and starts. The walls
were hung with panels of tapestry, and tall curtains of brocade hung at
the windows. Between the panels were pictures hung upon the walls--three
or four flower-pictures by Varelst; three pictures of horses and dogs by
Hondius, and a couple of Dutch pictures by Hoogstraaten. Over the
fireplace was a chimney-breast by Gibbons; and the ceiling was all
a-sprawl with gods and goddesses, I suppose by Verrio. In the windows,
which looked out on two sides, over the river and into a little court,
were little tables covered with curious things, for His Majesty
delighted in such ingenuities--Dutch figures in silver, clockwork, and
the like, and a basket of spaniels lay beneath one of the tables. A
second great table stood against the wall on the further side from that
on which I entered, covered with retorts and instruments, and behind it
a press, and near it sat the King. The floor was carpeted with rush
matting, loosely woven, with rugs upon it. But of all these things I saw
little or nothing at the first, for Mr. Chiffinch was gone out behind
me, and I was alone with His Majesty. One of the spaniels had given a
little yelp as I came in; but disposed himself to sleep again.

Now I am not one of those who think that those who are noble by birth
must always be noble by character, though I know that it should be so. I
knew, too, very well that Charles was less than noble in a great number
of ways. His women did what they liked with him; he would spend fortunes
on those who pleased him and did him nothing but injury, and would let
his faithful lovers and servants go starve. He lived always, you would
say, only for the flesh and the pride of the eyes; he was careless and
selfish and ungrateful; in short, he was as dissolute as a man could be,
or, rather, as dissolute as a king could be, and that is much more. Yet
for all this, he was a man of an extraordinary power, if he had cared to
use it. It was said of him that "he could, if he would, but that he
would not"; and of his brother that "he would if he could, but that he
could not"; and I know no better epigram on the two than that. James was
all intention without success; and Charles all success without
intention. And so James at the end lived and died as a saint, though he
was far from being one at this time; and Charles lived and died a
sinner, though, thank God, a penitent one.

Now although I knew all this well enough, and how Charles' private life
stank i