Royal Charles: Charles II and the Restoration

by Antonia Fraser

  As he enjoyed the company of writers, so Charles II appreciated that of artists generally; he sent for a doctor from Paris to treat the history painter, Robert Streater, for the stone. Gibbons’ work was originally shown to the King by John Evelyn: as a reward for the recommendation before which, in Evelyn’s words, ‘he was scarce known’, Gibbons presented Evelyn with a walnut table ‘incomparable carved’. Charles was so enthusiastic at what he saw that he rushed out of the room to show it to the Queen – who was less so. Later Charles, supported by Lely and Bab May, had his way. At Windsor, Gibbons, who also ornamented other royal dwellings, was allowed £100 a year. Verrio subsequently came to occupy the post of Chief Painter set up for Sir Peter Lely, at a salary of £200 a year. At the time of the Popish Plot the Catholic Verrio, and some other Catholic stonecarvers, assistants to Gibbons, were protected from the consequences of their religion.28

  As is the way of the world, not all the payments went directly to artists. The Dutch dealer Gerrit Uylenbergh, a cousin of Rembrandt’s wife Saskia, got into trouble when the pictures he was trying to sell the Elector of Brandenburg were denounced as fakes. Reaching England a poor man, he quickly fell on his feet, painted some backgrounds for Lely, and joined the King’s service as Purveyor and Keeper of his pictures. Uylenbergh helped to select and arrange the pictures for the private apartments of the King and Queen at Windsor; he was paid £50 for his ‘Extraordinary Care and Pains … and for Several Journeys’. Two young French painters, Nicolas de Largillierre and Philip Dolesam, also set to with their brushes, and, where necessary, fitted the King’s pictures into their new frames, carved by Gibbons. The King was particularly delighted with Largillierre’s partial repainting of Caracciolo’s Cupid Sleeping.29

  At Windsor the only remaining rooms of Edward III were gutted, although many of the old walls remained embedded in the structure. Some of the modernization however brought unexpected problems, as when a series of tanners’ skins were found in the water supply. Water was once again used for embellishment at Windsor, on the French model. Charles II was fortunate to be able to enjoy the fruits of the ingenuity of Sir Samuel Morland, appointed his magister mechanicorum. A special feat of Morland’s in 1681 caused water to be pumped from the Thames to the top of the castle, and thence in a great jet sixty feet high, which, mingled with red wine, was clearly and splendidly visible.30

  Today the Windsor revivified by Charles II is best pictured from the Queen’s Presence Chamber, with its swirling Verrio ceiling; otherwise, the elegant hand of George IV has once more been at work, sweeping away the older embellishments with the new.31 In this Presence Chamber the King was wont to dine in public, that strangely intimate glimpse of the monarch traditionally granted to his subjects since mediaeval times. Elsewhere the spirit of Verrio was much in evidence. The new royal apartments were decorated with splendid allegorical paintings in which fantasy brought a comfort denied by reality. Queen Catharine was at last depicted as Britannia – a role for which she had been passed over in favour of Frances Stewart when the new coinage was designed, as being too small. There was more reality in the fact that the Duchess of Portsmouth and her son were granted their own apartments. When four continents were seen bringing Charles II their riches, the King seated on a convenient cloud, then fantasy was certainly rampant.

  Yet compared to the extravagance of his father, or for that matter of Louis XIV, Charles II had modest tastes. His own subject the mighty Duke of Beaufort, who with his wife struck terror into the hearts of servants and neighbours alike, kept as much princely state. The Duchess made a daily tour of her domains, instantly sacking any servant not about his or her lawful occasions. The Duke’s neighbours planted trees ‘to humour his vistas’ and ‘arranged Hills free of charge’.32 Queen Catharine made no such tour; the King planted his own trees.

  There were also rural pursuits to be enjoyed at Windsor, even if some of them – those of Catharine rather than Charles – smacked a little of the Petit Trianon. The King could fish. The Queen could go on picnics. On one such outing each of the Queen’s attendants brought one dish: ‘Lady Bath’s dish was a chine of beef, Mrs Wyndham’s a venison pastry …’, and so on. Catharine sat under a tree and was ‘wonderfully pleased and merry’.33

  The King’s cousin, Prince Rupert, had been made Governor and Constable of the Castle in 1668. The old warrior enjoyed his fortress-residence and made it his permanent home. He was thus able to oversee the King’s numerous refurbishments. At the same time he reminded himself of the less pacific past by ornamenting his own rooms with a collection of arms, which made the post-war generation open their eyes wide when they visited him.

  Music was another example of Charles II’s feeling for culture rather than for formality. He loved music more for its own sake than for the splendour surrounding the performance. In the mid-seventies expenses in the royal accounts for dresses – shepherds, satyrs and the like – for masques recall but do not emulate the great masque world of Inigo Jones in the previous reign. In 1674 Queen Catharine suggested a masque, Calisto, to John Crowne. The intention was quite plain: to provide a starring vehicle for the two young Princesses of York, Mary and Anne.fn3 It was only a moderate success. The story of Calisto, in Crowne’s own words, posed the problem of writing ‘a clean, decent and inoffensive play’ on the subject of rape – featuring two girls aged twelve and nine. Neither Crowne nor his leading ladies were equal to the challenge. The masque was dull. The amateurs’ voices had to be supplemented by those of two graceful professionals, Moll Davies and Mrs Knight. As both ladies were suspected – with good reason – of unprofessional relationships with the King, this led to considerable tension during rehearsals where the Queen was concerned.34

  The King’s personal preference was for the French instrumental music he had grown to love in exile; Pelham Humfrey was sent to France to learn it, that the English Court might be graced with the innovation. By Humfrey’s death in 1674 this new type of music was prospering. Violins were introduced into church music at the King’s request. As for the royal bills for violinists’ costumes – ‘Indian’ gowns trimmed with tinsel – and garlands for their violins (cost £6),35 these would have seemed mere trifles, albeit agreeable trifles, to a Louis XIV. One of the beneficiaries of this new style in music was Henry Purcell. Taught by Humfrey, among others, Purcell sprang from a family closely connected with the Chapel Royal. Purcell himself – ‘so arch especial a spirit’, as Gerard Manley Hopkins described him two hundred yeas later – was a Child of the Chapel Royal. (He features by name in the Wardrobe accounts from time to time for two suits, a bed and so forth.)36 As such, he was inevitably much in contact with the King. The 1670s saw the metamorphosis of Purcell from a chorister to a composer, but the royal connection was maintained. Two welcome songs to the King and Duke of York respectively brought him into prominence.37 Many of his early odes hymned such court events as the King’s return from Newmarket, his return from Windsor, his reappearance at Whitehall after a summer outing. Later it seems that Charles introduced Purcell to the delights of Italian music as well as French. Purcell’s Sonatas in Three Parts, dedicated to the King, make some allusion to the introduction.

  Queen Catharine enjoyed Italian opera and Italian songs generally (if less so when sung by Mrs Knight). Charles was fond enough of Italian songs – and expert enough in the language – to hold a part himself from time to time at Windsor. He had a great ‘thorough-bass’ voice. A duet by Carisimi, Charles’ favourite composer, exists written out in Purcell’s handwriting. Purcell became successively organist at Westminster Abbey in 1679 (John Blow, who probably taught him composition, resigned in his favour) and Composer in Ordinary in 1682.

  It was helpful that Charles II had a predilection for experiment, be it scientific or musical: under his influence music was also introduced into the English theatre, on the French model. The French musician Louis Grabu came to England and was appointed ‘composer to His Majesty’s Musique’ in 1665. The appointment of a Frenchman caused some
raised eyebrows.38 Nevertheless, Grabu was made Master of the English Chamber Musick in ordinary, following the death of Nicholas Lanier. The first public concert in England was also given in the reign of Charles II. It was organized by the violinist John Banister, for a while leader of the King’s Band, and held in a large room in Whitefriars in 1672.

  Nevertheless, in seventeenth-century England all this kind of expenditure – on music, on art, on building and redecoration – was understood and appreciated; whereas the vast sums visibly deployed on the foreign Popish mistresses were seen as a sign of weakness in the bedroom. Might the King, under such dangerous influences, be equally weak in the council chamber? The question remained. A witticism went the rounds to explain why the Accession Day of Queen Elizabeth I was being celebrated with such warmth: ‘Because she being a woman chose men for her counsellors and men when they reign usually choose women.’ It was an unfair barb. Women were not the King’s counsellors but his concubines – and his companions. But the extravagance which he permitted on their behalf invited it.

  In the short term – but only in the short term – the political methods of Danby looked like being as successful as his economic policies. Stoutly Protestant himself, Danby aimed at a political alliance in Parliament which would comprise Anglicans, and other confirmed Royalists, against those whom he conceived of as being the King’s enemies. These were the Catholics, the nonconformists, and the opponents of the royal prerogative. It will be appreciated that the latter group included many whom Charles II had sought persistently to conciliate by toleration. Nor did Danby, in his concentration on the alliance of the monarchy and Anglicanism, allow for the special position of the Duke of York in the King’s favours.

  James was not unnaturally offended and alarmed by Danby’s Anglican policies. The shifting nature of political alliances in this period was once more underlined when the Duke of York moved away from Danby’s so-called Court party towards the arms of the Protestants Buckingham and Shaftesbury.

  All the same, Danby laboured hard at building up his Parliamentary base: a conglomerate of well disposed MPs has been traced, based on his home ground of the West Riding of Yorkshire.39 The lop-sided representation of certain areas in Parliament also helped because in general it favoured the Royalist cause. There was another theoretical advantage accruing to the King: the appointment of the Lords Lieutenant, who in turn were responsible for local patronage (although this had to be used with care). Then there was that method of building up a Court party, or any other party for that matter – bribery. Accusations of bribery against Danby were part of the stock-in-trade of his opponents. In fact, some of Danby’s payments were disbursements to genuine office-holders. Where did these legitimate payments end and bribery begin? In a situation where office-holding was much complicated by the relics of the pre-war structure on which the post-Restoration structure had been imposed, this is difficult to establish. The important point was that Danby earnestly strove to put together governmental support. It was not easy in an age when party politics as such, to say nothing of the parties themselves, were still in an embryonic state.

  The third plank in Danby’s platform, after pursuing economic and political solidity, was the strengthening of ties with the Dutch. It was essential to this particular policy that the King should secure sufficient supplies from Parliament to uphold his beloved Navy. Otherwise it was easy to see that the King would have little motive to wrench himself from the lucrative embrace of Louis XIV. When Parliament met again in April 1675 for Danby to secure supplies, the King was all honey to its members. He told them that he wanted to have a better understanding with them and ‘to know what you think may yet be wanting to the securing of religion and property’. This was a far cry from his claims of ‘supreme power’ in ecclesiastical matters. But he did not fail to dwell on the theme of the Navy. ‘I must needs recommend to you the condition of the Fleet,’ he said, ‘which I am not able to put into that state it ought to be, and which will require so much time to repair and build, that I should be sorry to see this summer (and consequently a whole year) lost without providing for it.’40

  It was all the more important that Danby should succeed in managing Parliament to good financial effect, since his policy of positive Anglicanism went against the King’s natural inclinations as well. On 1 May the King signed a declaration expelling Jesuits and other ‘Romish priests’ from the realm. Already in February, an Order in Council had been made for the strict enforcement of the penal laws against the Catholics, and for the restricting of Catholic chapels to those of the Queen and the ambassadors.

  But this session of Parliament proved to be a contest between two equally handicapped opponents. The Commons continued to cry out against the French involvement, demanding that the English troops which had been sent to back up Louis XIV should now be withdrawn under the terms of the Treaty of Westminster. The King promised that further recruitment would be forbidden (in fact, he turned a blind eye to its continuance), but declined to withdraw troops already serving under Louis before the Treaty. The Commons responded by showing intractability over the supplies he wanted for the Navy. They linked them to the Excise – a source of supply he already possessed.

  There was even a move to impeach Danby, as the King’s minister, for his pro-French attitudes – which would have been a wry turn of events, considering Danby’s own attitude to France. Luckily the impulse behind it was feeble and the motion easily defeated. Besides, Danby had his own notion of dealing with possible Parliamentary opposition, by introducing a new type of Test Act promoting ‘Non-Resistance’. All office-holders were supposed to take a new oath declaring that resistance to the King was unlawful, and promising to abstain from all efforts to alter the constitution of the Church and State.

  The bill had a long and wearisome passage in the House of Lords; at one point the King himself stayed till midnight, following the proceedings. Nevertheless, it might well have become law had not a quite unrelated quarrel broken out at this point between the two Houses of Parliament. The case of Shirley v. Fagg rested on the right of the House of Lords to hear appeals from the Court of Chancery, when one of the appellants was a member of the Commons. The Commons considered that by summoning Sir John Fagg, an MP, the Lords had acted in breach of their privileges. The quarrel grew. All parliamentary business was suspended.

  The King was aware that at the bottom of ‘this most malicious design’, as he called the fomented row, was the intention to procure a dissolution of Parliament. Whereas a mere prorogation helped the King, it was the increasing conviction of certain MPs that a dissolution – followed by a fresh election – would produce a House of Commons more favourable to their cause. The King saw through this ploy. And he said so. He appealed to the disputants to patch up their differences and not allow a body of ‘ill [that is, wicked] men’ to sway them. He also observed, ‘But I must let you know, that whilst you are in debate about your privileges, I will not suffer my own to be invaded….’41

  The disputants were however obdurate. On 9 June the King saw no alternative but wearily to prorogue Parliament. The ‘unhappy differences’ between the two Houses were, he said, too great. And he spoke bitterly of ‘the ill designs of our enemies [that] have been too prevalent against those good ones I proposed to myself in behalf of my people’.42

  The King and Court went to his delightful new abode at Windsor. When Parliament met again in the autumn, Danby returned with new vigour to the task of carrying through the government’s policies. Nor had he wasted his time in the intervening months. Over a hundred MPs had been lobbied by the Secretaries of State, to ensure their attendance. The number of Excise pensioners was increased. Despite these sanguine, if not salutary, precautions, Danby found himself once more desperately bogged down. The cause célèbre of Shirley v. Fagg still dominated relations between the two Houses; and Danby found himself quite unable to secure the King’s financial needs, while the demand for the dissolution of Parliament grew.

  The irony of this
demand – and irony is never far away from the politics of this period – was that Charles II himself was more or less committed to dissolving Parliament, but in secret, and in his latest negotiations with Louis XIV. It was proposed that Charles should dissolve the English Parliament if its attitude towards France grew too aggressive, or if it failed to vote the King the supplies he needed. In return, Louis XIV would give Charles II a yearly subsidy of something like £100,000. Did Danby know of the bargain? It seems that he did. Even so, he still pressed on, doggedly trying to secure money for the King via Parliament, for much more than £100,000 was needed to float the Navy.43

  When Danby failed, it was still open to Charles to dissolve Parliament – as Shaftesbury and his faction so much desired – and call on the French subsidy. Even the Duke of York now supported a dissolution, believing for his part that a new Parliament would not be so rabidly anti-Catholic. But Danby, by pulling out all the stops of his own organization, managed to defeat the motion in the House of Lords. And Charles deftly but determinedly proceeded to prorogue Parliament yet again.