t badly
as things were going on there was one man whose industry could set them
right, "and this is one Charles Stuart, who now spends his time in using
his lips about the Court and hath no other employment." Charles made no
secret in fact of his hatred of business. Nor did he give to outer
observers any sign of ambition. The one thing he seemed in earnest about
was sensual pleasure, and he took his pleasure with a cynical
shamelessness which roused the disgust even of his shameless courtiers.
Mistress followed mistress, and the guilt of a troop of profligate women
was blazoned to the world by the gift of titles and estates. The royal
bastards were set amongst English nobles. The ducal house of Grafton
springs from the king's adultery with Barbara Palmer, whom he created
Duchess of Cleveland. The Dukes of St. Albans owe their origin to his
intrigue with Nell Gwynn, a player and a courtezan. Louise de
Querouaille, a mistress sent by France to win him to its interests,
became Duchess of Portsmouth and ancestress of the house of Richmond. An
earlier mistress, Lucy Walters, declared him, it is believed falsely,
father of the boy whom he raised to the dukedom of Monmouth, and to whom
the Dukes of Buccleuch trace their line. But Charles was far from being
content with these recognized mistresses or with a single form of
self-indulgence. Gambling and drinking helped to fill up the vacant
moments when he could no longer toy with his favourites or bet at
Newmarket. No thought of remorse or of shame seems ever to have crossed
his mind. "He could not think God would make a man miserable," he said
once, "only for taking a little pleasure out of the way." From shame he
was shielded by his cynical disbelief in human virtue. Virtue indeed he
regarded simply as a trick by which clever hypocrites imposed upon
fools. Honour among men seemed to him as mere a pretence as chastity
among women. Gratitude he had none, for he looked upon self-interest as
the only motive of men's actions, and though soldiers had died and women
had risked their lives for him, "he loved others as little as he thought
they loved him." But if he felt no gratitude for benefits he felt no
resentment for wrongs. He was incapable either of love or of hate. The
only feeling he retained for his fellow-men was that of an amused
contempt.

It was difficult for Englishmen to believe that any real danger to
liberty could come from an idler and a voluptuary such as Charles th