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 goodly prospect."
Here in a railed-off 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 broad-brimmed 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 greeting one
another at every turn.
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.
"By-and-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 reason of his coldness to my Lady Castlemaine."
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 night-dews 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 barges streaked the waters with silver lines.
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. By-and-by
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 York."
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 Lionne.
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 unbecomingly, and gossiped freely.
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 wife, "that I can very
well bear with it."
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 French ambassador in a letter to Louis XIV.
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 than he began to regret her absence and long for her
return.
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
ambassador narrates.
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 room.
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. And for days her soul hovered
betwixt two worlds.
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, she exclaimed, "How do the children?"
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 well on the 10th November as
to "bespeak herself a new gowne"
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
set the house on fire but it shall be roasted!" And roasted it was.