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 all.--His last night on
earth.--Daybreak and death.--He rests in peace.
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 drawing-rooms, 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 and
avenues of the park were closed.
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 with astonishment. Six days after was all in the dust."
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
physicians, anxious to welcome hope, spoke of his probable recovery.
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
corridors bearing signs of deep concern upon their countenances.
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
it.
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 priest.
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
stay--saying 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 tears, kissed his brother's hand.
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 semi-darkened 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 time-piece
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 morns should break for him.
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 fifty-fifth year of his
life, and the twenty-fifth year of his reign.
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 of Plymouth, son of
Catherine Peg.
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 semi-private 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 Denmark--subsequently 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 yeomen of the guard.
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.
End of Project Gutenberg's Royalty Restored, by J. Fitzgerald Molloy