The complications of projects and the various conspiracies served the purpose of the royal vengeance. A criminal plot, much exaggerated in its importance, and entered into by obscure men, which was known under the name of the "Rye House Plot," had been mixed up, whether involuntarily or intentionally, with the revolutionary designs of the great lords. Algernon Sidney had indulged the dream of the return of the Republic; he defended himself with a degree of ability and self-possession which for a moment troubled Chief Justice Jeffreys himself. When sentence was pronounced, Sidney lifted his hand towards heaven: "I implore Thee, O Lord," he said, "to sanctify my sufferings and not to impute my blood to this nation or this city. If one day it should be avenged, let vengeance fall entirely on those who have unjustly persecuted me in the name of justice." He was executed on the 26th of November, 1683. Several of the conspirators shared his fate. The trial of Hampden did not take place till the month of February, 1684. Condemned to imprisonment, he ransomed himself afterwards by payment of a sum of money. The royal power was thenceforth freed from every trammel and from all anxiety. The subsidies of Louis XIV. rendered Charles independent of his people. He refused to summon a Parliament; the Court of King's Bench declared that the city had exceeded its privileges; the charter was withdrawn in 1684; the franchises of all the towns known for their liberal opinions were abolished, like those of the capital. The Duke of York had resumed his place in the Privy Council.
While the absolute reaction acquired every day more strength and audacity, the influence of Lord Halifax with the king diminished. The minister himself was weary of the struggle which he sustained in the Council against Lawrence Hyde, created Lord Rochester, who was devoted to the Duke of York, his brother-in-law. "Life would be worthless," he exclaimed one day, when they were discussing the Charter of Massachusetts, "if we had to drag out existence in a country in which liberty and prosperity were at the mercy of an absolute master." The Duke of York was irritated by this language. "How can you keep about you a man nourished on the worst principles of Marvell and Sidney?" he asked the king. Charles laughed. More sagacious and prudent than his brother, he knew how to conquer without needlessly exasperating the vanquished. Rochester, convicted of malversation while Lord Treasurer, was transferred from the control of the finances to the dignified but not lucrative post of President of the Council. "I have often seen people kicked down stairs," said Halifax; "my Lord Rochester is the first person that I have ever seen kicked up."
The day arrived when the Duke of York was to find himself free to apply without stint his theories of government. The king seemed weary and languishing. His humor, habitually cheerful in exile and in the midst of the crudest misfortunes, had for a short time past become gloomy. On the 2nd of February, 1685, at the moment of his rising from bed, the courtiers around him were struck by his altered looks. His utterance was embarrassed; his intelligence seemed clouded. A doctor who happened to be at hand to assist the king in his chemical experiments bled him without delay. Charles recovered his senses. A second attack soon put an end to all hope of cure. The Duke of York had already taken possession of the government. He gave his orders in all directions. It was the king's favorite, the Duchess of Portsmouth, who, in the heart of this depraved court, took care of the soul of the expiring monarch. She apprised Barillon, who hastened to inform the Duke of York. "It is true," cried James, "my brother is a Catholic at heart; he will assuredly declare it, and fulfill the rites of his religion; there is not a moment to lose." Some difficulty was experienced in procuring a priest. The Anglican bishops had not delayed so long to press the king to be mindful of his spiritual welfare. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Sancroft, and the Bishop of Bath, the pious Ken, had addressed Charles in the firmest language. "It is time to speak, Sire, for you are about to appear before a Judge who is no respecter of persons." The king made no reply.
The Duke of York at last succeeded in finding a priest; it was a poor Benedictine monk, named Huddleston, who had saved the king immediately after the battle of Worcester. Charles had a grateful remembrance of this circumstance. Huddleston had been excepted by name from all the proceedings against the Catholics. James himself introduced him into his brother's chamber. All present were desired to retire with the exception of the Frenchman, Louis de Duras, Earl of Feversham, and of the Earl of Bath. They could count on the fidelity of each other. "Sire," said the duke, "this holy man once saved your life; he comes to-day to save your soul." "He is welcome," said the king in a feeble voice. The poor monk had never fulfilled the holy offices. He had just taken instructions hurriedly from a Portuguese ecclesiastic in the suite of the Count de Castelmelhor. When the pious ceremonies were completed, all the natural children of the king were admitted to his presence. Monmouth alone was absent. He had sought his safety in exile; the king did not mention his name.
The queen was in too much trouble and suffering to appear at the bedside of the dying monarch. She sent her excuses by Halifax, asking pardon of the king. "Poor woman," murmured Charles, "I ask hers with all my heart!"
The agony was protracted. The king asked that the curtains might be drawn, so that he could see once more the light of day. "I beg your pardon for giving you so much trouble," he said to those who stood around him; "I am a very long time dying." His utterance failed him; at noon on the 6th of February, 1685, King Charles II. expired gently. He was not yet fifty-five years of age.
"He had received from nature," says Lord Macaulay, "excellent parts and a happy temper. His education had been such as might have been expected to develop his understanding, and to form him to the practice of every public and private virtue. … He had been taught by bitter experience how much baseness, perfidy, and ingratitude may lie hid under the obsequious demeanor of courtiers. He had found, on the other hand, in the huts of the poorest, true nobility of soul. … From such a school it might have been expected that a young man, who wanted neither abilities nor amiable qualities, would have come forth a great and good king. Charles came forth from that school with social habits, with polite and engaging manners, and with some talent for lively conversation, addicted beyond measure to sensual indulgence, fond of sauntering and of frivolous amusements, incapable of self-denial and of exertion, without faith in human virtue or in human attachment, without desire of renown, and without sensibility to reproach. According to him, every person was to be bought, but some people haggled more about their price than others. … Thinking thus of mankind, Charles naturally cared very little what they thought of him. … He was a slave without being a dupe. … He detested business. … He wished merely to be a king such as Louis XV. of France afterwards was." Without regard for the state of his kingdom, shut up in the selfish circle of his material pleasures, indifferent to all religion, hostile to the Puritans from memory of the past, from contempt for their ridiculous characteristics, and from fear of their austerity; without faith or rule of conduct; absolutely wanting in principles and moral sense, he had worn out the respect of the nation without completely exhausting its affection, for he was sagacious, prudent, little addicted to hazardous enterprises; and he had measured with a cool and practical judgment the degree of oppression which his people were capable of enduring. The popular saying did him injustice in affirming that "he never said a foolish thing, and never did a wise one." He was wise enough more than once to stop in the path of despotism. His brother, who had often impelled him in this direction, was now about to advance to the brink of the abyss. England wept for the loss of Charles II. Without being fully conscious of the feeling, she regarded James II. with presentiment and with dread.