[29] Clarendon's Life, III. 69.
[30] Dom. State Papers, Feb. 16, 1666.
[31] Ibid. May 27, 1666.
[32] Dom. State Papers, Clifford to Arlington, June 6, 1666.
[33] Clarendon's Life, III. 72.
[34] Dom. State Papers, Clifford to Arlington, June 6, 1666.
[35] Campbell. Vol. II. 107-111. Mahan's Influence of Sea Power on History, 118-126. Clowes' Royal Navy, II. 267-278.
[36] Dryden, Annus Mirabilis. 1666.
[37] Dom. State Papers. Chas. II. 159. f. 3. Hayes, 15 June, 1666.
[38] Ibid. Vol. 159. 3 (1).
[39] Ibid. 159. 55. Hayes, June 21, 1666.
[40] Ibid. Chas. II. 156. 100. 22 May, 1666.
[41] Pepys. June 20, 1666.
[42] Dom. State Papers, Clifford to Arlington, July 5, 1666.
[43] Ibid. Geo. Hillson, Gunner of Ruby, to Pepys, Nov. 30, 1666.
[44] Dom. State Papers. Clifford to Arlington, July 27, 1666.
[45] Dom. State Papers. Rupert to King, Aug. 11, 1666. Clowes, II. 278-285. Mahan, 131. Campbell, 112-117. Clarendon Life, III. 79.
[46] D. S. P. 1670. Chas. II. 281 a 173.
[47] Ibid. Clifford to Arlington, Aug. 16, 1666.
[48] Dom. State Papers, Rupert to King, Aug. 27, Sept 24, 1666.
[49] Clarendon's Life, III. 83.
[50] Dom. State Papers, 19 Sept 1666, 19 and 20 Oct. 1666. Chas. II. 175. f. 111, 112.
[51] Pepys, Oct. 7, 1666.
[52] Ibid. Oct. 10, 1666.
[53] Pepys, 20 Oct. 1666.
[54] Dom. State Papers, Feb. 21, 1667.
[55] Ibid. June 13, July 6, Nov. 23, 1667.
[56] Dom. State Papers, July 25, 1668.
[57] Ibid. Sept. 12, 1668.
[58] Prince Rupert's Narrative, see Warb. III. p. 480.
[59] Pepys, Jan. 2, 1668.
[60] Pepys, Jan. 28, 1668.
[61] Ibid. Mar. 18, 1668.
[62] Ibid. Mar. 20, 1668.
[63] Ibid. May 28, 1668. Campbell, II. 121-122.
[64] Dom. State Papers, May 4, 1672.
[65] Campbell, II. 246. Letters to Williamson, I. p. 195.
[66] Andrew Marvell. Seasonable Argument, 1677. Letters to Williamson. II. 63, note.
[67] Pepys, 24 Jan. 1666.
[68] Campbell, II. 149. Clowes, Vol. II. 309-310.
[69] Campbell, II. 149. Clowes, II. 310.
[70] Hatton Correspondence, I. p. 105. May 20, 1673.
[71] Clowes, II. 311-315.
[72] Campbell, II. 246. Memoir of Prince Rupert, p. 58.
[73] Hist. MSS. Commission, Rept. 15. Vol. III. pp. 9-13. Journal of Sir Edward Spragge, May 1673. Dartmouth MSS. Vol. III.
[74] Campbell, II. 151-153. Clowes, II. 314-315.
[75] Camden. Society. New Series. Letters to Sir Joseph Williamson, Vol. I. p. 48. May 6, 1673.
[76] Ibid. I. 39, June 13, 1673.
[77] Letters to Williamson, Vol. I. pp. 121, 124, 145, July 21, Aug. 4, Aug. 6, 1673.
[78] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept. 12. Fleming MSS. p. 102, 22 July, 1673.
[79] Hatton Correspondence, Vol. I. p. 106.
[80] Letters to Williamson, I. p. 63.
[81] Campbell, II. 157-159. Clowes, II. 316-317.
[82] Letters to Williamson, Vol. I. p. 174. Aug. 18, 1673.
[83] Campbell, II. 159.
[84] Letters to Williamson, Vol. II. p. 9. Sept. 5, 1673.
[85] Ibid. Vol. I. p. 185.
[86] Ibid. I. pp. 183, 191. Aug. 25, 1673.
[87] Ibid. II. p. 1.
[88] Ibid. I. p. 191. Aug. 29, 1673.
[89] Letters to Williamson, II. 13. Sept. 5, 1673.
[90] Clowes, II. 520-322. Campbell, II. 152. Hist. MSS. Com. Rpt. 12. Fleming MSS. p. 103.
[91] Hatton Correspondence, Vol. I. p. 114.
[92] Ibid. Vol. II. p. 1, note.
[93] Ibid. II. 20, Sept. 19, 1673.
[94] Ibid. I. p. 194, Aug. 29, 1673.
[95] Dom. State Papers. Chas. II. 172. 13.
[96] Letters to Williamson, Vol. I. p. 143, Aug. 4, 1673.
[97] Letters to Williamson, Vol. II. p. 21, Sept. 19, 1673.
[98] Campbell, II. p. 47.
[99] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept. 12. Fleming MSS. p. 162.
[100] Campbell, II. p. 246.
[101] Ibid. II. 245. Memoir of Prince Rupert, Preface.
CHAPTER XIX
RUPERT'S POSITION AT COURT. HIS CARE FOR DISTRESSED
CAVALIERS. HIS INVENTIONS. LIFE AT WINDSOR. DEATH
Of Rupert's later life in England, apart from his naval career, there is not much to tell. In the dissolute court of the Restoration there was no place for Rupert of the Rhine. He represented the older Cavaliers. He had stood side by side and fought on many a field with the fathers of the men who adorned the Court of Charles II; but with the sons, the children of the exiles, he could have no sympathy. Much has been said and written contrasting those fathers and sons, the men who died for Charles I, and the men who lived with Charles II. But no contrast is stronger than that of the two Kings themselves,—of the grave, dignified, blundering, narrow, but ever earnest martyr-king, with the dissolute, easy-going, but always shrewd, merry monarch.
The Cavaliers of the Civil War were, as we have seen, by no means free from faults and follies; but the real difference between them and their successors lay less in individual character than in ideal. In the first half of the seventeenth century religious feeling had been strong in all classes, and the tone of morality high. Devotion to duty was strongly inculcated, and men believed it their duty to sacrifice themselves for their King, or for their opinions as the case might be. That most of the Cavaliers were willing to offer their sacrifices in their own way only, and that many were desirous of gaining rewards for their services may be granted; but the fact remains that they did sacrifice themselves, and clung loyally to their Sovereign when all hope of reward was passed.
In 1660 the ideal of life was changed, or rather all ideal had perished, and the Courtiers imitated their master in his attempt to lounge through life with as much pleasure and as little inconvenience to themselves as possible. The relaxation of all moral restraint was due, in a great measure, to the inevitable reaction from Puritan rigidity and hypocrisy; but it was due still more to the years of exile, during which the Royalists had been "strangely tossed about on the fickle waves of fortune."[1] The Civil War had been a check on all education; it had released boys from school and students from college to throw them, at an early age, into the perils and temptations of a camp. At the same time, it had deprived them of the care and guidance of parents and guardians. Later, these boys, grown men before their time, had led a precarious existence on the Continent, living how and where they could, and snatching consolation for sorrow and privation in such illicit pleasures as came in their way. This life had ruined Charles II, and it is not wonderful that it ruined other men.
Rupert had been young too in those days,—he was only eight years Charles's senior, but the precarious life had not affected him in the same way. He had never drifted; it was not in his nature to drift, and his own strength and earnestness had kept him ever hard at work, with some definite end before him. Yet it cannot be denied that his character had suffered. The edge of it was, as it were, blunted. His ideals had perished in the stress of toil and anxiety. His chivalry had given place to common-sense. His hopefulness was gone, and his youthful eagerness had been replaced by a coldly sardonic view of life. "Blessed are those who expect nothing" was Rupert's motto now.
In all things he had grown coarser, and yet his standard of life remained, for those times, high. He had imbibed in his youth, says an admiring contemporary, "such beautiful ideas of virtue that he hath ever since esteemed it, notwithstanding the contempt the world hath put upon it; nor could he abhor the debaucheries of the age as he doth, had not his prejudice against it been of long duration. Such virtue is not formed in a day, and it is to his education that he owes the glory of a life so noble and so Christian."[2] Rupert had in truth too much self-respect, it may be too much religion, to sink to the depths to which Charles's court was sunk, and he held himself aloof with lofty disdain. "Mon cousin", as the mocking courtiers called him, in imitation of the King, was at once the object of their fear and of their merriment. So great was their terror of him that, mock though they might behind his back, not one of them dared, as they owned, make him the object of open satire, from which the King and the Duke of York did not escape.
The royal brothers themselves stood in some awe of their cousin. Sandwich told Pepys that he had heard James laugh at Rupert in his absence,[3] but in his cousin's presence James usually behaved to him with due respect. As for the King, he confessed, in 1664, that he dared not send for Sandwich to Court, lest his coming should offend Rupert.[4] Occasionally there were quarrels and coolnesses between the cousins, for Rupert was still sometimes irritable; yet he always retained the friendship of both Charles and James. His position was somewhat anomalous, especially after the popular party had raised the no-Popery cry and looked to him as their natural head. Yet he steered through that difficult course with satisfaction to all parties, and infinite credit to himself. He showed, says one of his admirers, "temperance and moderation in committing nothing towards the present differences amongst us, nor adding any fuel to those unhappy heats, which he, supposing too high already, endeavoured rather to quench than to increase."[5]
He was not infrequently to be found in the King's company, notwithstanding his aversion to the court. In 1663, he accompanied Charles on a progress through the western counties. On the King's marriage he went with him to meet the bride at Dover; and, on this occasion, he scandalised the Portuguese by his rudeness. The Portuguese Ambassador took precedence of the Prince, whereupon Rupert took him by the shoulders and quietly put him out of the way. The King, much shocked, remonstrated with his cousin, and induced him to yield place.[6] In March 1669 Rupert was driving with the King on the occasion when the royal coach was upset in Holborn, and, as Pepys said, "the King all dirty, but no hurt."[7] Rupert was also of the party that received Henrietta of Orleans on her one brief visit to England in 1670; he is frequently mentioned as dining with the Royal family; and when the Prince of Tuscany visited England incognito, the Queen Mother decided that, according to etiquette, his first visit was due to Rupert.[8] Pepys tells how he went to see a tennis-match between Rupert and Captain Cook on one side, and May and Chichely on the other. The King was present as a spectator, and, says the diarist, "It seems they are the best players at tennis in this nation."[9] A trivial, yet characteristic anecdote is told by Coke. He was walking in the Mall with the King, when they were overtaken by Prince Rupert. "The King told the Prince how he had shot a duck, and which dog fetched it, and so they walked on, till the King came to St. James's House, and there the King said to the Prince: 'Let's go and see Cambridge and Kendal!'—the Duke of York's two sons, who then lay a dying."[10]
One of Rupert's principal cares was the relief of the distressed Cavaliers, who looked to him as their supporter and representative. Charles II has often been blamed for not relieving the wants of so many of those who had suffered for his father. Probably he was callous to suffering which he did not directly witness, but it must be confessed that his position was a hard one. He could dispose of very little money, and he was much bound to the Presbyterians who had restored him to the throne. His pledges to them prevented him from upsetting much of the existing arrangements, and consequently hampered him in the relief of the Royalists. Such of these as were in want turned to Rupert, sure of a hearing and of such aid as he could give, whether it were in money, or in intercession with the King. The State papers are full of their petitions, which generally refer to Rupert as their guarantor; indeed his certificate seems to have been regarded as the necessary hall-mark of their authenticity. In 1660 he came to the defence of 142 creditors of the late King;[11] and we find him pleading for a certain Cary Heydon, and other people, at the commission for indigent officers.[12] One very striking instance of his justice and good memory occurred just before his death. A certain member of Parliament, named Speke, had been accused of conspiring for Monmouth against the Duke of York, and was summoned before the Council Chamber. He defended himself ably, and quoted his former services to Charles I. Rupert suddenly stood up, told the King that it was all true, "and added one circumstance which Mr. Speke had thought it not handsome to mention," namely, that when he, Rupert, had been in great want of money for the King's service, Speke had sent him "1,000 pieces"; and had been so far from asking repayment, that the Prince had neither seen nor heard of him from that day to this. The accusation was promptly dismissed; and on the next day Rupert invited Speke to dinner, when he "entertained him in the most obliging manner."[13]
In December 1662 Rupert became one of the first Fellows of the Royal Society, of which the King was also a member,[14] and their common interest in science formed an additional bond of union between the cousins. Rupert had both a forge and a laboratory in which he himself worked with great zeal. The King, with his favourite Buckingham, was wont to lounge in and sit on a stool, watching his energetic cousin, with keen interest. Sometimes the Prince would weary of their chatter, and he had a short and effectual way of ridding himself of them. He would coolly throw something on to the fire which exhaled such fearful fumes that the King and courtiers would rush out half-choked, vowing in mock fury that they would never again enter the "alchemist's hell."[15]
Rupert's inventions were many, and were connected chiefly with the improvement of weapons and materials of war. He made an improved lock for fire-arms; increased the power of gunpowder ten times; invented a kind of revolver; a method of making hail-shot; a means of melting black-lead like a metal; a substance composed of copper and zinc, and called "Prince's metal" to this day; and a screw which facilitated the taking of observations with a quadrant at sea. In 1671 he took out a patent "for converting edge-tools forged in soft iron, after forged; and for converting iron wire, and softening all cast or melted iron, so that it can be wrought and filed like forged iron."[16] He also had a patent for tincturing copper upon iron,[17] and he built a house at Windsor for the carrying on of his works. Besides his scientific works and studies, he had on hand innumerable projects, adventurous and commercial. He was deeply interested in African trade, and was a patentee of the Royal African Company, formed for its promotion. In 1668 he had conceived a scheme for discovering the north-west passage. The idea had been suggested to him by a Canadian, and he forthwith demanded of the King a small ship, the "Eagle," which he despatched on the quest.[18] As a result of this, he became first President of the Hudson Bay Company, to which the King granted in 1670 the sole right to trade in those seas.[19] In the same year he was appointed to the Council of trade and plantations. During the Dutch wars he fitted out four privateers, the "Eagle," the "Hawk," the "Sparrow Hawk," and the "Panther."[20] In 1668 he petitioned, in conjunction with Henry Howard, for the sole right to coin farthings, for which he had invented a new model.[21] This petition was regarded with great favour by the nation at large, for "every pitiful shopkeeper" coined at his own pleasure, and the abuses of the system were many. The farthings of Prince Rupert were "much talked of and desired;"[22] and, in consequence of his petition, he was empowered, with Craven and others, to examine into the abuses of the Mint.[23] Later he started a project, in partnership with Shaftesbury, for working supposed silver-mines in Somersetshire.[24]
In September 1668 the Prince was made Constable of Windsor, in November he was granted the keepership of the Park, and in 1670 he became Lord Lieutenant of Berkshire. From that time he lived much at Windsor, but we find him still occasionally employed in the public service. At the request of the Mayor and Aldermen of London he laid the first stone of a new pillar of the Exchange.[25] In 1669 he was on the Committee for Foreign Affairs; and in 1670 he was authorised to conclude a commercial treaty with the French Minister, Colbert.[26] In 1671 he was one of the commission appointed to consider the settlement of Ireland; and in 1679 various "odd letters and superscriptions" taken on a suspected Frenchman, were handed over for the Prince to decipher.[27]
But after the last naval action of 1673 Rupert retired more and more from public life. The peacefulness of Windsor suited him far better than the turmoil of the court, and he devoted himself to the repairing and embellishing of the castle, in which he took an "extraordinary delight."[28] Evelyn, who visited Windsor in 1670, describes the castle as exceedingly "ragged and ruinous," but Rupert had already begun to repair the Round Tower, and Evelyn was lost in admiration of the Prince's ingenious adornment of his rooms. The hall and staircase he had decorated entirely with trophies of war,—pikes, muskets, pistols, bandeliers, holsters, drums, pieces of armour, all new and bright were arranged about the walls in festoons, giving a very curious effect. From this martial hall Evelyn passed into Rupert's bedroom, and was immensely struck with the sudden contrast; for there the walls were hung with beautiful tapestry, and with "curious and effeminate pictures," all suggestion of war being carefully avoided. Thus successfully had Rupert represented the two sides,—martial and artistic,—of his nature.[29]
At this time he devoted himself more closely than ever to his scientific and mechanical studies, "not disdaining the most sooty and unpleasant labour of the meanest mechanic."[30] In such harmless and intelligent pursuits did he find his pleasures. He was not a person of extravagant tastes, which was fortunate, seeing that his means were not large, and that his purse was always open to the needy, so that he had no great margin for personal expenditure. From his trading ventures he doubtless derived some profits; and in 1660 he had been assigned a pension of £4,000 per annum. For his naval services he received no wages, but occasional sums of money offered as the King's "free gift."[31] As Constable of Windsor he had perquisites, and when he chose to live at Whitehall, an allowance of food was given him, at the rate of six dishes per meal.[32] But, after his appointment to Windsor, he was seldom seen at Whitehall, except when it was necessary to attend some State funeral, at which functions he was generally required to play the part of chief mourner.
Sometimes his solitude was disturbed by visitors. In 1670 he entertained the young Prince of Orange, who had come to marry his cousin, Mary of York.[33] In May 1671 the Installation of the Garter was held at Windsor, when the King of Sweden, represented by Lord Carlisle, and introduced by Rupert and James of York, received the insignia of the Garter.[34] At intervals the King paid private visits to his cousin; and in February 1677 he came down with the intention of spending a week at the castle, but his intention was changed by the wild conduct of his retinue. "On Wednesday night," says a letter in the Rutland MSS., "some of the Courtiers fell to their cups and drank away all reason. At last they began to despise art too, and broke into Prince Rupert's laboratory, and dashed his stills, and other chemical instruments to pieces. His Majesty went to bed about twelve o'clock, but about two or three, one of Henry Killigrew's men was stabbed in the company in the next chamber to the King.... The Duke ran speedily to His Majesty's bed, drew the curtain, and said: 'Sir, will you lie in bed till you have your throat cut?' Whereupon His Majesty got up, at three o'clock in the night, and came immediately away to Whitehall."[35]
To such visitors the Prince must infinitely have preferred his solitude. He was a lonely man; the last, in a sense, of his generation. Between him and the Courtiers of Charles a great gulf lay. Will Legge was dead, and most of his other friends had likewise passed before him. Lord Craven was left, and Ormonde absent in Ireland, but they were the last of the old régime. For companionship Rupert fell back on his own "gentlemen," the people of Berkshire, and his dogs. His "family" was devoted to him, but it seems to have been somewhat troublesome on occasion. Thus, soon after the Restoration, certain members of it caused the Lord Chamberlain to search Albemarle's cellars for gunpowder, a proceeding which naturally excited Albemarle's wrath. Rupert was so exceedingly annoyed at the occurrence, that he not only dismissed the servant in fault, but "offered to fight any one who set the design on foot."[36] Later, we find a petition from a Frenchman, complaining of an assault made upon him "by several scoundrels of the Prince's stables."[37]
Rupert's love for dogs had not abated with advancing years. In 1667 he lost a favourite greyhound, for which he advertised as follows:—"Lost, a light, fallow-coloured greyhound bitch. She was lost on Friday last, about twelve of the clock, and whosoever brings her to Prince Rupert's lodgings at the Stone Gallery, Whitehall, they shall be well rewarded for their pains."[38] But at Windsor it was a "faithful great black dog" which was his inseparable companion, and which accompanied him on the solitary evening rambles which won them both the reputation of wizards. The fact that he was so regarded by the country people troubled Rupert not at all, and he referred to it with grim amusement in writing to his sister Elizabeth.[39]
"And thus," says one of his gentlemen, "our noble and generous Prince spent the remainder of his years in a sweet and sedate repose, free from the confused noise and clamour of war, wherewith he had, in his younger years, been strangely tossed, like a ship, upon the boisterous waves of fickle and inconstant fortune."
The end came in 1682. For many years Rupert had been quite an invalid—"fort maladif", as the Danish Ambassador told the Princess Sophie; not only the old wound in his head, but also an injury to his leg caused the Prince acute and constant suffering during the last years of his life. He was at his town house in Spring Gardens, November 1682, when he was seized with a fever, of which he died in a few days. It was said that his horror of being bled led him to conceal the true cause of his suffering until it was too late to remedy it. "Yesterday Prince Rupert died," says a letter, dated November 30th. "He was not ill above four or five days; an old hurt in his leg, which has been some time healed up, broke out again, and put him into an intermitting fever. But he had a pleurisy withal upon him, which he concealed, because he would not be let blood until it was too late. He died in great pain."[40] Rupert made his will, November 27th, appointing Lord Craven his executor, and guardian of his daughter, Ruperta; and not forgetting any of those who had served him faithfully. Two days later he died.[41] His funeral was conducted with all due state, Lord Craven acting chief mourner; and the King ordered a waxen effigy of the Prince to be placed, as was then the fashion, beside his grave. He lies in the chapel of Henry VII, in Westminster Abbey, but his effigy is not one of those that survive to the present day; and the verger who points out to us the tombs of George of Denmark and other insignificant people, passes by that of Rupert of the Rhine without remark.
[1] Memoir of Prince Rupert, p. 75.
[2] Lansdowne MSS. 817. fols. 157-168. British Museum.
[3] Pepys, 23 June, 1665.
[4] Ibid. 14 July, 1664.
[5] Memoir of Prince Rupert, Preface.
[6] Strickland. Queens of England, VIII. pp. 303-304.
[7] Pepys, 8 Mar. 1669.
[8] D. S. P. Feb. 1669.
[9] Pepys, 2 Sept. 1667.
[10] Knight's London, Vol. II. p. 374.
[11] Dom. State Papers, Nov. 1660.
[12] Ibid. Nov. 1668.
[13] Warburton, III. pp. 508-510.
[14] Campbell, II. 244.
[15] Treskow. Prinz Ruprecht, 210-211.
[16] Dom. State Papers, Apr. 22, 1671.
[17] Ibid. Nov. 17, 1671.
[18] Ibid. Feb. 7, 1668.
[19] Campbell, II. 249.
[20] Dom. St. Papers, 3 June, 1667; 3 May, 1672.
[21] D. S. P. 11 Mar. 1668.
[22] D. S. P. 11, 21 Nov. 1669.
[23] D. S. P. 28 Aug. 1668.
[24] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept. 9. App. III. p. 6a. Sackville MSS.
[25] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept 12. Fleming MSS. p. 54.
[26] D. S. P. 27 Oct. 1670.
[27] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept. 7. 496a.
[28] Memoir of Prince Rupert. 1683. p. 75.
[29] Evelyn's Diary, 28 Aug. 1670. Vol. II. p. 51.
[30] Memoir. 1683. p. 73.
[31] D. S. P. 1668.
[32] Ibid. Aug. 25, 1663,
[33] Hatton Correspondence, I. p. 59.
[34] D. S. P. May 29, 1671
[35] Hist. MSS. Com. Rept. 12. Rutland MSS. Vol. II. p. 38.
[36] Dom. State Papers. Jan 11, 1661.
[37] Ibid. Feb. 2, 1665.
[38] Dom. State Papers, 1667. Chas. II. 187 f. 207.
[39] Strickland, Elizabeth Stuart. Queens of Scotland. Vol. VIII. p. 280.
[40] Hatton Correspondence. II. p. 20, Nov. 30, 1682.
[41] Wills from Doctor's Commons. Camden Society, p. 142.
CHAPTER XX
THE PALATINES ON THE CONTINENT. RUPERT'S DISPUTES
WITH THE ELECTOR. THE ELECTOR'S ANXIETY FOR
RUPERT'S RETURN. WANT OF AN HEIR TO THE
PALATINATE. FRANCISCA BARD. RUPERT'S
CHILDREN
The oath which Rupert had sworn in 1658, he faithfully kept; never again, in spite of changed circumstances, and the earnest entreaties of his family, did he set foot in the Palatinate. Yet he was not quite forgotten by his relatives. The lively and voluminous correspondence of Sophie and the Elector, from which we learn much of all family affairs, contains many allusions to "mon frère Rupert," in whose sayings and doings the brother and sister took a keen interest.
Sophie had been married, October 17th, 1658, to Ernest Augustus of Brunswick, one of the Dukes of Hanover, and titular bishop of Osnabrück. In her new home she was visited by Rupert, Sept. 1660, and she wrote of the visit to Charles Louis, as most satisfactory. "My brother Rupert made a great friendship with my Dukes," she said; "they agree so very well in their amusements!"[1] Since Sophie's Dukes were devoted to music and to hunting, it may easily be understood that Rupert's tastes accorded well with theirs.
Sophie wrote "Dukes" advisedly, for she had practically married, not only Ernest Augustus, but his elder brother, George William. These two were even more inseparable than Rupert and Maurice had been, and their mutual affection caused considerable annoyance to the unfortunate Sophie. She had been first betrothed to the elder of the two, but George William being seized with a panic that marriage would bore him horribly, had persuaded his devoted brother Ernest to take the lady off his hands. Sophie acquiesced placidly in the arrangement; she desired chiefly to secure a good establishment, and if she had any preference, it was for the younger brother. But she was not allowed to keep her husband to herself. Neither brother could bear the other out of his sight; and when constant intercourse with his sister-in-law had roused George William's regret for his hasty rejection of her, the position of Sophie became exceedingly difficult. Worse still, her husband was possessed with so ardent an admiration for his brother as to fancy that everyone else must adore him as he did; and this idea kept him in a terror of losing his wife's affections. As he would endure separation from neither wife nor brother there was no remedy, and for months the hapless Sophie was led in to dinner by George William, without ever daring to raise her eyes to his face. Luckily for her the strain became too much at last, even for Ernest Augustus, and he consented to take an eighteen months' tour in Italy with his brother, leaving his wife to visit her own relations in peace.[2]
The eldest sister, the learned Elizabeth, had devoted herself, like Louise, to a religious life; and became first Coadjutrice, and afterwards Abbess of the Lutheran Convent of Hervorden. In this capacity she governed a territory of many miles in circumference, and containing a population of seven thousand. She was recognized as a member of the Empire, had a right to send a representative to the Diet, and was required to furnish one horseman and six foot soldiers to the Imperial army. Every Saturday she might be seen gravely knitting in the courtyard of her castle, while she adjudged the causes brought for her decision. For some reason or other she and her religious views were a subject of great mirth to her brothers and sisters. Rupert visited her more than once in 1660 and 1661, but, said Sophie, "Il se raille beaucoup de La Signora Grecque."[3] And Sophie herself usually alluded to her eldest sister with mild amusement, Charles Louis with evident irritation.
Louise seems really to have been the happiest of all the family, and to have lived with true contentment in her convent of Maubuisson. Sophie, who had the joy of visiting her there in 1679, wrote to the Elector:—"She has not changed. I find her very happy, for she lives in a beautiful place; her garden is large and very pleasant, which is one of the things I love best in the world."[4] In her next letter she remarked that Louise was very regular in her observance of convent rules, "which makes her pass for a saint;" and she added, with a little sigh of envy for the peace she witnessed, "I could easily accommodate myself to a life like that."[5] But the reply of Charles Louis was satirical and unsympathetic. "I know not if I dare ask you to make my very devoted 'baisemains' to my sister the Abbess of Maubuisson, provided that the offering of my profane lips, which still smack somewhat of the world, does not offend her abstracted thoughts, and that she can still spare some for her carnal brother, who is now only skin and bones. At least, I am always grateful that she asks of me nothing mundane."[6]
Louise lived to a cheerful and healthful old age, retaining to the last her interest in art. Her own chapel and many neighbouring churches were beautified by the productions of her brush; and in 1699, when she had reached the age of seventy-seven, she was painting a copy of Pousin's Golden Calf, as a gift for Sophie. Her life was simple but peaceful: she ate no meat, slept on a bed "as hard as a stone," sat only on a straw stool, and rose always at mid-night to attend chapel.[7] Yet she was never ill, nor did she ever lose her high spirits. "She is better tempered, more lively, sees, hears and walks better than I do," wrote her niece Elizabeth Charlotte, the daughter of Charles Louis, when Louise was eighty. "She is still able to read the smallest print without spectacles, has all her teeth complete, and is quite full of fun (popierlich), like my father when he was in a good humour."[8]
Elizabeth Charlotte had been married to Philip of Orleans, the quondam husband of her fair cousin, Henrietta Stuart, and Louise was her chief consolation in an exceedingly unhappy life. "One cannot believe how pleasant and playful the Princess of Maubuisson was," she said, "I always visited her with pleasure; no moment could seem tedious in her company. I was in greater favour with her than her other nieces, (Edward's daughters,) because I could converse with her about everything she had gone through in her life, which the others could not. She often talked to me in German, which she spoke very well. She told me her comical tales. I asked her how she had been able to habituate herself to a stupid cloister life. She laughed, and said: 'I never speak to the nuns, except to communicate my orders.' She said she had always liked a country life, and fancied she lived like a country girl. I said: 'But to get up in the night and to go to church!' She answered, laughing, that I knew well what painters were; they like to see dark places and the shadows caused by lights, and this gave her every day fresh taste for painting. She could turn everything in this way, that it should not seem dull."[9] But in spite of her flippant speeches, Louise was respected by all who knew her, adored in her own convent, and died in the odour of sanctity, attesting to the end her staunch adherence to the Jacobite cause.
Edward, with whom Rupert had more intercourse than with the other members of his family, died young, three years after the Restoration, and thus Rupert was left alone in England. Occasionally he wrote to his sisters, but not very often. "If you knew how much joy your letters give me I am sure you would have the good nature to let me receive them oftener than you do,"[10] declared Elizabeth. And Sophie complained likewise: "It is so long since I have heard from Rupert that I do not know if he is still alive."[11] With Elizabeth, Rupert had a common ground in the contests they both waged with "Timon" the Elector: "Timon is so finely vexed at the 6,000 rix dollars he has to pay me, out of a clear debt, that he will not send me my annuity,"[12] declared Elizabeth in 1665. Rupert's own quarrels with "Timon" were more bitter. The unsettled dispute about the appanage had been aggravated by the struggle over their mother's will. The Queen had threatened, in her wrath, to bequeath her unsatisfied claims on the Elector to his brothers. This she had not done, but she had made Rupert her residuary legatee, leaving to him most of her jewels. The Elector, as we have seen, denied his mother's right to do this. Rupert refused to give up his legacy, and for years the sordid dispute dragged on.
In 1661 the Elector offered a sum of money in lieu of all Rupert's claims upon him; but the offer was rejected with scorn. The Elector professed himself much injured; and Sophie, who sided entirely with her eldest brother, wrote consolingly: "Rupert does not do you much harm by rejecting your money."[13] Next Charles Louis tried to put his brother off by assigning to him a debt which he pretended due to him from France; but neither would this satisfy Rupert. "Give me leave to tell you," he wrote to Arlington in 1664, "that the debt my brother pretends from France is a mere chimera. It was monys promised to Prince John Casimir to goe bake with his army out of France, whiche, you will finde, is not intended to be payed yett. As I assured His Majesty, I remitt the whoele business to him to dispose, and have given my Lord Craven order to satisfy His Majesty and yourself in all which shall be desired, in order to it. Soe you may easily believe I shall imbrace most willingly the offers you made unto me, assuring you that I shall repay the favor by possible meanes I can."[14]
But the mediation of Charles II did not bring matters to a peaceful end, and Rupert seems to have sought accommodation through Sophie. "It seems to me that Rupert never remembers my existence, except when he thinks of being reconciled with you," declared that lady to the Elector.[15] Nevertheless she did her best to produce the reconciliation. "I am very glad that you are anxious to do all you can to content Rupert," she wrote to her eldest brother; "I do not doubt he will be reasonable on his side, and that he will consider your present position, since he expresses a desire to be friends with you."[16] And in the next year, 1668, she was still hopeful. "I hope Rupert will be contented with what you offer him, for he seems to be in a very good temper."[17]
But, in spite of Rupert's good temper, the affair was not concluded, and in 1669, even the indolent Charles II was roused to pen an expostulatory letter to Charles Louis, with his own hand.
"Most dear Cosin,
"It is well known to you that I have always expressed myself very much concerned for the differences that have been between you and my Cosin, Prince Rupert; and that I have not been wanting, in my indeavor to bring them to a good conclusion, and how unsuccessful I have been therein. But, being still desirous thereof, I cannot but continue my interposition, and, upon a due consideration of both sides, (and very tenderly the state of your own affairs,) I have thought fit to offer yet one more expedient towards the accommodating of the matter, which is this:—that my Cousin Rupert shall disclaim and discharge you from all arrears of appanage due unto him by a former agreement, which, according to your owne computation,—as I am informed,—by this time, amounted above the sum of £6,000 sterl. He shall alsoe lay downe all his pretensions as executor to the late Queene, my Aunt, contenting himself only with the moveables in his possession, which belong to the Palatinate house, and £300 sterl. by the year,—if he have no lawful issue—ad duram vitae; the first payment to be made forthwith, and the subsequent allowances at Easter Fair at Frankfort. The one halfe of whiche sum, if contented, to be obliggeded to lay out in comodities and wines of the growth of your country. And that you may have a more particular accompt of this last proposition, and the reasons inducing to it, I have thought fit to send unto you the bearer, James Hayes, Esq., my Cousin Rupert's secretary, as being best acquainted with this affair; to whom I desire you to give credence in this matter, and conjuring you to give him such a despatch as may finally dethrone this unhappy controversy. Wherein, if ye shall comply with my desire, ye shall give me a great satisfaction; but if otherwise, you must excuse me, if I use my utmost interest for the obtaining of that to my cousin, which I conceive so justly belongs to him. I am, with all truth, most dear cosin,
"Your most affecionat cousen,
"Charles R.[18]
"March 31, '69."
This letter does considerable credit to Charles's business capacities; but even so modest a settlement as he proposed was refused. Nor did the interference of Louis XIV of France, in July 1670, produce any better result. "As to the letter of the King of France about Rupert, I think it is easy to answer with very humble thanks, neither accepting nor declining his mediation," advised Sophie.[19]
But Rupert's revenge was not long deferred. About five years later the Elector found cause to repent his ill-usage of his obstinate brother, and would have given much to recall him to the home of his fathers.
The scandals rife at the Court of Heidelberg, in 1658, had by no means abated after Rupert's withdrawal. The dissensions of the Elector and Electress became a subject of public remark, and the Queen of Bohemia had herself written of them to Rupert, adding prudently—"I do not tell you this for truth, for it is written from the Court of Cassel, where, I confess, they are very good at telling of stories, and enlarging of them."[20] But, unluckily, matters were so bad that no embellishments from the Court of Cassel could make them much worse. The scandal—"accidents fallen out in my domestic affairs," Charles Louis phrased it,[21]—had come to such a pitch that the Electress, after boxing her husband's ears at a public dinner, and attempting to shoot both him and Louise von Degenfeldt, fled from Heidelberg, leaving her two young children, Karl and Elizabeth Charlotte,—or Carellie and Liselotte, as their father called them,—to the mercy of her husband.
Thereupon Charles Louis formally married Louise von Degenfeldt, who was thenceforth treated as his wife. By her he had no less than eight children, but as the marriage was not, of course, really legal, none of those children could succeed him in the Electorate. Carellie, his only legitimate son, was delicate, and his marriage childless; Elizabeth Charlotte had renounced all claim to the Palatinate on her marriage with the Duke of Orleans, and in 1674 the extinction of the Simmern line seemed imminent. This danger affected Charles Louis very deeply. He had been a bad son, an unkind brother, and an unfaithful husband, but he was, for all that, a good ruler and an affectionate father. "The Regenerator" he was called in the war-wasted country to which his laborious care had brought peace and comparative prosperity; and his name was long remembered there with reverent love. The prospect of leaving his cherished country and his beloved children to the mercy of a distant and Roman Catholic cousin, caused him acute suffering. Nor did he believe the said children would be much better off in the care of their eldest brother and his wife.
"What devours my heart is that, in case of my death, I leave so many poor innocents to the mercy of their enemies," he wrote to Sophie; "Wilhelmena (the wife of Carellie) shows sufficiently what I may expect of her for those who will be under her power after my death; since, particularly in company, she shows so much contempt for them. This also has some influence on Carellie, who treats them—with the exception of Carllutz—like so many strangers, as does Wilhelmena;.... the poor little ones are always in fear of her severe countenance."[22]
With this depressing prospect before him, Charles Louis turned his thoughts to his neglected brother, showing his confidence in Rupert's generosity, by his readiness to entrust him with the care of his children. "George William says that the Prince Rupert ought to marry,"[23] wrote Sophie, quoting her troublesome brother-in-law, in Jan. 1674. Such was the opinion of the now regretful Elector, and he pressed his brother to return, promising to grant him all he could desire, if he would but come and raise up heirs to the house of Simmern. But Rupert remembered his oath, and answered as we have seen in a former chapter. Then Sophie tried her powers of persuasion, and bade Lord Craven tell Rupert how much the Elector would be pleased, if he would but yield. But Lord Craven showed himself, for once, severely practical. If Sophie would name to him some very rich lady willing to marry Rupert, he would be delighted to negotiate the matter, he said; if not, then he begged to be excused from interference. "And there I am stuck (je suis demeure)," confessed Sophie, "for I do not know how he would support her."[24]
Nevertheless the family continued their solicitations, to which Rupert next retorted that the Elector had better get his cousin, the Elector of Brandenburg, and his sister Elizabeth to persuade Charlotte of Hesse to agree to a divorce; when, Louise being dead, he could marry again. "He must either be very ignorant of our intrigues here, or wishes to appear so," wrote the Elector bitterly.[25] He knew that Charlotte would never forego her vengeance by setting him free, and that neither his cousin nor his sister would interfere in such an affair. Elizabeth was, however, so far pressed into the service, that she, in her turn, exhorted Rupert to come over and marry. To her he only replied, "that he was quite comfortable at Windsor, and had no intention of moving; that Charles Louis had insulted him and might do what he pleased for an heir, he should not have him."[26] Such was his final word, and consequently the Palatinate passed, on the death of Carellie in 1685, to the Neuburg branch of the family.
Charles Louis died in 1680, and Rupert did not cherish the enmity he had borne him beyond the grave. On the contrary, he was anxious to do what he could for the benefit of his impecunious nephews and nieces. For Carellie he did not care, the young Elector had offended him by his neglect,[27] but it was not Carellie who needed his protection; it was rather against Carellie that he took up the cause of the Raugräfen, as Charles Louis' children by Louise were called. The circumstances of the case had left them completely dependent on their eldest brother, who bore them no great love. This was not due to the fact that their mother had supplanted his own. Carellie had never loved his mother; he had often told his father that he paid no heed to what Charlotte might say, and had himself urged her to consent to a divorce.[28] But he was of a peculiar temperament, jealous, fretful, difficult, and his dislike of the Raugräfen was really due, partly to the influence of his disagreeable wife, and partly to jealousy of the affection which his father had always shown to them, especially to Moritzien,—poor Moritzien, gifted with all the Palatine fascination and brilliancy, but ruined by a life of uninterrupted indulgence, so that he drank himself to death.