harles 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 lancet; 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 massive 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, 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-Germain's, the statues and
fountains of Versailles.[13] 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."

[13] Evelyn's Diary, Jan. 24, 1681-2. Oct. 4, 1683.

On the morning on which the King was taken ill, the Duchess of York had,
at the request of the Queen, suggested the propriety of procuring
spiritual assistance. "For such assistance," continues Macaulay,
"Charles was at last indebted to an agency very different from that of
his pious wife and sister-in-law." A life of frivolity and vice had not
extinguished in the Duchess of Portsmouth all sentiments of religion, or
all that kindness which is the glory of her sex. The French Ambassador,
Barillon, who had come to the palace to inquire after the King, paid her
a visit. He found her in an agony of sorrow. She took him into a secret
room,