; his influence lasted till his death.

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 sent for.Charles professes catholicity and receives the Sacraments.Farewell to

His majesty's habits changed but little with the flight of time, To the end of his reign the court continued

brilliant and profligate. Wits, courtezans, and adventurers crowded the royal drawingrooms, and conversed

without restraint; the monarch pursued his pleasures with unsatiated zest, taking to himself two new

mistresses, Lady Shannon and Catherine Peg, who respectively bore him a daughter and a son, duly created

Countess of Yarmouth and Earl of Plymouth. For a while, indeed, a shadow fell upon the life of the merry

monarch, when, in 1683, he was roused to a sense of danger by discovery of the Rye House conspiracy.

This foul plot, entered into by the Whigs on failure of the Exclusion Bill, had for its object the murder of his

majesty and of the Duke of York. Before arriving at maturity its existence and intentions were revealed by

one of the conspirators, when William Lord Russell, the Earl of Essex, and Algernon Sidney, second son of

the Earl of Leicester, were arrested and charged with high treason. My Lord Essex died in the Tower by his

own hand; Lord Russell was condemned on testimony of one witness, and duly executed; as was likewise

Algernon Sidney, whose writings on Republicanism were used as evidence against him. On the revelation of

this wicked scheme the country became wildly excited, and the king grievously afflicted. A melancholy

seized upon his majesty, who stirred not abroad without double guards; and the private doors of Whitehall

From this condition, however, he gradually recovered, and resumed his usual habits. Accordingly, we find

him engaged in "luxurious dalliance and prophaneness" with the Duchess of Mazarine, and visiting the

Duchess of Portsmouth betimes in her chamber, where that bold and voluptuous woman, fresh risen from

bed, sat in loose garments talking to the king and his gallants, the while her maids combed her beautiful hair.

"I can never forget," says John Evelyn, writing on the 4th of February, 1685, "the inexpressible luxury and

prophaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and as it were total forgetfullnesse of God (it being Sunday

evening), which this day se'nnight I was witnesse of, the king sitting and toying with his concubines,

Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine, etc., a French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, whilst

about twenty of the greate courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of

at least two thousand in gold before them, upon which two gentlemen who were with me made reflexions

For now the end of all things had come for Charles Stuart. It happened on the morning of the 2nd of

February, 1685, the day being Monday, the king whilst in his bedroom was seized by an apoplectic fit, when

crying out, he fell back in his chair, and lay as one dead. Wildly alarmed, his attendants summoned Dr. King,

the physician in waiting, who immediately bled him, and had him carried to bed. Then tidings spread

throughout the palace, that his majesty hovered betwixt life and death; which should claim him no man might

say. Whereon the Duke of York hastened to his bedside, as did likewise the queen, her face blanched, her

eyes wild with terror. His majesty after some time recovering consciousness, slowly realized his sad

condition. Then he conceived a fear, the stronger as begotten by conviction, that the sands of his life had run

their course. Throughout that day and the next he fainted frequently, and showed symptoms of epilepsy. On

Wednesday he was cupped and bled in both jugulars; but on Thursday he was pronounced better, when the

But, alas, the same evening he grew restless, and signs of fever became apparent. Jesuits' powders, then of

great repute, were given him, but with no good result. Complaining of a pain in his side, the doctors drew

twelve ounces more of blood from him. Exhaustion then set in; all hope of life was over.

Meanwhile, the capital was in a state of consternation. Prayers for his majesty's recovery were offered up in

all churches throughout the city; likewise in the royal chapels, where the clergy relieved each other every

quarter of an hour. Crowds gathered by day and night without the palace gates, eager to learn the latest

change in the king's condition from those who passed to and fro. Inside Whitehall all was confusion.

Members of the Privy Council assembled in the room adjoining that where the monarch lay; politicians and

ambassadors conversed in whispers in the disordered apartments; courtiers of all degrees flocked through the

And amongst others who sought his majesty's presence was the Archbishop of Canterbury, together with the

Bishops of London, Durham, Ely, and Bath and Wells; all being anxious to render spiritual services to the

king. Of these good men, Charles liked best Dr. Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, having most faith in his

honesty. For, when his lordship was a prebend of Winchester, it had happened Charles passed through that

city, accompanied by Nell Gwynn, when Dr. Ken refused to receive her beneath his roof even at the king's

request. This proof of integrity so pleased his majesty, that he gave him the next vacant bishopric by way of

reward. And now, his lordship being at hand, he read prayers for the Sick from out the Common Prayer Book

for his benefit, until coming to that part where the dying are exhorted to make confession of their sins, when

the bishop paused and said such was not obligatory. He then asked his majesty if he were sorry for the

iniquities of his life? when the sick man, whose heart was exceeding heavy, replied he was; whereon the

bishop pronounced absolution, and asked him if he would receive the Sacrament. To this Charles made no

reply, until the same question had been repeated several times, when his majesty answered he would think of

The Duke of York, who stood by the while, noting the king's answer, and aware of his tendencies towards

Catholicism, bade those who had gathered round stand aside; and then, bending over him, asked in a low tone

if he might send for a priest. A look of unspeakable relief came into the king's face, and he answered, "For

God's sake do, brother, and lose no time." Then another thought flashing across his mind, he said, "But will

not this expose you to much danger?" James made answer, "Though it cost me my life I will bring you a

priest." He then hurried into the next room, where, among all the courtiers, he could find no man he could

trust, save a foreigner, one Count Castelmachlor. Calling him aside, he secretly despatched him in search of a

Between seven and eight o'clock that evening, Father Huddleston, the Benedictine friar who had aided the

king's escape after the battle of Worcester, awaited at the queen's back stairs the signal to appear in his

majesty's presence. The duke being made aware of the fact, announced it to the king, who thereon ordered all

in his room to withdraw; but James, mindful that slander might afterwards charge him with killing his

brother, begged the Earl of Bath, the lord of the bedchamber then in waiting, and the Earl of Feversham,

captain of the guard, might staysaying to the king it was not fitting he should be unattended in his weak

condition. These gentlemen therefore remained. And no sooner had all others departed than the monk was

admitted by a private entrance to the chamber. The king received him with great joy and satisfaction, stating

he was anxious to die in the communion of the catholic church, and declaring he was sorry for the wrongs of

his past life, which he yet hoped might be pardoned through the merits of Christ.

He then, as we read in the Stuart Papers, "with exceeding compunction and tenderness of heart," made an

exact confession of his sins, after which he repeated an act of contrition, and received absolution. He next

desired to have the other Sacraments of the church proper to his condition administered to him: on which the

Benedictine asked if he desired to receive the Eucharist; eagerly he replied, "If I am worthy pray fail not to let

me have it." Then Father Huddleston, after some exhortation, prepared to give him the Sacrament; when the

dying man, struggling to raise himself, exclaimed, "Let me meet my heavenly Lord in a better posture than

lying in bed." But the priest begged he would not move, and then gave him the Communion, which he

received with every sign of fervour. And for some time he prayed earnestly, the monk and the duke kneeling

by the while, silence obtaining in the room. This was presently broken by the sad and solemn tones of the

priest's voice, reading a commendation of the soul to its Maker: the which being ended, the Benedictine, with

tears in his eyes, took leave of his majesty. "Ah," said Charles, "you once saved my body; you have now

saved my soul." Then the monk gave him his benediction, and departed as quietly as he had come.

Then those waiting without were once more admitted to the room, when Charles nerved himself to take a sad

farewell of those around him. He first publicly thanked his brother for the services and affection he had ever

rendered him through life, and extolled his obedience and submission to his commands. Giving him his keys,

he said he had left him all he possessed, and prayed God would bless him with a happy and prosperous reign.

Finally, he recommended all his children to him by name, excepting only the Duke of Monmouth then in

Holland, and suffering from the king's displeasure; and besought him to extend his kindness towards the

Duchesses of Portsmouth and Cleveland; "and do not," said he, "let poor Nelly starve." Whilst these

commands were addressed him, the duke had flung himself on his knees by the bedside, and, bursting into

The queen, who had scarce left his majesty since the beginning of his illness, was at this time absent, her love

and grief not permitting her to endure this afflicting scene. He spoke most tenderly of her; and when presently

she sent a message praying he would pardon her absence in regard to her excessive grief, and forgive her

withal if at any time she had offended him, he replied, "Alas, poor woman! She beg my pardon?I beg hers,

with all my heart." He next summoned his children to him, one by one, and addressing them with words of

advice, embraced them heartily and blessed them fervently. And he being the Lord's anointed, the bishops

present besought he would give them his benediction likewise, and all that were present, and in them the

whole body of his subjects; in compliance with which request he, with some difficulty, raised himself, and all

falling on their knees, he blessed them fervently. Then they arose and departed.

Silence fell upon the palace; night wore slowly away. Charles tossed upon his bed racked with pain, but no

complaint escaped his lips. Those who watched him in the semidarkened room heard him ask God to accept

his sufferings in atonement for his sins. Then, speaking aloud, he declared himself weary of life, and hoped

soon to reach a better world. Courteous to the last, he begged pardon for the trouble he gave, inasmuch as he

was long in dying. And anon he slumbered, and quickly woke again in agony and prayed with zeal. Never

had time moved with slower passage for him; not hours, but weeks, seemed to elapse between each stroke of

the clock; and yet around him was darkness and tardy night. But after much weary waiting, morning was at

hand, the timepiece struck six. "Draw the curtains," said the dying man, "that I may once more see day."

The grey light of a February dawn, scarce brightened to eastward a cheerless sky; but he hailed this herald of

sunrise with infinite relief and terrible regret; relief that he had lived to see another day; regret that no more

His soul tore itself from his body with fierce struggles and bitter pain. It was hard for him to die, but he

composed himself to enter eternity "with the piety becoming a Christian, and the resolution becoming a

king;" as his brother narrates. About ten o'clock on Friday morning, February 6th, 1685, he found relief in

unconsciousness; before midday chimed he was dead. He had reached the fiftyfifth year of his life, and the

His illegitimate progeny was numerous, numbering fifteen, besides those who died in infancy. These were the

Duke of Monmouth and a daughter married to William Sarsfield, children of Lucy Walters; the Dukes of

Southampton, Grafton, and Northumberland, the Countesses of Litchfield and of Sussex, and a daughter

Barbara. who became a nun, children of the Duchess of Cleveland; the Duke of Richmond, son of the

Duchess of Portsmouth; the Duke of St. Albans, and a son James, children of Nell Gwynn; Lady

Derwentwater, daughter of Moll Davis; the Countess of Yarmouth, daughter of Lady Shannon; and the Earl

For seven days the remains of the late king lay in state; on the eighth they were placed in Westminster Abbey.

The ceremony was of necessity conducted in a semiprivate manner for by reason of his majesty dying in the

Catholic religion, his brother considered it desirable the ceremonies prescribed for the occasion by the

English church should be dispensed with. Therefore, in order to avoid disputes or scandal, the king was laid

in the tomb without ostentation. At night his remains were carried from the painted chamber in Westminster

sanctuary to the abbey. The procession, headed by the servants of the nobility, of James II., and his queen, of

the dowager queen, and of the late king, was followed by the barons, bishops, and, peers according to their

rank; the officers of the household, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Then came all that was mortal of his

late majesty, borne under a canopy of velvet, supported by six gentlemen of the privy chamber, the pall being

held by six earls. Prince George of Denmarksubsequently husband of Queen Anne acted as chief

mourner, attended by the Dukes of Somerset and Beaufort, and sixteen earls. One of the kings of Arms

carried the crown and cushion, the train being closed by the king's band of gentlemen pensioners, and the

At the abbey entrance the dean and prebendaries, attended by torch bearers, and followed by a surpliced

choir, met the remains, and joined the procession, the slow pacing figures of which seemed spectral in this

hour and place; then the sad cortege passed solemnly through the grey old abbey, the choir chanting

sorrowfully the while, the yellow flare of torches marking the prevailing gloom. And being come to the

chapel of Henry VII., the body of the merry monarch was suffered there to rest in peace.