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MODERN HISTORY LIBRARY |
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CHAPTER IX.
THE
POLICY OF CHARLES II AND JAMES II. (1667-87.)
Clarendon’s dismissal was Charles’ opportunity,
and he proceeded to take advantage of it with all the speed compatible with the
caution of a far-seeing calculator whose immediate future, even at crises
appalling to the most daring of his followers, was invariably pledged to his
personal pleasure, and with the leisurely readjustment that attends transitions
in great affairs. Clarendon was succeeded by the famous Cabal—Sir Thomas
Clifford, Lord Arlington, the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Ashley, and the Earl of
Lauderdale—the initials of whose names gave notoriety and permanence to a word
already in common use. They formed a Ministry containing two of the cleverest
and two of the most capable men in all England; but, despite their varied
talents, they never enjoyed the complete confidence of the King and never
acquired an influence over his policy comparable to that enjoyed by the late
Chancellor. Less than eighteen months after Clarendon’s fall, Charles wrote to
his sister, Henrietta of Orleans: “One thing I desire you to take as much as
you can out of the King of France’s head, that my ministers are anything but
what I will have them...whatsoever opinion my ministers had been of, I would
and do always follow my own judgement, and, if they take any other measures
than that, they will see themselves mistaken in the end.” Widely as the aims of
the two men differed and widely as their characters differed in almost every
other respect, Charles II may be compared to his nephew William of Orange, in
the uncommon tenacity with which he pursued his object. That he was, when he
chose, an excellent man of business, his Ministers were well aware; that he was
among the most adroit men of his age his friends and enemies, both politicians
of England and the able diplomatists of France, had ample experience; but that,
in power of projecting a great scheme and maintaining it in the face of almost
unexampled difficulties and dangers, in coolness of judgment and in keenness of
foresight he deserved to be classed among statesmen of the first rank, only the
history of eighteen years could show.
The policy of
Clarendon at home had been a severely Anglican royalism of the old style. In
foreign affairs he had at the beginning of the reign been regarded by Mazarin
as consistently opposed to French interests; and, although there had of late
years been more ground for the popular belief that he was on the contrary their
active promoter, he had desired peace with the Dutch, had dreamed of an
alliance between England, Sweden, and Spain, and claimed to have prepared the
way for the Triple Alliance to oppose the encroachments of Louis XIV on the
territory of the Spanish monarchy. From Clarendon’s retirement to the end of
the reign, the cardinal point in Charles’ policy was dependence on France: not
however the submissive dependence of servility, but dependence on support and
supplies extorted by himself and used to free him from servitude to the Church
of England, either by the destruction of her privileges or by compelling her
enlistment in the service of the Crown. Even when under Danby’s Ministry the
Court returned to a policy resembling that of Clarendon, its intention was not
to secure the supremacy of the Church, but at the price of the political
annihilation of her adversaries, to buy her blind and perpetual support for the
Crown. The position of the Crown in the State was the constant object of
Charles’ undertakings: his involved intrigues in affairs both at home and
abroad were only the means to assure it.
The first
field in which the influence of Charles’ government was decisively exerted on
continental politics was the Low Countries. On July 31, 1667, the Treaty of
Breda was signed. Six weeks earlier, Louis had declared what became known as
the War of Devolution against Spain, and had poured a large and well-equipped
army under Turenne into the Spanish Netherlands. On June 2 Charleroi was taken;
and before the end of August Tournay, Douay, Courtray, and Lille were in French
hands and the greater part of Flanders was occupied. The intention of Louis to
make good the claim which he had openly abandoned to the property, if not the
title, of the Spanish throne was thus revealed to the world with startling
abruptness. To the Dutch the opening of the Scheldt, which it clearly forecast,
meant the rise of Antwerp and the corresponding decline of Amsterdam; to the
English it dimly foreshadowed the extension of Louis’ system—the system of
Catholic absolutism—over practically the whole of civilised Europe. Far-seeing
minds could perhaps perceive that the curtain had been rung up on a drama of
incalculable gravity, of which the scene was to shift from one end of Europe to
the other, and the last act was not to be played till after the lapse of more
than a generation. The opponents of French aggrandisement were fortunate in the
English Minister at Brussels. Sir William Temple had during the negotiations at
Breda convinced himself that the only means of safeguarding the peace of Europe
from Louis’ ambition lay in an alliance between England and Holland, and in the
following months urged the plan repeatedly on his Government. In
The Triple Alliance. [1668 To John de
Witt and Holland the Triple Alliance was of capital importance. Although the
Dutch were ostensibly on the best of public terms with the French Government,
this friendship was but a hollow pretence. Colbert’s economic system had
already threatened the commerce of the Dutch; Louis despised and detested them
as a nation of Protestant and republican tradesmen; and it was evident that,
once the bulwark of the Spanish Netherlands was down, the turn of the Dutch
would come soon. De Witt had not been without qualms at the thought of breaking
with France for an alliance with the changeful fortunes of England, and he had
been surprised at the readiness with which Charles fell in with his proposals
during the negotiations for the treaty; but he had, in fact, no choice in his
search for support. For him it was the English alliance or nothing. What
vitiated his calculation was that he could
When
Parliament met on February 10, 1668, the two subjects contained in the King’s
Speech were the Triple Alliance and an intention to achieve “a better union and
composure in the minds of my Protestant subjects in matters of religion.” While
Temple and Arlington had been absorbed in foreign affairs, Buckingham and Sir
Orlando Bridgeman, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, had been engaged in a series
of conferences with the leading nonconformist divines, such as Baxter and
Manton, in order if possible to devise a scheme for the admission of the
dissenting body into the Established Church. The opinion of certain Anglican
clergymen also was taken; and Lord Chief Justice Hale, who attended the
meetings, drafted a Comprehension Bill, to be laid before Parliament. At the
same time, to guarantee a more business-like administration, the Privy Council
was reorganised in a number of committees, the most important being that for
foreign affairs, an eminently practical system that had been disliked and long
hindered by Clarendon.
Charles II
had always had a leaning towards toleration, combined with a desire in
particular to free the Catholics from their heavy disabilities. The House of
Commons on the contrary had always shown the bigoted zeal of persecuting
Anglicanism; and, now that a moderate proposal for the relief of dissenters was
in the air, could be trusted to prevent its taking effect. For once the Cabal
had found a question on which all its members were agreed: Clifford and
Arlington were, or were about to be, Roman Catholics; Buckingham was the patron
of the Independents; civil liberty was the guiding principle of Ashley’s life;
and Lauderdale, who was chiefly concerned with Scotland, was an administrator
rather than a statesman and, if he had an opinion at all, viewed the proposal
favourably. Yet neither the success of the Government abroad, nor the promise
of better order at home and the strange
Charles and Rome.—James' conversion. [1668-70 There can be
little doubt that this had a great effect on Charles’ mind. The Commons’
uncompromising determination made it impossible for him, were they unresisted,
to retain a shadow of authority or to pursue the national policy towards which
the Triple Alliance seemed to point the way. His statesmanlike dream had been
of a national Church, formally organised on the basis of the Roman Catholic
religion, but broad enough to include the majority of moderate Protestants,
depending but slightly on Rome in political affairs, and perfectly tolerant of
dissent. But, because neither Rome would admit such privileges nor Parliament
so much as allow a temporary toleration, a dream it remained. In 1668, he seems
to have made another attempt in the same direction. Charles’ own son, his
eldest bastard, born to him by a lady of good family in Jersey, had been bred a
Catholic and had recently entered the Society of Jesus at Rome. Under the name
of James de la Cloche he was now at his father’s request despatched by the
Jesuit General to receive a communication from the mouth of Charles, who saw
him and sent him back with an oral commission as his “secret ambassador to
the Father General.” The rest is shrouded in mystery. The return of the youth
to Rome, the nature of his mission, his subsequent career, are hidden from us:
nothing more is known for certain of the eldest child of Charles II. Nor did
more considerable results attend the journey to London of the papal Internuncio
at Brussels a short time after, and his secret interview with the King at the
Pope’s command. The decisive action was to be taken in another quarter.
In January,
1669, a remarkable meeting took place at St James’ Palace. The King was present
and informed the Duke of York, Clifford, Arlington, and Arundel, that he
desired to reconcile himself to the Catholic faith and to turn England Catholic
with him. A short time before, James bad announced his conversion to his
brother, but while the Duke’s change was probably in the main religious,
Charles was acting rather from political motives. In the course of the next
year James’ conversion was suspected, though it was not until the spring of
From the
point of view of Louis XIV the political element in Charles’ projected conversion
had the merit of bringing him within reach of the French purse-strings. Louis
wanted Charles’ support, but at least his neutrality: Charles wanted Louis’
support, but above all his money. This is the key to the complicated and
mysterious negotiations between the two Courts from this date to Charles’ final
triumph, the question at bottom being how much pressure Charles could put on
Louis by a tacit threat to make terms with Parliament, and how far Louis could
allow or compel Charles to go in that direction without the situation becoming
too dangerous. For six months before the meeting at St James’ Palace Charles
had been discussing the basis of a commercial treaty with France by means of
Buckingham and Colbert de Croissy; and it was due to Buckingham’s suggestion
that the further questions arising should pass through the hands of the King’s
sister, the Duchess of Orleans, that the affair took the now well-known lines
of what can only be regarded as one of the deepest plots in history. To facilitate
proceedings and to avert suspicion the Abbé Pregnani, a fashionable Parisian
astrologer, was sent to London to act as a means of communication; and the
better part of a year was spent in a detailed correspondence between the two
Courts concerning the best course to be adopted.
1670] Negotiations for the Treaty of Dover. The scheme
thus set afoot was to remodel England upon the example of France and to
introduce Catholicism and absolute monarchy, hand in hand, by means of French
gold and French force. In return for this assistance Charles was to declare
joint war with Louis on the Dutch and to recognise that Louis was not bound by
his wife’s renunciation of her claim to the Spanish crown. On a first
consideration of the matter, Charles wished the opening move in the game to be
his declaration of Catholicism. Colbert de Croissy, however, pointed out that
the excitement caused by this step would be so intense throughout the
Protestant world and would so distinctly place the Dutch in the position of
champions of the reformed religion that it would be hopeless to expect the
English nation to consent to war with them; and, although Charles would not
commit himself to put the foreign war first and the civil conflict second, he
was so much struck by the justice of the remark that he tacitly fell into line with
the French proposal. The interest of
The treaty,
which consisted of ten articles and three additional clauses, set forth the
joint policy of the two monarchs in some detail for the subjugation of England.
Louis was to furnish Charles with six thousand men at his own expense and
£150,000, and was, together with Charles, to fix the date of the stroke.
For the attack on Holland Charles was to furnish six thousand men to serve
under the French commander-in-chief, and fifty ships of war to serve together
with thirty French under the Duke of York as admiral—the whole at the expense
of Louis. Charles was to take Walcheren, Sluys, and Cadsand as his share of
the spoil; the rights of the Prince of Orange were as far as possible to be
preserved; and Louis was to pay Charles £225,000 yearly while the war lasted.
For the success of “la grande affaire”, as Charles called it to his sister, he
reckoned further on his resources at home. The Governor of Hull was a Catholic;
those of Portsmouth, Plymouth, Windsor, and other strong places, were devoted
to his service; the Catholic sentiment and force of Ireland were ready to hand;
and Lauderdale controlled an army twenty thousand strong in Scotland, bound to
serve anywhere within the British dominions. If the design should succeed, he
would find himself at the head of a Catholic State and master of his kingdom.
1670-2] Le traité simulé. Nell Gwyn & MadamCarwell. A necessary
consequence of the Treaty of Dover was a second treaty. All the Ministers knew
of the negotiations; but only those who were in the Catholic plot could be
acquainted with their result. Therefore, to cover the traces of the real
business, an elaborate sham treaty was drafted at Charles’ suggestion by
Buckingham, who was led to imagine
that he was
doing the work for which all the trouble had been taken. “Le traité simulé” went over the ground of the real treaty, except that
no mention was made of Catholicism, while the subsidy offered towards its
establishment was added to that offered for the purpose of the Dutch war, and
that the combined military forces were to serve under an English general. As
Buckingham expected to be that general, he was all the more delighted with the
treaty, which was signed in February, 1671, by himself, Ashley and Lauderdale.
He only began to discover his mistake, when Charles induced Louis to forego the
troops thus provided for and replied by a jeer to Buckingham’s expostulations
on his deprivation of the command.
In April,
1670, as the price for the renewed Conventicle Act, the Commons had voted a tax
calculated to bring in £300,000 a year for eight years, and in the October
session they added a supply of £800,000; but, as the annual expenses of the
services alone amounted to half a million, and the King’s debts to over two
million pounds, the financial prospects, despite a further supply obtained in
the following March in response to a royal proclamation against Papists, could
hardly be considered brilliant. The attitude of the Commons, moreover, made
it clear that, although Parliament was now prorogued from one date to another,
doing little business till February, 1673, the French ambassador had been only
too accurate in his prophecy of the results that would follow the King’s public
change of religion. In promising the late proclamation Charles had only
ventured to hint at exemption for the Catholic Royalists who had fought
for his father; and there could be no doubt that any attempt to put in action
the great Catholic scheme would ruin the hopes of the Dutch war, interrupt the
stream of French gold, and perhaps overturn the monarchy itself in the fury it
would let loose in England. Arlington, who had been of the King’s original
opinion, agreed with Charles that the declaration must be definitely postponed
till the war had placed him in an overwhelmingly strong position. In the
meantime Charles amused himself with two new mistresses, the two most famous of
the thirteen whose names have been preserved; Nell Gwyn, the darling of London
audiences, did not cost the nation above £4000 a year in revenues; the other, a
young Breton lady who had come to England in the suite of Henrietta of Orleans,
Louise de Keroualle, soon Duchess of Portsmouth, drew an income of £40,000
besides gifts amounting to many times that sum.
Money was
always a difficulty at Charles’ Court, and, now that the spring of 1672 was
fixed by Louis for his attack on Holland, a difficulty that pressed. Further,
the French preparations for the war and the likelihood that England would
assist in it were becoming known; and to summon Parliament would be to court
disaster. The audacity of Clifford suggested a source of supply that needed
nothing but a proclamation to tap it. During the Commonwealth and since the
Restoration
One
startling
event after another now broke upon the nation and made, said
Baxter, “all
Protestant hearts to tremble”. The Stop of the Exchequer took
place on January
2, 1672. On March 15 the King issued a Declaration of
Indulgence, suspending “all manner of penal laws in matters
ecclesiastical against whatsoever sort of
Nonconformists or recusants.” On March 17 war was declared
against the Dutch
Republic. Hostilities had actually begun before their official
declaration; for
after seeking in vain for a plausible pretext to break with
their allies, and
after de Witt had gone almost to the extreme of conciliation to
keep the peace,
the Government gave orders to force a war by an act of open
piracy. On March 13
Holmes, the admiral in command at Portsmouth, who had opened the
first Dutch
war, sailed out to where a Dutch merchant fleet, laden with a
rich cargo from
the Levant, lay at anchor off the Isle of Wight, and opened fire
upon it. War
was rendered inevitable; but the treasure, the expected capture
of which would
help to defray it, escaped, for the Government and the admiral
had laid their
plans so badly that the
1672-3] The Declaration of Indulgence. The story of
the war, which may be regarded as one thread in the double policy of the Dover
treaty, does not belong to this chapter. The Declaration of Indulgence (March
15, 1672), which was the other, was a kind of trial flight of the grand
religious revolution that had been planned by Charles. Even at the time it was
vehemently suspected that its true object was to favour the Catholics; but it
was a fact that owing to Bridgeman’s protest Catholics could only claim the
right to worship privately, while Protestant dissenters could do so in public,
and that it was actively supported by Ashley and other prominent men whose Protestantism
was less suspected than the King’s. The gaols were opened; Bunyan left his
prison at Bedford; and hundreds of nonconformists, and especially Quakers (for
the persecution had been very fierce against them), walked the streets again in
freedom. Still there was much hesitation. The Presbyterians, with their
strongly democratic views on Church matters, disliked the personal nature of
the relief accorded them by the King, and also being relieved as merely part of
the whole body of dissenters, most of whom had experienced a less conciliatoiy
treatment in the past. All feared to bring on themselves the disapprobation of
Parliament. However, the Government had succeeded for the moment. A
nonconformist deputation to thank the King was introduced by Arlington.
Bridgeman surrendered the Privy Seal; Clifford, with a peerage, stepped into
the high place of Lord Treasurer; Ashley became Earl of Shaftesbury and Lord
Chancellor; Arlington was made an Earl, Lauderdale a Duke, and both received
the Garter. Although the Declaration was but a shadow of the real scheme in
Charles’ head, it was considered by sound Anglicans to be a staggering blow to
the Church: “ Papists and swarms of sectaries ” astonished the world of London
by the numbers in which they met publicly; and on the following Easter Day it
was remarked to the general scandal that the Duke of York, who attended church
with the King, refrained from partaking of the Communion for the second year in
succession. So lively was the agitation on the subject of Catholic toleration
that when Parliament met in February, 1673, after a recess of practically two
years, Charles attempted to ride the storm that was known to be brewing by a
display of personal authority. “I shall take it very ill,” he said, “to
receive contradiction in what I have done. And I will deal plainly with you: I
am resolved to stick to my Declaration.”
Meanwhile,
negotiations had been proceeding with the Dutch. The war had gone badly for
Holland; but neither had it gone well for England, and the despatch, after
all, of an English contingent to Louis’ army had by no means mollified
Buckingham’s disappointment, since it had gone under command of the Duke of
Monmouth. Consequently Buckingham was more inclined to the Dutch, and less to
the French, than he had been two years before. Ambassadors arrived from the
Charles
had
thus prepared opinion at home for the prosecution of the war and
for a large
supply to support it. No better advocate for his cause could
have been found than the new Chancellor, Shaftesbury, who followed the
Speech from the
Throne with a skilful and inflammatory harangue on the text
“Delenda est
Carthago” that obtained an immediate vote of a million and a
quarter pounds, to
be spread over a period of eighteen months. But the Commons were
less
manageable on the delicate question of the Indulgence. Though,
when the subject
was introduced, the House showed a general hesitation to touch
it, the silence
was that of a calm before the storm; once loosened, tongues
wagged freely. Why
had not legal and ecclesiastical advice been taken before the
Declaration?
What authority could such a Declaration have? It was not even
made under the
Great Seal, the judges appointed under which swore to carry out
the Acts of
Parliament that the King now claimed to override. Acts of
Parliament! Why, the
Declaration broke forty of them. Sufficient doubt, however,
existed on the
whole subject of the
At Court
counsels were divided. There could be no denying that the situation was most
serious. Buckingham, Clifford, and Lauderdale were for force: a considerable
army, assembled at Blackheath under the experienced command of Marshal
Schomberg and Colonel Fitzgerald might be used against Parliament while the
Scotch forces seized Newcastle. For Charles to submit at such a crisis might
be the first step on the road trodden by his father; whereas a determined
stroke would free him from danger. Shaftesbury was for dissolution, and Charles
himself favoured the idea, with the intention, it would seem, of carrying on
his policy by a personal government without any Parliament at all. But this
would mean peace with the Dutch and presumably the refusal of assistance from
France. To Arlington, the Minister most trusted by the King, this consideration
appealed strongly: by dissolving Parliament at this moment Charles would
sacrifice all hope of fulfilling the Dover policy and would have to face a
national opposition without support; while, if he gave way now and carried the
war to a successful conclusion, he would still be in as good a position as ever
to dictate terms to his people. On behalf of Louis, Colbert de Croissy brought
forward the same arguments. He went even further. Charles’ cooperation in the
war was of such importance to his master that he was authorised to promise at the
end of it not only the 6000 men already stipulated, but
This offer
was decisive. On the same evening, March 8, Charles cancelled the Declaration;
and the next morning he appeared in the House of Lords to announce his assent
to the Commons’ petition. The news was received with general delight and
celebrated by bonfires all over the town. Nevertheless the Commons were
unsatisfied. They hurried through the remaining stages of the Subsidy Bill, but
lingered over religion. Possibly they noticed that, although Charles had not
asserted his right to dispense with the law, he had at the same time not
abandoned it. In their fear of Catholicism they proceeded to consider a subject
that had formerly only roused parliamentary opposition, namely, the toleration
of Protestant Dissent, and professed themselves willing to pass an Act which
should secure it. But it was more characteristic of the Cavalier Parliament
that out of the debates on this measure of toleration, which did not pass, grew
the project for the most famous of all measures of persecution, which did. A
Bill against the increase of Catholicism had come down from the House of Lords:
it was now proposed to insert in it a proviso imposing on all holders of civil
and
Before the
year was out, the Act had worked important results. Clifford gave up the
Treasurer’s staff and retired to the country, to die, it was believed, by his
own hand. The Duke of York surrendered all his offices. Prince Rupert, a strong
Protestant, took command of the fleet. But there were further consequences of a
less direct character. Arlington withdrew from his post of Secretary of State
and accepted the colourless office of Lord Chamberlain. Shaftesbury, suspected
by the Twiner to have been bribed by Spain and by the Duke of York to have
opposed his second marriage, which took place in the autumn, was dismissed and
immediately flung himself into violent opposition to the Court. “It is only
laying down my robe,” he said, “and buckling on my sword.” Sir Heneage Finch,
the Attorney-General, became Lord Keeper and Earl of Nottingham. Sir Joseph
Williamson succeeded Arlington as Secretary of State. Sir Thomas Osborne, a
Yorkshire baronet of small fortune and Cavalier principles, took up the
Treasurer’s staff Buckingham, Lauderdale and Arlington were attacked in the
Commons on their meeting in October. The great Cabal Ministry had been
scattered to the winds.
It was now
admitted by all the partners to the Catholic scheme that it must finally be
abandoned. Arlington declared it impossible, Charles spoke of it no more, and
the French ambassador, who had devoted all his energy to its furtherance,
begged Louis to recall him. Colbert de Croissy had learnt from his friends in
Parliament, among them the poet Waller; that there were not four members who
believed that there was any other means of preserving the Protestant religion
but peace with Holland, or who considered the French alliance to have any
object other than the establishment of Popery in England. The new Treasurer did
not return
1673-4] James' second marriage. Meanwhile,
the Duke of York’s marriage had provided another topic of explosive interest.
Anne Hyde, his first wife, died a Catholic early in the year 1672, leaving two
daughters, Mary and Anne, who were now being brought up in the Protestant
faith, and, the King’s marriage being barren, were after their father the
nearest heirs to the throne. Now, it was desirable both that there should be an
heir male and that, for the better guarantee of his title, he should be sprung
from a royal line on both sides. The question, therefore, of a second wife for
the Duke was of much importance; but, since he was himself a Catholic, the
choice was perforce narrowed to the marriageable Catholic princesses of Europe.
The Spanish interest could provide an Austrian archduchess (Claudia Felicitas,
daughter of Ferdinand Charles of Tyrol); and, as Spain had a lively concern in
upholding the Dutch Republic as a barrier to the claims of Louis, this was
perhaps the nearest approach to a Protestant match that could be made; but when
the Austrians demanded conditions unfavorable to France, the negotiations fell
through and the field was left open to candidates of the French Court, from
among whom the Princess Mary of Modena was finally selected. On September 30,
1673, the Princess, who was barely fifteen years of age, was married to James
by proxy, the Earl of Peterborough taking the place of his master, the Duke. In
order to get the ceremony over before the meeting of Parliament, the papal
dispensation, necessary since Mary had taken the first step towards entering a
convent, was not awaited and was ultimately not obtained without abject
supplications from England and the good offices of Louis. To the politicians of
the papal Court, who preferred Spain to France, the match was by no means
welcome. Among Protestants at home, that is to say, in ninetenths of the nation,
it created an uproar. Apart from the vulgar belief that Mary was “the Pope’s
eldest daughter”, it was evidence of the relations existing between Charles and
Louis. Personally James enjoyed but little popularity. His conversion to the
Catholic religion had rendered him an object of real distrust; his marriage
under the auspices of the French King, so as to assure a Catholic and almost a
French succession, now revived all the most violent suspicions that had
attended the beginning of the war. Meeting on October 20, the Commons voted an
address to the King, praying that the marriage should not be consummated, and
that the Duke should not wed “any person but of the Protestant religion”.
Hereupon Parliament was promptly adjourned for a week. When they reassembled,
the Commons were informed that the marriage had been completed, and were coolly
Nor was the
meeting of Parliament in January, 1674, more peaceful or more productive. To
meet the repeated charges that the alliance with France meant the introduction
of Popery into England, Charles laid before a committee of both Houses the “traite simulé,” concluded to disguise the real business at Dover, with the
assurance that it was the only treaty with France in existence. The speech,
however, was so ill composed and delivered, that the Commons proceeded on their
business without the least sign of being conciliated. No supply was voted, but
heady debates took place on grievances and on the subject of evil counsellors,
until, matters going from bad to worse, the King, after announcing that peace
was concluded with the Dutch, suddenly prorogued Parliament till the following
November. Members hastened away from Westminster in alarm and disgust. But
their astonishment was still greater, when Charles, who had kept his intention
secret from his most trusted advisers, announced that Parliament should stand
further prorogued till April, 1675. He had received 500,000 crowns from Louis
to enable him to do without it.
The
disordered state of affairs inclined many minds towards the only policy which
seemed capable of giving quiet to the kingdom, namely, that of assuring a
Protestant succession to the throne. At the time of Clarendon’s fall, the
Chancellor’s enemies and successors, fearful lest his son-in-law should avenge
him by compassing their overthrow, took counsel whether it were not possible to
supplant James as heir presumptive of the King. Within a few years of the
Restoration, rumours had even been afloat of the Duke’s apprehension that
Charles would recognise as legitimate his handsome young son, whom he created
Duke of Monmouth; and there was talk of attempts to extract from the King
documents relating to him without the damaging epithets naturalis et
illegitimus. But, however deeply such gossip may have infected Monmouth’s
ambitious dreams, it soon became evident that his father would give no
countenance to schemes of the kind; and a more plausible means seemed to have
been discovered in the project of obtaining for the King a divorce from his
Queen and of remarrying him to a lady capable of bearing him lawful issue. The
proceedings about the same time in Lord Roos’ divorce case, which ended in 1676
by an Act of
Thus it was
that men’s eyes turned overseas to the King’s nephew, the grandson of Charles
I, who was now guiding the policy of the Dutch Republic. William of Orange had
taken over the machinery of de Witt’s Government and consolidated in himself
the power of the State; moreover he had a high reputation in England. He had
formed connections with Sir William Temple, with Shaftesbury, William Howard,
afterwards Lord Howard of Escrick, and Halifax, who composed the nucleus of an
Orange party in Parliament; and it was perhaps in his interest that the Earl of
Carlisle, with the support of Halifax and Shaftesbury, introduced a motion into
the Lords to restrict future royal marriages within the bounds of the
Protestant religion, under penalty of incapacity to succeed to the throne. This
motion was rejected with scorn; but in the course of the year 1674 a great
advance was made in the Prince’s interest by the acceptance at Court of the
idea of marrying to him the Duke of York’s eldest daughter, Mary. Partisans of
the Prince hit upon the scheme as one likely to afford them protection against
the vengeance of the Duke. Charles, who in the spring had declined a second
visit from William in order to please Louis, now that he had extracted a
sufficient subsidy from his ally, conceived that a Protestant match would allay
the excitement caused by the Modenese marriage and would guarantee him and to some
extent his brother igainst, the most dangerous political elements in the
kingdom. Negotiations were accordingly begun without the knowledge of the
Duke, who consented with as good a grace as possible to the project in which he
thus found himself involved. Arlington, who was specially responsible for the
scheme, and Ossory, the young son of the Duke of Ormond, went to the Hague in
December to put the matter to the Prince; but their mission was unsuccessful.
To the proposal which Ossoiy made, William replied agreeably, but without
assenting; he was in the midst of war, he said; the Princess was very young,
and he did not know whether he
The spectacle
presented by the state of England at this juncture was deplorable, The policy
of Dover appeared to have all but destroyed the stability of the kingdom. The
factitious enthusiasm which had greeted the Restoration had long since died
out. For the first seven years despite war, plague, fire, and some suspicion of
the Government, the country had been quiet under the control of a Minister
whose ideas were in sympathy, if not identical, with those of the majority of
Englishmen. On his downfall the reins of policy were seized by the King, whose
mind had been formed in a new time and on foreign soil, and who within seven
more years brought the kingdom to the verge of disruption. Charles’ lassitude
of temper concealed from bis subjects the independence of intellect and
pertinacity of character that drove him towards an absolutism detested by them.
Yet such was his skill that the difficulties which crowded on the nation were
ascribed less to him, their author, than to advisers, of whom certainly some
had followed him with alacrity, but others had been wholly ignorant of the
scope of his plans. The dissolution of the Cabal marks a turning-point in the
King’s policy. Charles was clever enough to see when the game was up. He had
attempted to mount with the support of the Catholic revival to heights he saw
occupied by his cousin across the Channel. He had failed, but he had at least
concealed from his people his object and his failure in it. Now he dropped
Catholicism as a political force for ever. His most useful weapon was still
unimpaired: the neutrality, of England was still necessary for the plans of
France. He had been able to obtain from Louis a considerable price for freeing
himself from the last pressure put on him by Parliament in the matter of the
Dutch war. He now proceeded to use his freedom by following a new line, which,
if successfully pursued, would place him in much the same position as that
just abandoned.
In Sir Thomas
Osborne, created successively Earl and Marquis of Danby, Charles had found a
Minister of extraordinary capacity. Danby was the first man of his time to
apply himself systematically to the problems of finance that underlie all
administration, while he combined with this energy the talent for managing men
and affairs that alone could make it effective. He invented, it may be said,
government by machine. Bribery of members of Parliament was already known,
having been first practised on a large scale by the Spanish ambassador Molina
at the crisis of Clarendon’s dismissal and occasionally resorted to by others;
but the art was not properly understood until Danby mastered, organised, and
ruled by it. Numerous pensions and places existed which, had hitherto been
bestowed without thought of services to be rendered
This was no
less than to place all possible opponents of the Crown in the position in which
the Test Act had placed the Catholics: namely, to reduce them to impotence by
obliging them either to accept office upon the Court terms or to remain
incapacitated for ever by their exclusion from it. Under cover of his affection
for the Church of England and his fear of “the pernicious designs of ill men,”
Charles was in a fair way, if he should be successful to
For seventeen
days the serried ranks of the Bishops waged unequal war with the keen eloquence
of Shaftesbury, the wit and wisdom of Halifax, the terrible ridicule of Buckingham.
Against the three most brilliant men in the kingdom they were ill-matched,
supported though they were by the presence of Charles, who appeared regularly
at the fireside of the House of Lords to watch the course of debate and was
likened to the sun, blinding his opponents. If, however, the Court was worsted
in argument, it was victorious in numbers; and the Bill was passed and sent
down to the Commons. Here the most violent scenes had in the meantime taken
place. While the Test was being debated in the Lords, the Country party in the
lower House, under the leadership of Lords Russell and Cavendish, Sacheverell,
Powle, Littleton, Sir William Coventry, and Colonel Birch, attacked Danby and
put forward a popular policy to rival his. They demanded the recall of the
English troops serving under the French flag abroad, the exclusion of Catholics
from both Houses, the exclusion of placemen from Parliament, and refused to
consider fresh legislation till they were satisfied. The excitement was
All parties,
however, prepared with diligence for the autumn session, when it was known that
the Countiy party contemplated pursuing its advantage with vigour. The Duke of
York had received £20,000 from Louis for distribution, and had established an
understanding with Shaftesbury. Van Beuningen, the Dutch, and Don Pedro
Ronquillo, the Spanish ambassador, provided themselves with means for combating
the influence of Ruvigny. Louis, who by his connection with the Commons was
striving to prevent Danby from becoming too strong, at the same time guarded
himself against Charles being reduced to impotence by offering him £100,000 a
year to dissolve Parliament, should supply be refused except on condition of a
breach with France. The death of Turenne in July was a terrible blow to his
arms, and subsequent reverses rendered the goodwill of the English Government
even more important to him than before. The session opened in the temper
foreseen. Further proposals were made to suppress Popery. The Commons refused
money for paying off anticipations on the revenue. Supply was only voted for
the specific purpose of building ships. Fresh attempts were made to put an end
to bribery of members by the Court. But Danby’s strength was so great and the
foothold of his combined opponents so precarious that, to stop farther
business, Shaftesbury managed to revive the dispute between the Houses in the
case of Shirley, while at the same time he pressed for a dissolution. It was
almost certain that a new Parliament would contain far more members hostile to
the Court than the corrupt Cavalier Parliament. Charles replied to the
proposal, to the discomfiture of its authors, by proroguing Parliament for the
unprecedented period of fifteen months, from November, 1675, to February, 1677.
Louis, though he had bargained for a dissolution, feared to arouse opposition
at Court; and Charles, who was so sure of his game that the first £100,000 had
already been entered in his accounts, obtained his price without difficulty.
When Danby refused to touch the accompanying agreement, he wrote out, signed
and sealed it with his own hands. “ King says, he had rather be a poor king
than no king,” is the pregnant phrase of a letter-writer
Shaftesbury. [1675-7 The year
1675, which saw the defeat of Danby’s attempt at a perpetual endowment of the
Anglican-Cavalier system, saw also the hirth of the Whig party. In contracting his
alliance with the parliamentary Opposition Ruvigny had frequent occasion to
treat with a committee of Lords, containing Buckingham, Wharton, and, chief
among them in vigour of intellect and character, Shaftesbury. From that time
onwards Shaftesbury enjoyed a growing ascendancy over the opponents of Court
policy. In the Lords he became their recognised leader; and the adoption of his
demand for the dissolution of Parliament is evidence of his following in the
Commons also. His unscrupulous force in pursuing his object enhanced the
authority he had won by his acknowledged ability and impartiality as Lord
Chancellor, while his object was capable of commanding support from all
sections of the Opposition. Popery and slavery, in Shaftesbury’s memorable phrase,
went hand in hand; and it was his work to combine men of all classes and
characters to keep them out. If Danby invented the machine in government,
Shaftesbury discovered the art of organising popular sentiment on a grand
scale. The Green Ribbon Club, which was founded about this time by means of an
extensive system of agents, agitators, and pamphleteers, gave the tone with
increasing certainty to political feeling throughout the country, and during
the next seven years played a part in English politics that can only be
compared to that of the Jacobin club in France. The headquarters of the Green
Ribbon Club were in the King’s Head tavern at the bottom of Chancery Lane; and
of the club Shaftesbury was the president and the soul. The name Whig does not
occur till some years later; the thing was already in existence.
From
Christmas, 1675, to the middle of 1677 Charles drew his allowance from Louis
in regular quarterly instalments. When Parliament met at the beginning of the
latter year, the Whigs despaired of obtaining any success in a House of
Commons of which one-third was calculated to be in permanent employment under
the Crown, and yet another third to wait—“like so many jackdaws for
cheese” said Danby—for pay at the end of each session. The remaining third was
in the pay of Louis, who in this session distributed among them nearly £3000.
Therefore they adopted the extraordinary course of moving in both Houses that
after so long a prorogation Parliament had ceased to have any legal existence.
The statute of Edward III on which they rested their case, was manifestly
obsolete, and their action only resulted in Shaftesbury, Buckingham, Salisbury,
and Wharton being sent to the Tower for contempt of Parliament. After a few
weeks the last three made submission and were released; but Shaftesbury lay in
prison for a year before he could bring himself to face the ordeal. “Thus,”
said Marvell, “a prorogation without precedent was warranted by an
imprisonment without
The alliance
with William came too late for Charles. Three years before it might have won
him a national support; but, now that the Opposition was committed equally by
policy and by the secret receipt of money from Louis to attack the royal power,
it could only lead to confusion more obscure than ever. Louis was willing to
help Charles if he could avoid strengthening Danby; Danby, to crash the Whigs
if he could avoid supporting Louis; the Whigs, to overthrow Danby at any cost.
In February Charles, who had refused a large offer from Louis, obtained a vote
of a million for a French war; but Louis’ success in taking Ghent and Ypres,
and the suspicion caused by the discovery of a secret article in the treaty of
January, binding Charles and William to assist each other against their
rebellious subjects, made the King recoil from risking a defeat that would
place him in a position of inferiority. In May he signed another treaty with
Louis, engaging to disband his army and dissolve Parliament in return for a
huge subsidy, while at the same time Barillon entered into a strict alliance
with the Whigs for the attainment of the same objects; but on Louis’ departing
from the terms of peace he had offered to accept, Charles, to the horror of the
Whigs, made instant preparations for continuing the war in close agreement with
the Dutch.
Thus all
parties in England had entered into engagements which they dared not fulfil.
Each threatened, offered, retracted, and advanced again only to draw back,
while each was in the dark as to the secret
The political
atmosphere was electric. Since Charles’ accession hardly a year had passed that
was not surcharged with trouble and alarm, none in the last eight that was not
full of horrible rumours due to the rift between a Protestant country which
remembered the Gunpowder Plot and a Catholic Court which had planned the
treason of Dover. Thus it is not strange that when Titus Oates, an Anglican
clergyman who had been reconciled the year before to Rome, came forward in
August, 1678, to denounce a vast Jesuit conspiracy against the King’s life and
the Protestant religion, his tale of wild lies met with a degree of credence
that later ages would perhaps have refused to it. Oates was afterwards shown to
be a man of infamous character; but channels of communication were bad and
suspect, and in those days news travelled slowly. He had actually spent some
months in Jesuit colleges at Valladolid and Saint-Omer, and on his expulsion
from the latter returned to England, to concoct, with the aid of local colour
thus acquired and of a silly London parson, his information concerning the
Popish Plot. The Pope, he declared, had commanded, and the Jesuits undertaken,
a conquest of the kingdom; an army of
1673-8] The Coleman correspondence-Godfrey murdered. With much
mystery Oates contrived to bring his great “discovery”
From the
moment when Charles, in 1673, cancelled his declaration of indulgence, the
Catholics had nothing to hope from him. The more active among them turned to
the Duke of York as their natural leader, and began to organise a party in his
interest. They fought the Nonresisting Test hard, and congratulated themselves
on its failure to establish the royal power. They hoped eagerly for the day
when they should be supreme. Closely in touch with the Jesuits in England and
France, Coleman laid the threads of a widespread intrigue, which can be traced
up to the end of the year 1676, for filching the reins of power from the King
by the aid of French money and support and placing them in the hands of his
master, the Duke. When the unlucky secretary stood his trial for treason, his
correspondence with Pere de La Chaise was the heaviest evidence against him.
What was concerted in these dark channels between 1676 and 1678 is unknown; but
there exist clear indications that the Jesuit activity did not cease. There was
no “plot” in Oates’ sense; but there was quite enough of plotting to cost men
their heads under the English law of treason, and Titus evidently had some
knowledge of the facts, which he embroidered to suit his own purpose.
When Oates
was summoned before the Privy Council, he probably believed that he was about
to be summarily got rid of. He therefore took the precaution to place his
information beyond reach of the Court by leaving a sworn copy with Sir Edmund
Berry Godfrey, a London magistrate celebrated for having on a previous occasion
resisted royal pressure in the popular cause. Intense excitement had already
been caused by the arrest of the Jesuits and the rumours of Coleman’s letters:
it now swelled into a feverish panic, when on October 12 Godfrey disappeared,
and when five days later his corpse was found in a field at the foot of
Primrose Hill, transfixed by his own sword. It is certain that he was murdered,
but not by robbers and in no common way. He had been strangled, his sword
thrust through his heart after death, and his body brought from a distance and
arranged where it was found so as to simulate the appearance of suicide.
Whatever may be the true
The Whigs
swept the country, though at an enormous cost in beer and gold; and when the
new Parliament met on March 6, 1679, it was found that the Government could
count on a mere handful of twenty or thirty members in the Commons, as against
a hundred and fifty in the old. Danby, who in the interval had been dismissed
from office and, as compensation, been given a marquisate and, as security, a
general pardon, took refuge from the impeachment by hiding at Whitehall. The
Commons then proceeded against him by Bill of attainder. Four days before the
Bill would have had effect, Danby appeared in the House of Lords and was
committed to the Tower. There he remained for five years. He had done more than
any man to consolidate the royal power; his downfall gave an immense impetus to
the attack of the Whigs upon it. Charles was left to govern alone.
It is beyond
our purpose to disentangle here the confused intrigues which filled the next
two bloody and panic-stricken years. Above the vulgar web of plot and
counterplot, in which treacheries, perjuries, and forgeries were the tools of
Catholic and Protestant alike, two figures stand out clear in the history of
the time: the one of Shaftesbury, under cover of the Popish Plot levelling
stroke after stroke at the Duke of York in the belief that, unless he were
ruined, he would ruin England; the other of Charles, maintaining his brother’s
defence, in the hope that through him he would save the rights of the Throne.
From the first the King took the line of offering every possible concession,
whether real or illusory, that was not vital to his interests. Within a few
days of
Early in
March, to avoid the storm brewing in Parliament, Charles had ordered his
brother, much against his will, abroad to Brussels. On May 11, a Bill was
introduced into the Commons to disable the Duke of York to inherit the
imperial crown of this realm.” The Exclusion Bill was the work of Shaftesbury,
and it dominated English politics for two years. On May 15 it was read for the
first time; but on the 26th Charles, to stop its progress, first prorogued and
afterwards dissolved his second Parliament, against the advice of his whole
Council. One Act of this Parliament alone, the Habeas Corpus Act, is on the
statute book; and that only passed its third reading in the Lords because the
Whig tellers in joke counted one very fat lord as ten.
The whole
summer was hot with blood and excitement. In the seventeenth century the law,
both in theory and in practice, was far less favourable to persons accused of
crime, especially against the State, than it has come to be in a more humane
age. Dissection of evidence and cross-examination of witnesses were arts
unknown till a century later. Spies and parish constables took the place of
professional police; perjury was seldom detected; and the whole administration
of justice was coloured by the knowledge that the acquittal of a traitor might
mean civil war. For the murder of Godfrey three innocent men were hanged. Six
Jesuit fathers and three others were executed, chiefly owing to Oates’
evidence, for treasons of which they were guiltless; and in the early autumn
began a number of prosecutions and convictions of priests throughout the
country under a statute of Elizabeth which made it treason for a priest to be
within the land. But in July the important trial of Sir George Wakeman resulted
in the acquittal of Wakeman and his fellow-prisoners. So far little decisive
evidence had been put forward by the defence at the trials, and it was almost
due to chance that at Wakeman’s a witness was called who proved Oates’ perjury
beyond a doubt. Oates tried to bully
1679] Charles falls ill. In August the
King was taken violently ill at Windsor, and both sides eagerly prepared for
the event of his death. While the Triumvirate summoned James in swift secrecy
from Brussels and arranged for his proclamation as King, the Whigs planned
insurrection. They were ready to seize the Tower, Dover Castle, and Portsmouth,
to arrest the Duke’s supporters; and it was believed that a large force could
have taken the field in a few days under the banner of Monmouth. Fortunately
for the country, Charles recovered as quickly as he had been struck down, and
before his brother arrived was out of danger. The rejoicing of those who saw
how near the nation had been to a civil war exasperated the dismay of the
Whigs. James returned to Brussels, but for a brief visit only: on October 7 it
was announced in the Gazette that he would remove to Scotland, whither he
proceeded after a triumphant reception in the City before the end of the month.
Monmouth on the other hand was banished to Holland, and when at the end of
November he returned without leave and insolently struck the bar sinister from
his arms, the King refused to see him, deprived him of all his offices, and
ordered him to quit London. Monmouth at length obeyed, but only to make the
semi-royal progress through the West, that afterwards had such ill-fated
results.
Charles’
fourth Parliament had met on October 7, 1679. It was immediately prorogued,
adjourned, and again prorogued to October,
At last the
meeting of Parliament could be delayed no longer, and the Exclusion Bill was
speedily introduced. To remove a source of disturbance, the King had forced his
brother to withdraw again to Edinburgh, and, to James’ horror, offered a
compromise, known as “the Expedients,” by which, when he came to the throne, he
should retain the title of King, but forfeit all the power. Halifax viewed the
Expedients with favour, but the Commons, taking their cue from Shaftesbury,
rejected them with insult. Abhorrers were violently attacked, members expelled
for discrediting the Plot, and on November 15, Russell, attended by a great
company and “with a mighty shout,” presented the Exclusion Bill to the Lords.
Its passage was pressed with all the passion, the force, the eloquence of the
famous Whig orators. Charles was present at the debate and witnessed the
defection of Sunderland, who with the Duchess of Portsmouth had been moved by
fear and bribes to join his enemies. When Monmouth urged Exclusion as the only
means to safeguard the King’s life, he broke in with a loud whisper, “the kiss
of Judas.” Treachery, fame, and eloquence seemed like to carry the day; but
Halifax, in a superb effort, met them at every turn. He rose to speak fifteen
or sixteen times, and it was due to his exertions that at nine o’clock in the
evening,
One tragic
success was scored by the angry Commons. On November 29,1680, his sixty-ninth
birthday, Lord Stafford was brought to the bar of the House of Lords on the
charge of high treason made against him two years before by Oates, and after a
trial of seven days was found guilty. The perjured evidence marshalled against
him was so strong as to obtain a verdict that was not wholly partisan; but, though
Charles’ belief in Stafford’s innocence had been shaken, the result was a
political defeat that the King felt keenly. One month later Stafford was led to
the scaffold; when the executioner showed his head to the crowd a howl of joy
broke from their lips.
While
the Whigs, who were again returned to Parliament with a powerful majority,
pledged to demand the Exclusion, the Association, and the restriction of the
King’s right to prorogue and dissolve Parliament, rode down to Oxford with
bands of armed retainers, the Government prepared likewise for the fray.
Windsor Castle, the Tower, Lambeth Palace, and Whitehall were put in a state of
defence; and a regiment was posted along the Oxford road, for the event of the
King being forced to retreat. From time to time during the last eighteen months
Charles had been negotiating for a money-treaty with Barillon, and just before
the dissolution had obtained what he wanted. For a sum of 12,500,000 francs, to
be paid in the course of the next three years, he agreed to disengage himself
from the Spanish alliance which he had concluded after his breach with Louis,
and to prevent the interference of Parliament with the schemes of the French
Government. The fear of Parliament compelled Louis to make Charles independent
of his people. “If the King would be advised,” said Halifax to Sir John
Reresby, “it is in his power to make all his opponents tremble.” Charles had
in fact timed his stroke to perfection. The crisis of the struggle had arrived.
He had obtained security on the side of finance at the precise moment when,
unless he took the offensive, the day would be lost to him. The Parliament that
now met (March 21) lived but a week, and it was his last. Charles offered a compromise:
it was refused. Shaftesbury approached the King personally, but was met by an
open declaration of war. On March 26, the Exclusion Bill was voted. The 28th
was fixed for its first reading; but on the morning, while Sir William Jones
was appealing to Magna Carta, the Commons were summoned to the King’s presence.
They thought they had come to receive his surrender and crowded eagerly into
the House of Lords. Charles, who had kept his intention absolutely secret,
thereupon ordered the Lord Chancellor to declare Parliament dissolved. He soon afterwards
drove off to Windsor; the Whigs fled. Shaftesbury in vain tried to hold his
followers together; but they refused to fulfil their engagements. Their power
was broken at a blow.
Within
these
two and a half years the long struggle that had filled the
history of England
since the dismissal of Clarendon had reached its culminating
point. For ten
years the King lived at odds with Parliament, the Commons
striving to control
the royal power, Charles to free it. Then the Country party,
transformed by Shaftesbury
into the Whig organisation, seized on the Popish Plot as a means
to oust the
King. Charles met them by a cool and Fabian strategy, always
seeming on the
point of defeat, and always driving them to greater violence,
till their
excesses had alienated the country and he could strike a
decisive blow. He gave
Parliament just enough rope to hang itself. Though belief in the
Popish Plot
was not yet dead, and though he could not save from the gallows
the venerable
Archbishop Plunkett, Catholic Primate of Ireland, who was
convicted on perjured
evidence for an alleged Irish Plot and executed on July 1, 1681,
Charles was
thenceforth secure. A policy of fierce retaliation on the Whigs
was immediately
carried out, while the nation looked on undisturbed; the
doctrine of “non-resistance” was pushed to its furthest limits; Filmer’s Patriarcha,
written during the Civil War to maintain the divine right of kings, was
published and favourably received; and Dryden’s magnificent satires, Absalom
and Achitophel and The Medal, gave lasting expression to the ideas that
underlay the Tory reaction.
1682-3] Quo Warranto.Rye House plot. The first
step of the Court was to safeguard itself in the City. A conviction for high
treason was obtained at Oxford against Stephen College, a henchman of the Green
Ribbon Club. But the City controlled the election of the London Sheriffs; the
Sheriffs saw that Middlesex juries were composed of staunch Whigs; and in the
autumn, when a similar accusation was brought against Shaftesbury, the grand
jury ignored the Bill. Shaftesbury had offered, if he were released without
trial, to go into voluntary exile; but, though Halifax, who was now the King’s
most influential adviser, strongly urged that his terms should be accepted,
Charles said that he could not trust his great enemy’s word and refused. So
long as London remained Whig, Shaftesbury was unassailable. Accordingly, in the
following year a formidable attack was begun on the self-governing corporation
of the
Long before
the fight for the charters was over, the stronghold of London was captured by
the Tories. On Midsummer Day, 1682, by a combination of force and fraud the Lord
Mayor, who had been won over by the Court, foisted two Tory Sheriffs on the
City and, before the year was out, made sure that a Tory Mayor would succeed
him. The Whig leader, and indeed all of prominence in the party, were at the
mercy of the Crown, should they be prosecuted: their safety had lain in the
certainty of a Whig panel; and the return of the Duke of York to London and to
office, the open defiance of the Test Act, and a renewal of the most rigorous
persecution of dissenters by the triumphant Tories indicated the extent of the
mercy that would be shown. Driven to desperation, the members of the Green
Ribbon Club plotted open rebellion. A council of six, consisting of Monmouth,
Essex, Russell, Algernon Sidney, Hampden, and Howard, with Shaftesbury as its
president, debated plans for a general insurrection and a simultaneous movement
under Argyll in Scotland, while a. plot for the assassination of Charles and
James was hatched by the old Cromwellians, Wildman, Rumbold, and Rumsey, and by
Robert Ferguson, nicknamed “the Plotter.” But everything was in confusion:
those concerned had different ideas and different intentions; their support was
doubtful; Monmouth, on a second Western tour, found the country-folk unwilling
for war; Shaftesbury had lost his old mastery and, fearful of arrest at his
house in Aldersgate Street, was skulking in the London slums. The pope-burning
on November 17 had been named as a signal for the rising, and,
Meanwhile,
the seizure of Strassburg by Louis in 1681 and the subsequent attack on
Luxemburg had roused the fears of Europe to the highest degree, and strenuous
efforts were made and backed by Halifax to obtain the cooperation of England
against him. Charles, however, true to the policy that had won him success at
home, took advantage of the crisis, while engaging in dilatory negotiations
with the allies, to extort at the end of November, 1681, a million livres from
Louis as the price of his neutrality. Halifax, the Duke of Ormond, and Danby,
now released from the Tower, pressed him to summon Parliament; in 1683 Charles
married Princess Anne of York to Prince George of Denmark, who, though in the
French interest, was a Protestant; but, although in the autumn of 1684 there
was certainly talk of an arrangement between himself, Halifax, Monmouth, and
the Prince of Orange against the Duke of York, Sunderland, and the French, it
is doubtful whether he more than played with the scheme. But on February 2,
1685, Charles, being then fifty-four years old, was seized, as is now
established beyond doubt, by an apoplectic fit. He lingered for some days,
apologising for being such “an unconscionable time in dying,” and on the 6th,
after being received into the Roman Catholic Church by Huddlestone, the priest
who had saved his life after the battle of Worcester, expired. Among his last
words were: “Let not poor Nelly starve.” The nation loved him well and mourned
him long.
Charles II’s
brilliant gifts, his love of pleasure, his indolent coolness amid the thrilling
and tragic vicissitudes of his reign, while endearing his memory to many
English people, have obscured the height of his political genius. At the time
of his death he had, in fact, fully accomplished, by secret means and without
the force destined to support it, the secular part of the policy into which he
had entered at Dover nearly fifteen years before for the destruction of English
liberties and the consolidation of his own power. He left to his brother a
kingdom compact, loyal and prosperous, which James, in the attempt to carry out
the religious side of the policy of that splendid treason, within four years
turned
The new
reign, however, began well. James’ declaration that he would preserve, defend,
and support “this Government, both in Church and State, as it is now by law
established” was received with general satisfaction; and it was certain that
the Parliament summoned for May 19 would be overwhelmingly Tory. Meanwhile
James, having made Rochester, the second son of Lord Chancellor Clarendon, Lord
Treasurer, confirmed Sunderland as Secretary of State, and removed Halifax to
the pompous position of Lord President of the Council, renewed through Barillon
his brother’s engagements to France and sent John, Lord Churchill, to
Versailles to express his warm gratitude for Louis’ support, which took the
shape of an immediate gift of some £40,000 and large promises of help for the
future. The King had thus security, as he thought, for the fulfilment of the
religious schemes that had already been inaugurated. Mass was said at Whitehall
with open doors, and the Catholics everywhere raised their heads in joyful
expectation.
Before
Parliament met, the new Government had already made its mark. On May 7, Titus
Oates was indicted for perjury, convicted on two counts, and sentenced to be
flogged from Aldgate to Newgate, and from Newgate to Tyburn. Though the
sentence was carried out with the utmost brutality, Oates survived; but
Dangerfield, another perjurer, died of a similar whipping and of a subsequent
assault by a savage Tory, who, to relieve the Government of odium, was himself
hanged for murder. The signal was given for the persecution of dissenters;
throughout the country the penal laws were sharpened against them, and Baxter,
their revered and temperate chief, was bullied by Jeffreys, fined, and imprisoned.
Parliament showed itself as favourably disposed as could be hoped. The Commons
not only voted to James for life the whole of the revenue enjoyed by the late
King, but an extraordinary supply of £400,000; the proceedings against Danby
and the Catholic peers were terminated; and a Bill reversing Stafford’s
attainder was well advanced,
Sedgmoor.—The "Bloody Assizes." [1685 Monmouth had
heard in Holland the news of his father’s death with dismay. His cousin William
advised him to seek fame against the Turks, and he himself contemplated
retiring into private life; but the counsel of other exiles and of malcontents
in England prevailed. While Argyll, in pursuance of the old Rye House plan, was
to rouse the Highlands, Monmouth undertook to invade England as champion of
freedom and Protestantism. On June 11, he landed with a small force at Lyme
Regis, proclaimed himself King, and after some futile manoeuvring with raw
country levies, attempted to surprise the royal troops under Lord Feversham, a
nephew of the great Turenne, and Churchill, at Sedgmoor on the night of July 5.
His men were scattered; he fled, was captured, brought to London, and, being
already atta ited, was executed on Tower Hill on the 15th. James took his fill
of revenge. After the battle Colonel Kirke, who had earned a vile reputation at
Tangier, was let loose on the country with his regiment, known in ironical
allusion to the emblem on their standard as “Kirke’s Lambs.” Then Jeffreys, accompanied
by four judges, went on the western circuit to what have ever since been known
as the “Bloody Assizes.” A few examples were made in London; in Hampshire,
Dorset and Somerset 320 persons were hanged; 841 transported; one woman was
beheaded; one was burnt alive. There was plunder too: the Queen and her maids
of honour trafficked in slaves and ransoms, and Jeffreys returned to London
rich with the proceeds of the pardons he had sold. He was welcomed by the King,
and in September was appointed Lord Chancellor in place of Lord Guilford, who
had died in disgrace because of his protest against the proceedings of the
King.
Three days
before Sedgmoor Parliament had adjourned. When it met again on November 9, the
spell of ecstatic loyalty, if not broken, was plainly weakened. Beneath the
surface, the tendency of the Court and the horrors of the rebellion were
working a reaction. James had now an army of 20,000 men, largely quartered at
Hounslow, for the maintenance of which the attempt on his throne would serve
him as a pretext, while the deficiency of experienced Protestants warranted his
officering it with Catholics. He hoped at the same time to abolish the militia,
the only force which could, he conceived, be used against him. When Halifax
urged that commissions to Catholics were illegal, he was dismissed from office
and his name struck off the list of privy councillors. The King assured
Barillon that, come what might, he should keep the army on foot. If he were to
reign with the goodwill of his people, his need was, besides supply for the
army, the repeal of the Test Act. But, while the Test Act was popular, a
standing army was hated; and, a few days before Parliament met, came the news
from over the channel that Louis, in the cause of political absolutism, had put
the final
Compared with
his brother, James was an ignorant man, and the ignorance that possessed him
most was ignorance of the value of time. Unless he were constant in pressing on
the cause he had at heart, he thought his religion delivered over to its
enemies and himself false to his trust. Under the influence of this
miscalculation and of the delusion that high-churchmen were more than half
Catholic, he proceeded to crowd into the remainder of his reign an astounding
number of follies. A committee consisting of Sunderland, several Catholic peers,
the Jesuit Petre, and “lying Dick Talbot” who, though the traducer of James’
first wife, had been raised by him to the earldom of Tyrconnel, had already
been formed to watch over the Catholic interests. The King published two papers
of theological argument, found in his late brother’s strong-box, as proof that
Charles II had been a Catholic. By this and by his personal declaration to the
same effect James thought to convince Anglicans that they were in error; in
reality he only irritated them. He now determined to obtain public admittance
for Catholics to offices both of State and of Church. The royal Dispensing
Power was ill-defined: then let it be defined according to his wishes. Four
timid or unsympathetic judges and the Solicitor-General, Heneage Finch, were
removed; and a collusive case was brought under the Test Act against Sir Edward
Hales, a Catholic who had been appointed Governor of Dover. Hales pleaded a
dispensation by letters-patent, and the King’s right to dispense with the
statute was upheld by eleven out of twelve judges. The judgment gave James his
opportunity. Catholics were sworn of the Privy Council; a Catholic was
confirmed in the mastership of University College, Oxford, where with the aid
of a Jesuit chaplain he publicly said mass; a Catholic was appointed Dean of
Christchurch; the ambassador of the
James’
administration had reached a point where it was impossible to stand still. He
must go either forward or backward, and there were no thoughts of turning back.
The storm now broke on Rochester. The Lord Treasurer, a convinced churchman,
had shown himself adverse to the recent development of the royal policy; and
Sunderland, who possessed the complete confidence of the Queen and aimed at
sole influence over the King, determined to get rid of him. Rochester was given
his choice between conversion and dismissal, chose the latter, and left office.
On January 7, 1687, the Treasury was put into commission; and, a month later,
Tyrconnel succeeded Clarendon at the head of the government in Ireland. The
threat to the Church was unmistakable. Clarendon and Rochester were the King’s
brothers-in-law, his old personal friends, devoted to the monarchy, and among
the most experienced servants of the Crown. It was evident that James, who
professed to desire nothing but toleration, had dismissed them merely for being
Protestants. The hubbub was great; and, since he still hoped to obtain from
Parliament the repeal of the Test Acts, he was forced to look for support in
the country. Dryden went over, and produced his strange and beautiful poem, The
Hind and the Panther; yet, though lesser men went with him, it was clear that
the number of conversions was not sufficient; and the High Commission proved
incapable of suppressing the numberless pamphlets put forth all over the
country against Rome. But an alliance between all dissenters from the Church of
England might perhaps break down its protecting walls. Toleration might be made
to do further service. William Penn, the celebrated Quaker, had, since his
return in 1684 from the colony that bears his name, been much at Court and had
Alone among
the Powers of Europe, France had approved and encouraged the headlong course of
the King of England. It was as much to Louis’ interest as ever that England
should remain neutral in the European situation, and he was well aware that a
substantial agreement between James and his Parliament would probably mean her
adherence to the Grand Alliance which William of Orange was forming against
him. The League of Augsburg, formed in 1686 between the Empire, Spain, Sweden,
and several German Princes, was countenanced by the austere and upright Pope,
Innocent XI. All these, Catholic as well as Protestant, desired nothing so much
as to see England united and peaceful. The envoys of the secular States backed
Rochester against Sunderland and lamented his fall. William, who through his
agent Dykvelt and by visits of both Burnet and Penn was in close touch with
English opinion, advised that the King should obtain a general toleration from
Parliament, without at the same time touching or dispensing with the tests. Had
James, after a quiet administration for some years, acted on his advice, there
can be little doubt that he would have succeeded amid the gratitude of
Catholics and Protestants and enjoyed a long and prosperous reign. But his mind
was dominated by Barillon, by Sunderland and by his Jesuit confessors, who
under a strongly French bias ruined themselves and him and the whole body of
English Catholics. By Pope Innocent his attitude was deeply reprobated. His
impolitic zeal had previously evoked pontifical rebukes. His importunities in
favour of his wife’s relatives and of Petre, his favourite, met with
procrastination and refusal. He sent as ambassador to Rome Lord Castlemaine,
who was personally obnoxious and carried objectionable instructions. He forced
the papal Nuncio in England, the suave Count d’Adda, into a compromising
situation. He neglected the good of the Catholic Church, as seen by the Pope,
with the obstinacy with which he neglected the good of his Crown, as seen by
all his wisest statesmen. “All the advices sent from Rome,” said Cardinal
Howard, whose influence as Cardinal Protector of England the Jesuits felt
bitterly, “were for slow, calm, and moderate courses. But he saw violent
courses were more acceptable, and would probably be followed.” His foresight
was justified by the event.
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