A Health Unto His Majesty

by Виктория Холт

  Yet a few weeks later they were in action once more, and this resulted in victory for the English, with few English losses and the destruction of twenty Dutch men-of-war.

  When the news reached England, the bells rang out in every town and hamlet and there was general rejoicing in London which, but a year ago, had been like a dead and desolate city.

  These celebrations took place on the 14th of August. Hopes were high that ere long these proud and insolent Dutchmen would realize who would rule the sea.

  It was less than two weeks later when, in the house of Mr. Farryner, the King’s baker, who lived in Pudding Lane, fire broke out in the early morning; and as there was a strong east wind blowing and the baker’s house was made of wood, as were those of his neighbors, in a few hours all Pudding Lane and Fish Street were ablaze and the streets were filled with shouting people who, certain that their efforts to quench the raging furnace were in vain while the high wind persisted, merely dragged out their goods from those houses which were in danger of being caught by the flames, wringing their hands, and declaring that the vengeance of God was turned upon the City.

  Through the night, made light as day by the fires, people shouted to each other to come forth and flee. The streets were filled with those whose one object was to salvage as many of their household goods as was possible; and the wind grew fiercer as house after house fell victim to the flames. People with blackened faces called to each other that this was the end of the world. God had called vengeance on London, cried some, for the profligate ways of its people. Last year the plague and the Dutch wars, and now they were all to be destroyed by fire!

  Showers of sparks shot into the air and fell like burning rain when a warehouse containing barrels of pitch and tar sent the blaze roaring to the sky. The river had suddenly become jammed with small craft, as frantic householders gathered as many as possible of their goods together and sought the green fields beyond the City for safety. Many poor people stood regarding their houses with the utmost despair, their arms grasping homely bundles, both to leave their homes until the very last minute. Pigeons, which habitually sheltered in the lofts of these houses, hovered piteously near their old refuge and many were lying dead and dying on the cobbles below, their wings burned, their bodies scorched.

  And all through the night the wind raged, and the fire raged with it.

  Early next morning Mr. Samuel Pepys, Secretary of the Navy, reached Whitehall and asked for an audience with the King; he told him all that was happening in the City, and begged him to give instant orders that houses be demolished, for only thus could such a mighty conflagration be brought to a halt. The King agreed that the houses which stood in the way of the fire must be pulled down, as only by making such gaps could the conflagration be halted, and gave orders that this should be done.

  Pepys hurried back to the City and found the Lord Mayor in Cannon Street from where he was watching the fire and shouting in vain to the crowds, imploring them to listen to him, and try to fight the fire.

  “What can I do?” he cried. “People will not obey me. I have been up all night. I shall surely faint if I stay here. What can I do? What can any do in such a raging wind?”

  The Secretary, thinking the man was more like a fainting woman than a Lord Mayor, repeated the King’s order.

  “I have tried pulling down houses,” wailed the Lord Mayor. “But the fire overtakes us faster than we can work.”

  They stood together, watching the flames which, in some places, seemed to creep stealthily at first, as tongues of fire licked the buildings and then suddenly, with a mighty roar, would appear to capture yet another; the sound of falling roofs and walls was everywhere; the flames ran swiftly and lightly along the thatches; now many streets were avenues of flame. People screamed as the fire drops caught them; flames spread like an arch from one side of London Bridge to the other; the air was filled with the crackling sound of burning and the crash of collapsing houses. It was almost impossible to breathe the dense smoke-filled air.

  On Tuesday morning the fire was still raging, and the King decided that he dared no longer leave the defense of his capital to the Lord Mayor and the City Fathers.

  Fleet Street, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick Lane, Newgate, Paul’s Chain and Watling Street were all ablaze. The heat was so fierce that none could approach near the fire, and when a roof fell in, great showers of sparks would fly out from the burning mass to alight on other dwellings and so start many minor fires.

  The King with his brother, the Duke of York, were in the center of activity. It was they who directed the blowing up of houses in Tower Street. The citizens of London saw their King then, not as the careless philanderer, but the man of action. It was he, his face blackened by smoke, who directed the operations which were to save the City. There he stood passing the buckets with his own hands, shouting to all that their help was needed and they would be rewarded for the work they did this day. There he stood, with the dirty water over his ankles, encouraging and, being the man he was, not forgetting to joke. It was while he stood in their midst that the people ceased to believe those stories which the Puritans had murmured about God’s vengeance. This fire was nothing but the result of an accident which had taken place in a baker’s kitchen and, on account of the high wind, the dry wood and thatch of the houses all huddled so closely together, had turned the fire in Pudding Lane into the Fire of London.

  By Thursday the fire showed signs of being conquered. The heat from smoldering buildings was still intense; fires raged in some parts of the City, but that great ravaging monster had been checked.

  It was said that day that all that was left of London owed its existence to the King and his brother James.

  Now it was possible to look back and see the extent of the disaster.

  The fire, following so soon on the plague, had robbed the country of the greater part of its wealth. London was the center of the kingdoms riches, for more than a tenth of the population had lived in the Capital. Now the greater part of the City lay in ruins, and for months afterwards ashes, charred beams and broken pieces of furniture were found in the fields of the villages of Knightsbridge and Kensington; and the people marveled that the effects of the great fire could still be seen at such great distance.

  But there were more terrible effects to be felt. In the fields the homeless huddled together, having nowhere to go. The King rode out to them, bags of money at his belt; he distributed alms and ordered that food and shelter should be found for these sufferers.

  His heart was heavy. He knew that never before in her history had England been in such a wretched plight. There was murmuring all over the country and in particular throughout the stricken City. England was no longer merry, and people were beginning to think of the period of Puritan rule as the “good old days.” The wildest rumors were in the air. New terrors stalked the smoldering streets. The fire was the work of Papists, said some. Those who were suspected of following the Catholic religion were seized and ill-treated and some were done to death by the mob. Feeling ran high against the Queen. She was a Papist, and trouble had started during the last King’s reign, declared the people, on account of his Papist wife. Others said the profligate life led by the King and his associates was responsible for the fire.

  “This is but the beginning,” cried some. “The destruction of England is at hand. First the plague; then the war; and now the great fire. This is Sodom and Gomorrah again. What next? What next?”

  The King realized that there was nothing to be done but lay up the Fleet, for where in his suffering country could he get means to maintain it? And to lay up the Fleet meant suing for peace.

  Sailors were rioting in the stricken City’s streets because they had not been paid. There was revolution in the air. Charles himself rode out to do what he could to disperse the groups of angry seamen. In vain did his Chancellor and those about him seek to restrain him. His subjects were in an ugly mood; insults had been hurled at the King on account of his way of life. But Cha
rles insisted on going among them. He was bankrupt in all save that one thing which had stood him in good stead all his life; his charm was inviolate as was his courage.

  So he rode out into the midst of the brawling crowds of angry sailors who stood about in the heart of the City amid the blackened buildings and heaps of ashes and rubble. He knew their mood; yet he was smiling, with that charming rueful smile. His manner was dignified, yet all those men were aware of the easy affability which had always been shown to any who came near him whatever their rank, and which had done much to make all submit to his charm.

  They fell back before him; they would have expected him to come with soldiers behind him; but he came alone, and he came unarmed. So they fell back before him and they were silent as he spoke to them.

  It was true they had not been paid. The King would remedy that as soon as it were possible to do so. They had fought gallantly. Would they tell themselves that they had fought for their country, and would that suffice for a temporary reward? He promised them that they should be paid—in time. They would be wise men to wait for that payment rather than to persist in acts which would lead themselves and others into misfortune likely to end in the traitor’s fate on the gallows.

  They had all suffered terribly. The plague last year; the fire this. Never in the country’s history had such calamities befallen it. Yet had they not given good account of insolent Dutchmen? Let them all stand together; and if they would do this, their King doubted not that ere long they would have little cause for complaint.

  Then suddenly someone in the crowd cried: “Long live the King!” and then others joined in and helped to disperse the mob.

  On that occasion trouble had been avoided, but revolt continued to hang in the air.

  The people looked about them for a scapegoat and, as usual at such times, their thoughts turned to the Chancellor. Crowds gathered outside the fine house he had built for himself in Piccadilly; they murmured to one another that he had built the palace with the bribes he had been paid by the French King to advise the selling of Dunkirk. It was remembered that he, the commoner, was linked with the royal family through the marriage of his daughter Anne Hyde with the King’s brother. It was said that he had procured Catherine of Braganza for the King because he knew she would never bear children and thus leave the succession clear for the offspring of his own daughter. Everything that was wrong in the country was blamed on Clarendon; and this attitude towards the poor Chancellor was aggravated by such men as Buckingham—urged on by Lady Castlemaine—Arlington, and almost all the King’s ministers.

  A gibbet was set up on a tree outside the Chancellor’s house, and on it was an inscription:

  “Three sights to be seen—Dunkirk, Tangier and a barren Queen.”

  For the sale of Dunkirk, the possession of an unprofitable seaport and the Queen’s inability to bear children successfully were all laid at Clarendon’s door.

  The King sought to throw off his melancholy and was already instructing his architect, Christopher Wren, to make plans for the rebuilding of the City; he was urging the Parliament to find money somehow for the refitting of his ships that they might, with the coming of spring, be ready to face their Dutch enemies. He sought to find consolation among the many ladies who charmed him, but he found that his desire for the still unconquered Frances Stuart made contentment impossible.

  There were men about the King now who, perceiving his infatuation for Frances Stuart, reminded him of how his predecessor, Henry VIII, had acted in similar circumstances. Chief among these was the Duke of Buckingham who, much to Barbara’s annoyance, had made himself chief adviser and supporter of Frances Stuart.

  What if there were a divorce? The Queen’s religion displeased the people. After the disaster of the fire it could easily be suggested that this had been started by Papists. No English man or woman would desire then to see the King remain married to a member of that wicked sect. Moreover, the Queen was barren and surely that was a good enough reason for divorcing her. It was necessary for the King to have an heir and Charles had proved again and again that he was not to blame for this unfruitful marriage.

  “It should not be difficult to obtain a divorce,” said Buckingham. “Then Your Majesty would be free to marry a lady of your own choice. I doubt that Mrs. Stuart would say no to a crown.”

  The King was tempted. Frances had become an obsession. Through her he was losing his merry good humor. He was angry far more often than he used to be. He was melancholy; he wanted to be alone, whereas previously he had enjoyed company; he was spending more and more time in his laboratory with his chemists, but what compensation could that offer? It was Frances whom he wanted; he was in love. If Frances would become his mistress he was sure that he could forget, for long spells at a time, the sorry condition of his realm and all the troubles that were facing him.

  Then he remembered Catherine—the Catherine of the honeymoon—so naively eager to please him, so simple, so loving. He had wronged her when he had made her accept Barbara. No! In spite of his love for Frances he would not agree to ill-treat Catherine.

  He continued melancholy; but his temper blazed out when Clarendon again took up his tutorial attitude towards him.

  “It is more important to Your Majesty to give attention to state matters than to saunter and toy with Lady Castlemaine.” How often had the man said those or similar words, and how often had they been received with a tolerant smile!

  Now the Chancellor was told to look to his own house and not try to set that of his master in order.

  Clarendon was unrepentant; he prided himself on his forthright manners. He knew he was unpopular but he did not care; he said that all that mattered to him was that he should do his duty.

  The Chancellor began to look upon Frances Stuart as an unhealthy influence, and thought that the best thing she could do was to marry. Her cousin, the Duke of Richmond—another Charles Stuart—was one of the many young men who were in love with her and having recently become a widower was eager to marry her. He was rich, of high rank, being distantly related to the King as Frances was. The Chancellor therefore called the young Duke to him and urged him to continue with his wooing. And when he had seen him and discovered that was just what the young man was most eager to do, he sought an audience with the Queen.

  They looked at each other—Queen and Chancellor.

  Catherine’s appearance had not been improved by all she had suffered. She knew of the people’s animosity towards herself; she knew that they hated her because she was a Catholic, and concocted rhymes about her which they sang in the streets; and that these rhymes were witty and ribald after the manner of the day.

  She guessed too that certain of the King’s ministers had spoken against her, because Charles had been particularly kind to her of late, which meant, she realized now that she had come to know him, that he felt sorry for her and was doubtless urging himself not to listen to his ministers’ advice.

  There was a numb desolation in Catherine’s heart. She knew that they were advising him to rid himself of her. What would become of her? she wondered. Whither should she go? Home to Portugal where her brothers wrangled for the crown, a disgraced Queen, turned away by her husband because she could not bear him children and had failed to win his love and that of his subjects? No! She could not go back to Portugal. What was there for her, but a nunnery! She thought of the years stretching out ahead of her—she was a young woman still—of matins and complines, of bells and prayers; and all the time within her there would be longings which she must stifle, for whatever happened she would never forget Charles; she would love him until the day she died.

  Last night he had stayed with her; he had resisted all temptation to go to one of his mistresses. She had been sick and overtaken with trembling, so fearful was she of what the future held for her.

  How she despised herself! When she had the opportunity of being with him she was unable to make use of it. How could she hope to arouse anything but pity within him? His kindness she enj
oyed was due, not to her attractiveness nor her cleverness, but merely to his goodness of heart. When she had been sick it was he who had brought the basin, and held her head and spoken soothing words; it was he who had called her women, to make her clean and comfortable, while uncomplaining he left the royal bed and moved to another room.

  She could enjoy his kindness, but never his love.

  Those were her thoughts when Clarendon was shown into her presence.

  The Chancellor spoke in his usual blunt but somewhat pompous and authoritative manner.

  “Your Majesty will have heard rumors concerning Mrs. Stuart?”

  “Yes, my lord, that is true,” agreed Catherine.

  “I am sure Your Majesty will agree with me that the Court would be a happier place if Mrs. Stuart were married, and mayhap left it for a while. Her cousin, the Duke of Richmond, would be an excellent match. It would be well for those of us who wish Mrs. Stuart good to do all in our power to bring such a match about.”

  “You are right, my lord.”

  “Perhaps a word to the Duke from Your Majesty would be of use; and, as Mrs. Stuart’s mistress, Your Majesty might see that the young people have every opportunity to meet.”

  Catherine clenched her hands tightly together and said: “I will do all in my power to bring this matter to a happy conclusion.”

  Clarendon was pleased. He, the Queen and the Duke of Richmond were determined to bring about this marriage. There was one other who would be equally delighted to see it take place. That was Lady Castlemaine. And if Frances herself could be made to realize the advantages of the match, it must surely come about.