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not seeming to be any way made by artifice, of a reddish color, not so red as blood, the skin over them smooth, the rest of the arm livid and of a mortified hue, with certain prints, as it were, of the stroke of fingers. This had happened three several times in July, at about ten days' interval, the crosses beginning to wear out, but the successive ones set in other different, yet uniform order. The maid seemed very modest, and came from London to Deptford with her mistress, to avoid the discourse and importunity of curious people. She made no gain by it, pretended no religious fancies; but seemed to be a plain, ordinary, silent, working wench, somewhat fat, short, and high-colored. She told me divers divines and physicians had seen her, but were unsatisfied; that she had taken some remedies against her fits, but they did her no good; she had never before had any fits; once since, she seemed in her sleep to hear one say to her that she should tamper no more with them, nor trouble herself with anything that happened, but put her trust in the merits of Christ only.
This is the substance of what she told me, and what I saw and curiously examined. I was formerly acquainted with the impostorious nuns of Loudun, in France, which made such noise among the Papists; I therefore thought this worth the notice. I remember Monsieur Monconys[19] (that curious traveler and a Roman Catholic) was by no means satisfied with the stigmata of those nuns, because they were so shy of letting him scrape the letters, which were Jesus, Maria, Joseph (as I think), observing they began to scale off with it, whereas this poor wench was willing to submit to any trial; so that I profess I know not what to think of it, nor dare I pronounce it anything supernatural.
20th August, 1670. At Windsor I supped with the Duke of Monmouth; and, the next day, invited by Lord Arlington, dined with the same Duke and divers Lords. After dinner my Lord and I had a conference of more than an hour alone in his bedchamber, to engage me in the History. I showed him something that I had drawn up, to his great satisfaction, and he desired me to show it to the Treasurer.
28th August, 1670. One of the Canons preached; then followed the offering of the Knights of the Order, according to custom; first the poor Knights, in procession, then, the Canons in their formalities, the Dean and Chancellor, then his Majesty (the Sovereign), the Duke of York, Prince Rupert; and, lastly, the Earl of Oxford, being all the Knights that were then at Court.
I dined with the Treasurer, and consulted with him what pieces I was to add; in the afternoon the King took me aside into the balcony over the terrace, extremely pleased with what had been told him I had begun, in order to his commands, and enjoining me to proceed vigorously in it. He told me he had ordered the Secretaries of State to give me all necessary assistance of papers and particulars relating to it and enjoining me to make it a LITTLE KEEN, for that the Hollanders had very unhandsomely abused him in their pictures, books, and libels.
Windsor was now going to be repaired, being exceedingly ragged and ruinous. Prince Rupert, the Constable, had begun to trim up the keep or high round Tower, and handsomely adorned his hall with furniture of arms, which was very singular, by so disposing the pikes, muskets, pistols, bandoleers, holsters, drums, back, breast, and headpieces, as was very extraordinary. Thus, those huge steep stairs ascending to it had the walls invested with this martial furniture, all new and bright, so disposing the bandoleers, holsters, and drums, as to represent festoons, and that without any confusion, trophy-like. From the hall we went into his bedchamber, and ample rooms hung with tapestry, curious and effeminate pictures, so extremely different from the other, which presented nothing but war and horror.
The King passed most of his time in hunting the stag, and walking in the park, which he was now planting with rows of trees.
13th September, 1670. To visit Sir Richard Lashford, my kinsman, and Mr. Charles Howard, at his extraordinary garden, at Deepden.
15th September, 1670. I went to visit Mr. Arthur Onslow, at West Clandon, a pretty dry seat on the Downs, where we dined in his great room.