The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 by Thomas Babington Macaulay (diy ebook reader .txt) π
Excerpt from the book:
Read free book Β«The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 by Thomas Babington Macaulay (diy ebook reader .txt) πΒ» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
Download in Format:
- Author: Thomas Babington Macaulay
Read book online Β«The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 by Thomas Babington Macaulay (diy ebook reader .txt) πΒ». Author - Thomas Babington Macaulay
been early removed from her native Italy to the court
where her uncle was supreme. His power and her own attractions
had drawn a crowd of illustrious suitors round her. Charles
himself, during his exile, had sought her hand in vain. No gift
of nature or of fortune seemed to be wanting to her. Her face was
beautiful with the rich beauty of the South, her understanding
quick, her manners graceful, her rank exalted, her possessions
immense; but her ungovernable passions had turned all these
blessings into curses. She had found the misery of an ill
assorted marriage intolerable, had fled from her husband, had
abandoned her vast wealth, and, after having astonished Rome and
Piedmont by her adventures, had fixed her abode in England. Her
house was the favourite resort of men of wit and pleasure, who,
for the sake of her smiles and her table, endured her frequent
fits of insolence and ill humour. Rochester and Godolphin
sometimes forgot the cares of state in her company. Barillon and
Saint Evremond found in her drawing room consolation for their
long banishment from Paris. The learning of Vossius, the wit of
Waller, were daily employed to flatter and amuse her. But her
diseased mind required stronger stimulants, and sought them in
gallantry, in basset, and in usquebaugh.212 While Charles.
flirted with his three sultanas, Hortensia's French page, a
handsome boy, whose vocal performances were the delight of
Whitehall, and were rewarded by numerous presents of rich
clothes, ponies, and guineas, warbled some amorous verses.213 A
party of twenty courtiers was seated at cards round a large table
on which gold was heaped in mountains.214 Even then the King had
complained that he did not feel quite well. He had no appetite
for his supper: his rest that night was broken; but on the
following morning he rose, as usual, early.
To that morning the contending factions in his council had,
during some days, looked forward with anxiety. The struggle
between Halifax and Rochester seemed to be approaching a decisive
crisis. Halifax, not content with having already driven his rival
from the Board of Treasury, had undertaken to prove him guilty of
such dishonesty or neglect in the conduct of the finances as
ought to be punished by dismission from the public service. It
was even whispered that the Lord President would probably be sent
to the Tower. The King had promised to enquire into the matter.
The second of February had been fixed for the investigation; and
several officers of the revenue had been ordered to attend with
their books on that day.215 But a great turn of fortune was at
hand.
Scarcely had Charles risen from his bed when his attendants
perceived that his utterance was indistinct, and that his
thoughts seemed to be wandering. Several men of rank had, as
usual, assembled to see their sovereign shaved and dressed. He
made an effort to converse with them in his usual gay style; but
his ghastly look surprised and alarmed them. Soon his face grew
black; his eyes turned in his head; he uttered a cry, staggered,
and fell into the arms of one of his lords. A physician who had
charge of the royal retorts and crucibles happened to be present.
He had no lances; but he opened a vein with a penknife. The blood
flowed freely; but the King was still insensible.
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.216 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. So high did
political animosities run that the presence of some Whig
physicians was regarded as an extraordinary circumstance.217 One
Roman Catholic, whose skill was then widely renowned, Doctor
Thomas Short, was in attendance. Several of the prescriptions
have been preserved. One of them is signed by fourteen Doctors.
The patient was bled largely. Hot iron was applied to his head. A
loathsome volatile salt, extracted from human skulls, was forced
into his mouth. He recovered his senses; but he was evidently in
a situation of extreme danger.
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 sight of his misery affected his
wife so much that she fainted, and was carried senseless to her
chamber. The prelates who were in waiting had from the first
exhorted him to prepare for his end. They now thought it their
duty to address him in a still more urgent 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.
Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, then tried his powers of
persuasion. He was a man of parts and learning, of quick
sensibility and stainless virtue. His elaborate works have long
been forgotten; but his morning and evening hymns are still
repeated daily in thousands of dwellings. Though, like most of
his order, zealous for monarchy, he was no sycophant. Before he
became a Bishop, he had maintained the honour of his gown by
refusing, when the court was at Winchester, to let Eleanor Gwynn
lodge in the house which he occupied there as a prebendary.218
The King had sense enough to respect so manly a spirit. Of all
the prelates he liked Ken the best. It was to no purpose,
however, that the good Bishop now put forth all his eloquence.
His solemn and pathetic exhortation awed and melted the
bystanders to such a degree that some among them believed him to
be filled with the same spirit which, in the old time, had, by
the mouths of Nathan and Elias, called sinful princes to
repentance. Charles however was unmoved. He made no objection
indeed when the service for the visitation of the sick was read.
In reply to the pressing questions of the divines, he 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 to hear what
was said; and nothing could induce him to take the Eucharist from
the hands of the Bishops. A table with bread and wine was brought
to his bedside, but in vain. Sometimes he said that there was no
hurry, and sometimes that he was too weak.
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 Popery. When his health was good
and his spirits high he was a scoffer. In his few serious moments
he was a Roman Catholic. The Duke of York was aware of this, but
was entirely occupied with the care of his own interests. He had
ordered the outports to be closed. He had posted detachments of
the Guards in different parts of the city. He had also procured
the feeble signature of the dying King to an instrument by which
some duties, granted only till the demise of the Crown, were let
to farm for a term of three years. These things occupied the
attention of James to such a degree that, though, on ordinary
occasions, he was indiscreetly and unseasonably eager to bring
over proselytes to his Church, he never reflected that his
brother was in danger of dying without the last sacraments. This
neglect was the more extraordinary because the Duchess of York
had, at the request of the Queen, suggested, on the morning on
which the King was taken ill, the propriety of procuring
spiritual assistance. For such assistance Charles was at last
indebted to an agency very different from that of his pious wife
and sister-in-law. A life of frivolty and vice had not
extinguished in the Duchess of Portsmouth all sentiments
where her uncle was supreme. His power and her own attractions
had drawn a crowd of illustrious suitors round her. Charles
himself, during his exile, had sought her hand in vain. No gift
of nature or of fortune seemed to be wanting to her. Her face was
beautiful with the rich beauty of the South, her understanding
quick, her manners graceful, her rank exalted, her possessions
immense; but her ungovernable passions had turned all these
blessings into curses. She had found the misery of an ill
assorted marriage intolerable, had fled from her husband, had
abandoned her vast wealth, and, after having astonished Rome and
Piedmont by her adventures, had fixed her abode in England. Her
house was the favourite resort of men of wit and pleasure, who,
for the sake of her smiles and her table, endured her frequent
fits of insolence and ill humour. Rochester and Godolphin
sometimes forgot the cares of state in her company. Barillon and
Saint Evremond found in her drawing room consolation for their
long banishment from Paris. The learning of Vossius, the wit of
Waller, were daily employed to flatter and amuse her. But her
diseased mind required stronger stimulants, and sought them in
gallantry, in basset, and in usquebaugh.212 While Charles.
flirted with his three sultanas, Hortensia's French page, a
handsome boy, whose vocal performances were the delight of
Whitehall, and were rewarded by numerous presents of rich
clothes, ponies, and guineas, warbled some amorous verses.213 A
party of twenty courtiers was seated at cards round a large table
on which gold was heaped in mountains.214 Even then the King had
complained that he did not feel quite well. He had no appetite
for his supper: his rest that night was broken; but on the
following morning he rose, as usual, early.
To that morning the contending factions in his council had,
during some days, looked forward with anxiety. The struggle
between Halifax and Rochester seemed to be approaching a decisive
crisis. Halifax, not content with having already driven his rival
from the Board of Treasury, had undertaken to prove him guilty of
such dishonesty or neglect in the conduct of the finances as
ought to be punished by dismission from the public service. It
was even whispered that the Lord President would probably be sent
to the Tower. The King had promised to enquire into the matter.
The second of February had been fixed for the investigation; and
several officers of the revenue had been ordered to attend with
their books on that day.215 But a great turn of fortune was at
hand.
Scarcely had Charles risen from his bed when his attendants
perceived that his utterance was indistinct, and that his
thoughts seemed to be wandering. Several men of rank had, as
usual, assembled to see their sovereign shaved and dressed. He
made an effort to converse with them in his usual gay style; but
his ghastly look surprised and alarmed them. Soon his face grew
black; his eyes turned in his head; he uttered a cry, staggered,
and fell into the arms of one of his lords. A physician who had
charge of the royal retorts and crucibles happened to be present.
He had no lances; but he opened a vein with a penknife. The blood
flowed freely; but the King was still insensible.
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.216 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. So high did
political animosities run that the presence of some Whig
physicians was regarded as an extraordinary circumstance.217 One
Roman Catholic, whose skill was then widely renowned, Doctor
Thomas Short, was in attendance. Several of the prescriptions
have been preserved. One of them is signed by fourteen Doctors.
The patient was bled largely. Hot iron was applied to his head. A
loathsome volatile salt, extracted from human skulls, was forced
into his mouth. He recovered his senses; but he was evidently in
a situation of extreme danger.
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 sight of his misery affected his
wife so much that she fainted, and was carried senseless to her
chamber. The prelates who were in waiting had from the first
exhorted him to prepare for his end. They now thought it their
duty to address him in a still more urgent 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.
Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, then tried his powers of
persuasion. He was a man of parts and learning, of quick
sensibility and stainless virtue. His elaborate works have long
been forgotten; but his morning and evening hymns are still
repeated daily in thousands of dwellings. Though, like most of
his order, zealous for monarchy, he was no sycophant. Before he
became a Bishop, he had maintained the honour of his gown by
refusing, when the court was at Winchester, to let Eleanor Gwynn
lodge in the house which he occupied there as a prebendary.218
The King had sense enough to respect so manly a spirit. Of all
the prelates he liked Ken the best. It was to no purpose,
however, that the good Bishop now put forth all his eloquence.
His solemn and pathetic exhortation awed and melted the
bystanders to such a degree that some among them believed him to
be filled with the same spirit which, in the old time, had, by
the mouths of Nathan and Elias, called sinful princes to
repentance. Charles however was unmoved. He made no objection
indeed when the service for the visitation of the sick was read.
In reply to the pressing questions of the divines, he 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 to hear what
was said; and nothing could induce him to take the Eucharist from
the hands of the Bishops. A table with bread and wine was brought
to his bedside, but in vain. Sometimes he said that there was no
hurry, and sometimes that he was too weak.
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 Popery. When his health was good
and his spirits high he was a scoffer. In his few serious moments
he was a Roman Catholic. The Duke of York was aware of this, but
was entirely occupied with the care of his own interests. He had
ordered the outports to be closed. He had posted detachments of
the Guards in different parts of the city. He had also procured
the feeble signature of the dying King to an instrument by which
some duties, granted only till the demise of the Crown, were let
to farm for a term of three years. These things occupied the
attention of James to such a degree that, though, on ordinary
occasions, he was indiscreetly and unseasonably eager to bring
over proselytes to his Church, he never reflected that his
brother was in danger of dying without the last sacraments. This
neglect was the more extraordinary because the Duchess of York
had, at the request of the Queen, suggested, on the morning on
which the King was taken ill, the propriety of procuring
spiritual assistance. For such assistance Charles was at last
indebted to an agency very different from that of his pious wife
and sister-in-law. A life of frivolty and vice had not
extinguished in the Duchess of Portsmouth all sentiments
Free e-book: Β«The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 by Thomas Babington Macaulay (diy ebook reader .txt) πΒ» - read online now on website american library books (americanlibrarybooks.com)
Similar e-books:
Comments (0)