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
massive-beamed oak-panelled halls, from which scarce five-score candles
served to chase all gloom.
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 with him," which truth
was found offensive on reaching the royal ears.
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 drawing-room, 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 drawing-room,
and drove at once to Pall Mall, where she hired apartments.
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 presents bestowed by her upon her lovers.
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 "marry any gentleman of fifteen
hundred a year that would have her in honour."
This determination she was obliged to keep-secret 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 was, moreover, a widower, and a sot.
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
ill-humour 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 smiles, addressed him.
"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 ill-conduct. 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 new-fashioned
chastity of the inhuman Stuart has reduced your majesty."
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 unbecoming and ridiculous a
part."
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 good-night, and with a subtle smile promptly retired.
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 upon him.
"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 the past, and besought her care and protection in the
future.
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 displeasure.
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 being the month of March, 1667.
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 lustre.
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 drawing-rooms 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 lady-love dwelt; and finding
the garden-door 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 Denmark, in which country he died.
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 laughing-stock 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 quiet--which 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 reply to the kingly assertion
that she was a jade.
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 which
violent threats and abusive language were freely exchanged.
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 coffee-houses 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 promised to offend her no more."