Several men of rank had, as usual, | So high did political animosities run assembled to see their sovereign shaved that the presence of some Whig physiand dressed. He made an effort to cians was regarded as an extraordinary converse with them in his usual gay circumstance.* One Roman Catholic style; but his ghastly look surprised whose skill was then widely renowned, and alarmed them. Soon his face grew Doctor Thomas Short, was in attendblack; his eyes turned in his head; he ance. Several of the prescriptions uttered a cry, staggered, and fell into have been preserved. One of them is the arms of one of his lords. A physi- signed by fourteen Doctors. The pacian who had charge of the royal retorts tient was bled largely. Hot iron was and crucibles happened to be present. applied to his head. A loathsome He had no lancet; but he opened a volatile salt, extracted from human vein with a penknife. The blood skulls, was forced into his mouth. He flowed freely; but the King was still recovered his senses; but he was eviinsensible. dently in a situation of extreme danger. He was laid on his bed where, during a short time, the Duchess of Portsmouth hung over him with the familiarity of a wife. But the alarm had been given. The Queen and the Duchess of York were hastening to the room. The favourite concubine was forced to retire to her own apartments. Those apartments had been thrice pulled down and thrice rebuilt by her lover to gratify her caprice. The very furniture of the chimney was massy silver. Several fine paintings, which properly belonged to the Queen, had been transferred to the dwelling of the mistress. The sideboards were piled with richly wrought plate. In the niches stood cabinets, the masterpieces of Japanese art. On the hangings, fresh from the looms of Paris, were depicted, in tints which no English tapestry could rival, birds of gorgeous plumage, landscapes, hunting matches, the lordly terrace of Saint Germains, the statues and fountains of Versailles.* In the midst of this splendour, purchased by guilt and shame, the unhappy woman gave herself up to an agony of grief, which, to do her justice, was not wholly selfish. And now the gates of Whitehall, which ordinarily stood open to all comers, were closed. But persons whose faces were known were still permitted to enter. The antechambers and galleries were soon filled to overflowing; and even the sick room was crowded with peers, privy councillors, and foreign ministers. All the medical men of note in London were summoned. The Queen was for a time assiduous in her attendance. The Duke of York scarcely left his brother's bedside. The Primate and four other Bishops were then in London. They remained at Whitehall all day, and took it by turns to sit up at night in the King's room. The news of his illness filled the capital with sorrow and dismay. For his easy temper and affable manners had won the affection of a large part of the nation; and those who most disliked him preferred his unprincipled levity to the stern and earnest bigotry of his brother. On the morning of Thursday the fifth of February, the London Gazette announced that His Majesty was going on well, and was thought by the physicians to be out of danger. The bells of all the churches rang merrily; and preparations for bonfires were made in the streets. But in the evening it was known that a relapse had taken place, and that the medical attendants had given up all hope. The public mind was greatly disturbed; but there was no disposition to tumult. The Duke of York, who had already taken on himself to give orders, ascertained that the City was perfectly quiet, and that he might without difficulty be proclaimed as soon as his brother should expire. The King was in great pain, and complained that he felt as if a fire was burning within him. Yet he bore up against his sufferings with a fortitude which did not seem to belong to his soft and luxurious nature. The * Dugdale's Correspondence. sight of his misery affected his wife so to hear what was said; and nothing much that she fainted, and was carried could induce him to take the Eucharist senseless to her chamber. The prelates from the hands of the Bishops. A who were in waiting had from the first table with bread and wine was brought exhorted him to prepare for his end. to his bedside, but in vain. Sometimes They now thought it their duty to he said that there was no hurry, and address him in a still more urgent sometimes that he was too weak. manner. William Sancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury, an honest and pious, though narrowminded man, used great freedom. "It is time," he said, "to speak out; for, Sir, you are about to appear before a Judge who is no respecter of persons." The King answered not a word. Many attributed this apathy to contempt for divine things, and many to the stupor which often precedes death. But there were in the palace a few persons who knew better. Charles had never been a sincere member of the Established Church. His mind had long oscillated between Hobbism and Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Popery. When his health was good Wells, then tried his powers of persua- and his spirits high, he was a scoffer. sion. He was a man of parts and In his few serious moments he was a learning, of quick sensibility and stain- Roman Catholic. The Duke of York less virtue. His elaborate works have was aware of this, but was entirely occulong been forgotten; but his morning pied with the care of his own interests. and evening hymns are still repeated He had ordered the outports to be daily in thousands of dwellings. closed. He had posted detachments of Though, like most of his order, zealous the Guards in different parts of the for monarchy, he was no sycophant. City. He had also procured the feeble Before he became a Bishop, he had signature of the dying King to an inmaintained the honour of his gown by strument by which some duties, granted refusing, when the court was at Win- only till the demise of the Crown, were chester, to let Eleanor Gwynn lodge in let to farm for a term of three years. the house which he occupied there as a These things occupied the attention of prebendary.* The King had sense James to such a degree that, though, enough to respect so manly a spirit. on ordinary occasions, he was indisOf all the prelates he liked Ken the creetly and unseasonably eager to best. It was to no purpose, however, bring over proselytes to his Church, he that the good Bishop now put forth all never reflected that his brother was in his eloquence. His solemn and pa- danger of dying without the last sacrathetic exhortation awed and melted the ments. This neglect was the more bystanders to such a degree that some extraordinary because the Duchess of among them believed him to be filled York had, at the request of the Queen, with the same spirit which, in the old suggested, on the morning on which time, had, by the mouths of Nathan the King was taken ill, the propriety and Elias, called sinful princes to re- of procuring spiritual assistance. For pentance. Charles however was un- such assistance Charles was at last moved. He made no objection indeed indebted to an agency very different when the service for the Visitation of from that of his pious wife and sister in the Sick was read. In reply to the law. A life of frivolity and vice had pressing questions of the divines, he not extinguished in the Duchess of said that he was sorry for what he had done amiss; and he suffered the absolution to be pronounced over him according to the forms of the Church of England: but, when he was urged to declare that he died in the communion of that Church, he seemed not Hawkins's Life of Ken, 1713. Portsmouth all sentiments of religion, of great moment to tell you. If it send to the Venetian minister for a were known, my head would be in dan- clergyman, when they heard that a ger. The King is really and truly a Benedictine monk, named John HuddleCatholic; but he will die without ston, happened to be at Whitehall. being reconciled to the Church. His This man had, with great risk to himbedchamber is full of Protestant self, saved the King's life after the clergymen. I cannot enter it without giving scandal. The Duke is thinking only of himself. Speak to him. Remind him that there is a soul at stake. He is master now. He can clear the room. Go this instant, or it will be too late." battle of Worcester, and had, on that account, been, ever since the Restoration, a privileged person. In the sharpest proclamations which had been put forth against Popish priests, when false witnesses had inflamed the nation to fury, Huddleston had been excepted by name.* He readily consented to put his life a second time in peril for his prince; but there was still a difficulty. The honest monk was so illiterate that he did not know what he ought to say on an occasion of such importance. He however obtained some hints, through the intervention of Castel Melhor, from a Portuguese ecclesiastic, and, thus instructed, was brought up the back stairs by Chiffinch, a confidential servant, who, if the satires of that age are to be credited, had often introduced visitors of a very different description by the same entrance. The Duke then, in the King's name, commanded all who were present to quit the room, except Lewis Duras, Earl of Feversham, and John Granville, Earl of Bath. Both these Lords professed the Protestant religion; but James conceived that he could count on their fidelity. Feversham, a Frenchman of noble birth, and nephew of the great Turenne, held high rank in the English army, and was Chamberlain to the Queen. Bath was Groom of the Stole. Barillon hastened to the bedchamber, took the Duke aside, and delivered the message of the mistress. The conscience of James smote him. He started as if roused from sleep, and declared that nothing should prevent him from discharging the sacred duty which had been too long delayed. Several schemes were discussed and rejected. At last the Duke commanded the crowd to stand aloof, went to the bed, stooped down, and whispered something which none of the spectators could hear, but which they supposed to be some question about affairs of state. Charles answered in an audible voice, "Yes, yes, with all my heart." None of the bystanders, except the French Ambassador, guessed that the King was declaring his wish to be admitted into the bosom of the Church of Rome. "Shall I bring a priest?" said the Duke. "Do, brother," replied the sick man. "For God's sake do, and lose no time. But no; you will get into trouble." "If it costs me my life," said the Duke, "I will fetch a priest." To find a priest, however, for such a purpose, at a moment's notice, was not The Duke's orders were obeyed; and easy. For, as the law then stood, the even the physicians withdrew. The person who admitted a proselyte into back door was then opened; the Roman Catholic Church was guilty Father Huddleston entered. A cloak of a capital crime. The Count of had been thrown over his sacred vestCastel Melhor, a Portuguese nobleman, ments; and his shaven crown was conwho, driven by political troubles from cealed by a flowing wig. "Sir," said his native land, had been hospitably the Duke, "this good man once saved received at the English court, undertook your life. He now comes to save your to procure a confessor. He had recourse soul." Charles faintly answered, "He to his countrymen who belonged to the is welcome." Huddleston went through Queen's household; but he found that none of her chaplains knew English or French enough to shrive the King. The Duke and Barillon were about to and * See the London Gazette of Nov. 21. 1678. Barillon and Burnet say that Huddleston was excepted out of all the Acts of Parliament made against priests; but this is a mistake. his part better than had been expected. | woman!" cried Charles; "I ask hers He knelt by the bed, listened to the with all my heart." confession, pronounced the absolution, The morning light began to peep and administered extreme unction. through the windows of Whitehall: He asked if the King wished to receive and Charles desired the attendants to the Lord's supper. Surely," said pull aside the curtains, that he might Charles, "if I am not unworthy." have one more look at the day. He The host was brought in. Charles remarked that it was time to wind feebly strove to rise and kneel before it. up a clock which stood near his bed. The priest bade him lie still, and These little circumstances were long assured him that God would accept remembered, because they proved bethe humiliation of the soul, and would yond dispute that, when he declared not require the humiliation of the body. himself a Roman Catholic, he was in The King found so much difficulty in full possession of his faculties. He swallowing the bread that it was neces- apologised to those who had stood sary to open the door and to procure a round him all night for the trouble glass of water. This rite ended, the which he had caused. He had been, monk held up a crucifix before the pe- he said, a most unconscionable time nitent, charged him to fix his last dying; but he hoped that they would thoughts on the sufferings of the Re-excuse it. This was the last glimpse deemer, and withdrew. The whole of that exquisite urbanity, so often ceremony had occupied about three found potent to charm away the requarters of an hour; and, during that time, the courtiers who filled the outer room had communicated their suspicions to each other by whispers and significant glances. The door was at length thrown open, and the crowd again filled the chamber of death. sentment of a justly incensed nation. Soon after dawn the speech of the dying man failed. Before ten his senses were gone. Great numbers had repaired to the churches at the hour of morning service. When the prayer for the King was read, loud groans and sobs showed how deeply his people felt for him. At noon on Friday, the sixth of February, he passed away without a struggle.* * Clarke's Life of James the Second, i. 746. 6 16' It was now late in the evening. The King seemed much relieved by what had passed. His natural children were brought to his bedside, the Dukes of Grafton, Southampton, and Northum- Orig. Mem.; Barillon's Despatch of Feb. berland, sons of the Duchess of Cleve-. 1685; Van Citter's Despatches of Feb. land, the Duke of Saint Albans, son and Feb. ; Huddleston's Narrative; Letters of Eleanor Gwynn, and the Duke of of Philip, second Earl of Chesterfield, 277. ; Richmond, son of the Duchess of Sir H. Ellis's Original Letters, First Series, iii. 333.; Second Series, iv. 74.; Chaillot Portsmouth. Charles blessed them MS.; Burnet, i. 606.; Evelyn's Diary, Feb. 4. all, but spoke with peculiar tenderness 168.; Welwood's Memoirs, 140.; North's to Richmond. One face which should Life of Guildford, 252.; Examen, 648.; Hawhave been there was wanting. The kins's Life of Ken Dryden's Threnodia eldest and best beloved child was an of Eminent Persons. See also a fragment of a Augustalis; Sir H. Halford's Essay on Deaths exile and a wanderer. His name was letter written by the Earl of Ailesbury, which not once mentioned by his father. is printed in the European Magazine for April 1795. Ailesbury calls Burnet an impostor. Yet his own narrative and Burnet's will not, to any candid and sensible reader, appear to contradict each other. I have seen in the British Institution, a curious broadside containing an Museum, and also in the Library of the Royal account of the death of Charles. It will be found in the Somers Collection. The author must have had access to good sources of inforwas evidently a zealous Roman Catholic, and mation. I strongly suspect that he had been in communication, directly or indirectly, with but the initials are perfectly intelligible, except James himself. No name is given at length; in one place. It is said that the D. of Y. wes During the night Charles earnestly recommended the Duchess of Portsmouth and her boy to the care of James; "And do not," he goodnaturedly added, "let poor Nelly starve." The Queen sent excuses for her absence by Halifax. She said that she was too much disordered to resume her post by the couch, and implored pardon for any offence which she might unwittingly have given. "She ask my pardon, poor the world that a soul which many devout Ro * At that time the common people than in England, were in the habit of throughout Europe, and nowhere more attributing the deaths of princes, c cially when the prince was popular a reminded of the duty which he owed to his the death unexpected, to the foulest brother by P.M.A.C.F. I must own myself quite unable to decipher the last five letters. and darkest kind of assassina- Suspicions It is some consolation that Sir Walter Scott tion. Thus James the First had of poison. was equally unsuccessful. (1848.) Since the been accused of poisoning Prince Henry. first edition of this work was published, several very ingenious conjectures touching Thus Charles the First had been acthese mysterious letters have been communi- cused of poisoning James the First. cated to me; but I am convineed that the true Thus when, in the time of the Commonsolution has not yet been suggested. (1850.) I still greatly doubt whether the riddle has been wealth, the Princess Elizabeth died at solved. But the most plausible interpretation Carisbrook, it was loudly asserted that is one which, with some variations, occurred, Cromwell had stooped to the senseless almost at the same time, to myself and to several other persons; I am inclined to read and dastardly wickedness of mixing "Père Mansuete, A Cordelier Friar." Man- noxious drugs with the food of a young suete, a Cordelier, was then James's confessor. girl whom he had no conceivable motive To Mansuete therefore it peculiarly belonged to remind James of a sacred duty which had to injure. A few years later, the rapid been culpably neglected. The writer of the decomposition of Cromwell's own corpse broadside must have been unwilling to inform was ascribed by many to a deadly man Catholics had left to perish had been potion administered in his medicine. snatched from destruction by the courageous The death of Charles the Second could charity of a woman of loose character. It is scarcely fail to occasion similar rumours. therefore not unlikely that he would prefer a The public ear had been repeatedly fiction, at once probable and edifying, to a truth which could not fail to give scandal. abused by stories of Popish plots against (1856.) his life. There was, therefore, in many minds, a strong predisposition to suspicion; and there were some unlucky circumstances which, to minds so predisposed, might seem to indicate that a crime had been perpetrated. The fourteen Doctors who deliberated on the King's case contradicted each other and themselves. Some of them thought that his fit was epileptic, and that he should be suffered to have his doze out. majority pronounced him apoplectic, and tortured him during some hours like an Indian at a stake. Then it was determined to call his complaint a fever, and to administer doses of bark. physician, however, protested against this course, and assured the Queen that his brethren would kill the King among them. Nothing better than dissension and vacillation could be expected from It should seem that no transactions in history ought to be more accurately known to us than those which took place round the deathbed of Charles the Second. We have several relations written by persons who were actually in his room. We have several relations written by persons who, though not themselves eye witnesses, had the best opportanity of obtaining information from eye witnesses. Yet whoever attempts to digest this vast mass of materials into a consistent narrative will find the task a difficult one. Indeed James and his wife, when they told the story to the nuns of Chaillot, could not agree as to some circumstances. The Queen said that, after Charles had received the last sacraments, the Protestant Bishops renewed their exhortations. The King said that nothing of the kind took place. "Surely," said the Queen," you told me so yourself." "It is impossible that I could have told you so," said the King; "for nothing of the sort hap pened." It is much to be regretted that Sir Henry Halford should have taken so little trouble to ascertain the facts on which he pronounced judgment. He does not seem to have been aware of the existence of the narratives of James, Barillon, and Huddleston. As this is the first occasion on which I cite the correspondence of the Dutch ministers at the English court, I ought here to mention that a series of their despatches, from the accession of James the Second to his flight, forms one of the most valuable parts of the Mackintosh collection. The subsequent despatches, down to the settlement of the government in February 1689, I procured from the Hague. The Dutch archives have been far too little explored. They abound with information interesting in the highest VOL. I. The One degree to every Englishman. They are admirably arranged; and they are in the charge of gentlemen whose courtesy, liberality, and zeal for the interests of literature, cannot be too highly praised. I wish to acknowledge, in the strongest manner, my own obligations to Mr. De Jonge and to Mr. Van Zwanne. *Clarendon mentions this calumny with just scorn. "According to the charity of the time towards Crom.well, very many would have it believed to be by poison, of which there was no appearance, nor any proof ever after made."-Book xiv. P |