A Character of King Charles the Second by George Savile, Marquis of Halifax
A Character of King Charles the Second by George Savile, Marquis of Halifax
A Character differeth from a Picture only in this, every Part of it must be like, but it is not necessary that every Feature should be comprehended in it as in a Picture, only some of the most remarkable.
This Prince at his first entrance into the World had Adversity for his Introducer, which is generally thought to be no ill one, but in his case it proved so, and laid the foundation of most of those Misfortunes or Errors, that were the causes of the great Objections made to him.
The first Effect it had was in relation to his Religion.
The ill-bred familiarity of the Scotch Divines had given him a distaste of that part of the Protestant Religion. He was left then to the little Remnant of the Church of England in the Fauxbourg St. Germain; which made such a kind of figure, as might easily be turn'd in such a manner as to make him lose his veneration for it. In a refined Country where Religion appeared in Pomp and Splendor, the outward appearance of such unfashionable Men was made an Argument against their Religion; and a young Prince not averse to rallery, was the more susceptible of a contempt for it.
The Company he kept, the Men in his Pleasures, and the Arguments of State that he should not appear too much a Protestant, whilst he expected Assistance from a Popish Prince; all these, together with a habit encouraged by an Application to his Pleasures, did so loosen and untie him from his first Impressions, that I take it for granted, after the first Year or two, he was no more a Protestant. If you ask me what he was, my answer must be, that he was of the Religion of a young Prince in his warm Blood, whose Enquiries were more applied to find Arguments against believing, than to lay any settled Foundations for acknowledging Providence, Mysteries, &c. A General Creed, and no very long one, may be presumed to be the utmost Religion of one, whose Age and Inclination could not well spare any Thoughts that did not tend to his Pleasures.
In this kind of Indifference or Unthinkingness, which is too natural in the beginnings of Life to be heavily censured, I will suppose he might pass some considerable part of his Youth. I must presume too that no Occasions were lost, during that Time, to insinuate every thing to bend him towards Popery. Great Art without intermission against Youth and Easiness, which are seldom upon their guard, must have its Effect. A Man is to be admired if he resisteth, and therefore cannot reasonably be blamed if he yieldeth to them. When the critical Minute was, I'll not undertake to determine; but certainly the inward Conviction doth generally precede the outward Declarations: At what distances, dependeth upon Mens several Complexions and Circumstances; no stated Period can be fixed.
It will be said that he had not Religion enough to have Conviction; that is a vulgar Error. Conviction indeed is not a proper word but where a Man is convinced by Reason; but in the common acceptation, it is applied to those who cannot tell why they are so: If Men can be at least as positive in a Mistake as when they are in the right; they may be as clearly convinced when they do not know why, as when they do.
I must presume that no Man of the King's Age, and his Methods of Life, could possibly give a good reason for changing the Religion in which he was born, let it be what it will. But our Passions are much oftener convinced than our Reason. He had but little Reading, and that tending to his Pleasures more than to his Instruction. In the Library of a young Prince, the solemn Folios are not much rumpled, Books of a lighter Digestion have the Dog's Ears.
Some pretend to be very precise in the time of his Reconciling; The Cardinal de Retz, &c. I will not enter into it minutely, but whenever it was, it is observable that the Government of France did not think it adviseable to discover it openly; upon which such obvious Reflections may be made, that I will not mention them.
Such a Secret can never be put into a place which is so closely stopt, that there shall be no Chinks. Whispers went about, particular Men had Intimations: Cromwell had his Advertisements in other things, and this was as well worth his paying for. There was enough said of it to startle a great many, though not universally diffused; So much, that if the Government here, had not crumbled of itself, his Right alone, with that and other clogs upon it, would hardly have thrown it down. I conclude that when he came into England he was as certainly a Roman Catholick, as that he was a Man of Pleasure; both very consistent by visible Experience.
It is impertinent to give Reasons for Mens changing their Religion. None can give them but themselves, as every Man has quite a different way of arguing: A thing which may very well be accounted for. They are differing kinds of Wit, to be quick to find a Fault, and to be capable to find out a Truth: There must be industry in the last; the first requires only a lively heat, that catcheth hold of the weak side of any thing, but to choose the strong one is another Talent. The reason why Men of Wit are often the laziest in their Enquiries is, that their heat carrieth their Thoughts so fast, that they are apt to be tired, and they faint in the drudgery of a continued Application. Have not Men of great Wit in all times permitted their Understandings to give way to their first Impressions? It taketh off from the Diminution when a Man doth not mind a thing; and the King had then other Business: The inferior part of the Man was then in Possession, and the Faculties of the Brain, as to serious and painful Enquiries, were laid asleep at least, tho' not extinguished. Careless Men are most subject to Superstition. Those who do not study Reason enough to make it their Guide, have more Unevenness: As they have Neglects, so they have Starts and Frights; Dreams will serve the turn; Omens and Sicknesses have violent and sudden Effects upon them. Nor is the strength of an Argument so effectual from its intrinsick Force, as by its being well suited to the Temper of the Party.
The genteel part of the Catholick Religion might tempt a Prince that had more of the fine Gentleman than his governing Capacity required: and the exercise of Indulgence to Sinners being more frequent in it, than of inflicting Penance, might be some recommendation. Mistresses of that Faith are stronger Specificks in this case, than any that are in Physick.
The Roman Catholicks complained of his Breach of Promise to them very early.[1] There were broad peepings out, Glimpses so often repeated, that to discerning Eyes it was flaring: In the very first Year there were such Suspicions as produced melancholy shakings of the Head, which were very significant. His unwillingness to marry a Protestant was remarkable, though both the Catholick and the Christian Crown would have adopted her. Very early in his Youth, when any German Princess was proposed, he put off the discourse with Rallery. A thousand little Circumstances were a kind of accumulative Evidence, which in these Cases may be admitted.
Men that were earnest Protestants were under the sharpness of his Displeasure, expressed by Rallery, as well as by other ways. Men near him have made Discoveries from sudden breakings out in Discourse, &c. which shewed there was a Root. It was not the least skilful part of his concealing himself, to make the World think he leaned towards an Indifference in Religion.
He had Sicknesses before his Death, in which he did not trouble any Protestant Divines; those who saw him upon his Death-bed, saw a great deal.
As to his writing those Papers,[2] he might do it. Though neither his Temper nor Education made him very fit to be an Author, yet in this case, (a known Topick, so very often repeated) he might write it all himself, and yet not one word of it his own. That Church's Argument doth so agree with Men unwilling to take pains, the Temptation of putting an End to all the trouble of enquiring is so great, that it must be very strong reason that can resist: The King had only his meer natural Faculties, without any Acquisitions to improve them; so that it is no wonder, if an Argument which gave such Ease and Relief to his Mind, made such an Impression, that with thinking often of it, (as Men are apt to do of every thing they like) he might, by the Effect chiefly of his Memory, put together a few Lines with his own Hand, without any help at the time; in which there was nothing extraordinary, but that one so little inclined to write at all, should prevail with himself to do it with the Solemnity of a Casuist.
Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.
"You need a bride, I need a groom. Why don't we get married?" Both abandoned at the altar, Elyse decided to tie the knot with the disabled stranger from the venue next door. Pitying his state, she vowed to spoil him once they were married. Little did she know that he was actually a powerful tycoon. Jayden thought Elyse only married him for his money, and planned to divorce her when she was no longer of use to him. But after becoming her husband, he was faced with a new dilemma. "She keeps asking for a divorce, but I don't want that! What should I do?"
I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.
Gabriela learned her boyfriend had been two-timing her and writing her off as a brainless bimbo, so she drowned her heartache in reckless adventure. One sultry blackout night she tumbled into bed with a stranger, then slunk away at dawn, convinced she'd succumbed to a notorious playboy. She prayed she'd never see him again. Yet the man beneath those sheets was actually Wesley, the decisive, ice-cool, unshakeable CEO who signed her paychecks. Assuming her heart was elsewhere, Wesley returned to the office cloaked in calm, but every polite smile masked a dark surge of possessive jealousy.
The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.
For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."
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