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."
