ADMINISTRATIVE FRICTION
In order to be a great Foreign Minister, a statesman must follow one of
two courses. He must either hold the internal affairs of the country in a
grasp of iron, so securely as to impose an effectual guard against their
ever becoming a source of trouble or agitation; or else he must abandon
these affairs to a knot of subsidiary and secondary agents, who will be
content to steer strictly according to the course which he has laid down.
Cromwell is a good specimen of the first; Chatham is the most conspicuous
example of the second. Circumstances did not allow Clarendon to pursue
either course, and his efforts to guide his country through the stormy sea
of foreign politics were foredoomed to failure. He could look back with
little satisfaction on the waste of life and treasure in the war now
closed. He was thwarted by a crowd of jealous intriguers at home, and his
intentions and directions as to foreign politics were often set aside by
such an agent as Downing.
But from foreign affairs we have now to turn to those matters of internal
politics which had necessarily occupied much of Clarendon's attention
while the war was in progress. Here, again, he had to tread a thorny path.
It seemed as if there was no possible source of mischief which did not add
something to his troubles. He saw that the recklessness of the courtiers
was breeding irritation and contempt towards the Crown, and weakening the
nerves and sinews of the nation. All he could now hope for in the King
was, that he might to some extent hide the scandals of his Court, and not
be entirely led away by the more dangerous spirits in it. Efficient aid
from his master, Clarendon had ceased to expect; it would be well if the
worst gang amongst the courtiers could at least be persuaded to interfere
as little as might be with affairs of State.
Meanwhile the signs of widespread disaffection were clearly visible to
Clarendon, and the existence of dangerous conspiracies was confirmed by
the strongest evidence. These were not the less threatening because they
were disseminated throughout the most dissimilar sections of society, and
were actuated by the most opposite aims. The wilder sects of the
Independents were avowedly animated by revolutionary schemes, and violent
preachers advocated them in their "congregated churches," where they
regularly assembled, in various parts of London, and stirred one another
to frenzy by aspirations for the rule of the saints. Restless discontent,
disappointed ambition, the jealousy of jarring factions at Court, all
found ready instruments in the enthusiasts who revived many of the strange
vagaries of doctrine that had been rife during the Civil War. Anabaptists
and Millenarians, Fifth-monarchy men and Levellers--all were mingled
together in the cauldron of religious and political frenzy. The reckless
vanity of a courtier like Buckingham found it useful to cultivate the
good-will of the more ardent sectaries. The Civil War had left an ample
crop of bravos, who were to be hired for any outrage, and whose excesses
added to the restless uneasiness that prevailed, and that made men
nervously apprehensive of revolution. The religious enthusiast, and the
blustering cut-throat of Alsatia, were equally open to the persuasions of
any turbulent faction which sought to defy the law. The forces of order
which Clarendon commanded were but scanty. The elements of turbulence were
overwhelming in number, and were weakened only by their confusion and
diversity. It was not Clarendon alone who saw and dreaded the danger of
disturbance. His fears were shared even by those counsellors, such as
Clifford and Arlington, who were his jealous opponents; and it was only
too evident how many sources of combustion went to feed the flame of
discontent. The Presbyterians, however little in sympathy with the aims of
the wilder sectaries, were bitterly disappointed at the ecclesiastical
settlement, and deemed that their Royalist leanings had been rewarded by
the basest ingratitude. The burden of taxation was excessive, and its
irksomeness was sorely aggravated by the added misfortunes of the Plague
and the Fire. The confidence of the city was shaken, and the monied men
shrank from making advances to a discredited administration. Even those
amongst the opponents of the Court for whom the title of patriot has been
claimed--perhaps on flimsy grounds,--were not ashamed to negotiate with
the French King, or the Dutch Pensionary, and to offer their services to
the enemies of their country. [Footnote: On June 9, 1665, Downing writes
to Clarendon that Algernon Sidney was at Breda, disguised as a Frenchman,
on his way to the Hague; and that "others of that gang" were flocking to
the Dutch as enthusiastic allies.] It seemed as if every evil which Divine
vengeance, religious frenzy, human folly, foreign enemies abroad, and
deep-rooted political discontent at home, could engender, were poured out
into the welter of confusion that reigned in England during these unhappy
years. In such a turbid flood had Clarendon to steer the ship of State.
It was this general confusion, and the dangers which it threatened, that
formed the theme of the King's Speech to Parliament at the opening of the
session in March, 1664. That Speech was doubtless composed by Clarendon,
and may be taken as expressing his views. [Footnotes: It is given by
Clarendon (_Life_, ii. 281) with a fullness which proves that he had
the notes of it still in his possession.] "The spirits of many of our old
enemies," it said, "were still active." Old conspiracies, detected in the
capital, had shown themselves once more in the provinces.
"The malcontents were still pursuing the same consultation, and have
correspondence with desperate persons in most counties, and a standing
council in the metropolis, from which they receive their directions, and
by whom they were advised to defer their last intended insurrection."
"These desperate men," he proceeded, "have not been all of one mind in the
ways of carrying on their wicked resolutions. Some would still insist upon
the authority of the Long Parliament, of which, they say, they have
members enough willing to meet; others have fancied to themselves by some
computation of their own, upon some clause of the Triennial Bill, that
this present Parliament was at an end some months since; and that, for
want of new writs, they may assemble themselves and choose members of
Parliament."
Then follows a passage which has caused much searching of hearts amongst
our Whig historians.
"I confess to you, my Lords and Gentlemen, I have often myself read over
that Bill; and though there is no colour for the fancy of the
determination of this Parliament, yet I will not deny to you, that I have
always expected that you would, and even wondered that you have not
considered the wonderful clauses of the Bill, which passed in a time very
uncareful for the dignity of the Crown, or the security of the people....
I need not tell you how much I love Parliaments. Never King was so much
beholden to Parliaments as I have been, nor do I think the Crown can ever
be happy without frequent Parliaments. But, assure yourselves, if I should
think otherwise, I could never suffer a Parliament to come together by the
means prescribed in that Bill." [Footnote: In a note upon this passage,
Mr. Lister assumes that it means only that the King pledged himself to
summon a Parliament within the prescribed time, rather than allow it to
meet by the operation of the Act; but that he did not contemplate anything
but submission to the Act, in the event of failure of such summons. He
differs--with some hesitation--from Mr. Hallam, who stigmatizes it as "an
audacious declaration, equivalent to an avowed design, in certain
circumstances, of preventing the execution of the laws by force of arms"--
a declaration such as "was never before heard from the lips of an English
King." We take the liberty of agreeing with Hallam's interpretation as
against Lister's, but of dissenting from Hallam's estimate of the
culpability of the avowal.]
It is absurd to think it needful either to explain away such a plain
statement of policy, or to attribute to its author any constitutional
crime. The King declared his intention to have constant recourse to
Parliaments. But he also declared, with good reason, not only that he gave
no weight whatever to the baseless assumption that a new Parliament must
be elected every three years, but also that he would never feel himself
justified, by the provisions of an Act of Parliament passed under evil
auspices, in permitting a Parliament to be elected under conditions which
necessarily implied a complete subversion of every constitutional
principle. There is such a thing as pedantic reverence for statute law. It
is perfectly clear that a statute which provided that electors might
proceed themselves to elect their representatives, and that sovereign
power should be committed to these representatives, virtually assumes a
state of anarchy to prevail. No constituted authority could, consistently
with its fundamental duty, ever contemplate a case in which it could
voluntarily permit such procedure. Far from proclaiming an intention to
infringe the constitution, Charles only uttered a commonplace of
administrative duty. It is perfectly clear that to permit the course
indicated in the Triennial Act would be to bring into being not one
Parliament, but as many Parliaments as there were different factions in
the country, free to meet together and chose their own representatives as
and how they pleased. In such a case effective government would have
ceased to exist. The Speech from the Throne had at least the desired
effect. The Bill for the repeal of the Triennial Act passed rapidly
through both Houses. Parliament was not to be intermitted for more than
three years; but the enactment was buttressed by none of the obnoxious
provisions of the previous Act, which would have preserved the fiction of
a free Parliament by a resort to the methods of anarchy, and by assuming
that such methods were consistent with constitutional and settled
government.
But further measures appeared necessary to secure the safety of Church and
Crown. Alarm had been created by the threatening tone of the addresses in
the "congregated churches," where the preachers drew their most effective
metaphors from the language of the camp and the battlefield, and where he
was heard with most reverence who depicted in the most lurid language the
doom which overhung the Court and the Church, and of which it was the duty
of every devout enthusiast to make himself the instrument. To check this
it was deemed necessary to proscribe Conventicles, and a new Bill was
introduced, and rapidly passed, declaring any meeting of more than five
persons for religious services, otherwise than in accordance with the
Liturgy of the Church, to be "a seditious and unlawful conventicle." The
penalty for attendance was, in the case of a first offender, to be a fine
of five pounds, or three months' imprisonment; ten pounds, or six months
for a second offence; and thereafter transportation, or a fine of one
hundred pounds. It is, of course, easy to denounce this Act on the
specious and readily accepted principle of religious toleration. But, as
it met with no opposition in a Parliament where there was already a party
prepared to thwart the measures of the Court, we must assume that the
general sense of danger appeared to justify it beyond possibility of
contradiction. We must at least not forget, in judging the justification
of the Act, that it embodied the same principles which were applied until
the last quarter of the eighteenth century, under a succession of Whig
administrations, to assemblies of Episcopalian adherents in Scotland, and
of Roman Catholics in both countries. If the principle of religious
toleration is to be a universal guide, it is difficult to say why the
maxims it enjoins should be held to apply only in the case of
Presbyterians and Independents. Whatever the blame to be measured out to
the promoters of the Act, there is no ground for exempting Clarendon from
his share of responsibility. Our estimate of the weight of that
responsibility will vary according as we judge the real danger of the
situation. That there was widespread and implacable disaffection, there
can be no reasonable doubt. That it was fostered to a very large extent by
the earnest sympathy, and the stimulating harangues, of the sectarian
preachers, admits of just as little doubt. Rumours of plots were
thickening day by day. Evidence was forthcoming of a plan for seizing the
Tower, and one, Colonel Danvers, who was concerned in it, was rescued from
the hands of the King's officers by open force. [Footnote: Pepys, August
5th, 1665.] The Plague not unnaturally increased the panic that prevailed;
and the air seemed darkened by vague threatenings, in which war,
pestilence, and famine cast their gloomy shadows over the land. It is hard
to say how Clarendon, or any other Minister, could have withstood the
determination of Parliament to make adequate provision against what it
deemed to be impending dangers.
The increasing prevalence of the Plague forced the Court and Parliament
once again, in 1665, to move to Oxford; and there legislation followed the
same course. Still further security was deemed necessary against the
dissenting clergy, and a new Bill was introduced, providing that all non-
conforming clergy should take the oath of non-resistance--declaring that
it was unlawful on any pretence, to take up arms against the King, and
that they would at no time endeavour any alteration of government in
Church and State; and providing that those who refused the oath should be
incapable of teaching in schools, and should not be permitted to reside
within five miles [Footnote: Hence its popular name of "The Five Mile
Act."] of any city or burgh returning members to Parliament, or of any
place where they had acted as ministers of religion.
The Bill was evidently conceived under the influence of a panic. Absurd as
were its provisions, they would perhaps not have been so severely
condemned, under the high ethical standard of later historians, had they
not been accompanied by the almost humorous provision that the penalties
should be escaped by an oath, which not the most compliant Nonconformists
could possibly have accepted. Sarcastic pleasantries of that sort always
bring upon coercive legislation a heavier condemnation than it would
otherwise incur.
Whatever its merits or demerits, the Bill was one which the House of
Commons was determined to have, and which it passed without a division. It
was only in the Lords that it met with opposition. There its chief
advocate was Archbishop Sheldon, whose inclination coincided with what he
naturally believed to be his duty--to press every advantage for the
Church. Sheldon was faithful to his convictions, and frankly desirous of
securing the Church against any new efforts of the Nonconformists. His
attitude was that of the stalwart ecclesiastical protagonist, whose
business it was to avenge the wrongs of the Church, not to conciliate her
foes; and considerations of what was prudent in secular politics had no
concern for him. Between Sheldon and Clarendon there was the sympathy of
old and tried friendship and of comradeship in many a hard fight. But
Clarendon, faithful friend of the Church as he was, did not always see eye
to eye with ecclesiastics. We have seen how often and how severely he
could criticize them; and his sympathy with their general object did not
always commend to him their methods. His doubts might not always lead him
to assume an attitude of open and direct opposition. Deliberate abstention
might be just as effective, and was less liable to be misunderstood by the
friends of the Church. As a fact, in this case Clarendon was absent from
the debates owing to his persistent enemy, the gout. He expresses no
opinion adverse or otherwise upon the Act, of which he omits to make any
mention. This sufficiently indicates his attitude towards it; and his own
closest political ally, Southampton, offered direct opposition to the Bill
in the Lords. Whatever his loyalty to the Church, Southampton declared, he
could take no oath to pledge himself against any alteration, which he
might even "see cause to endeavour."
We need have little doubt as to which way Clarendon's sympathies went in
the dispute between his two old friends. But indeed the passing of the
Bill depended upon no individual views and upon the action of no Minister.
The House of Commons was more Royalist than the King--more orthodox than
the Church. Charles was finding out now what he was to find out more
surely as time went on, that the bull-headed obstinacy of his friends
might be quite as troublesome as the intrigues and plottings of his foes.
It would have been dangerous either for King or Minister to resist the
impetuosity of Parliamentary intolerance. We cannot assume sympathy on
Clarendon's part with these exaggerations of loyalty to the Church, from
his general commendation of the Parliament at Oxford, and its legislation
as a whole. It had, he tells us, "preserved that excellent harmony that
the King had proposed." "Never Parliament so entirely sympathized with his
Majesty;" "It passed more Acts for his honour and security than any other
had ever done in so short a session." All this was strictly true; and that
Parliament doubtless did not lose favour in Clarendon's eyes, because it
met at Oxford, and amidst those congenial surroundings which reminded him
of the old days, and the old fights amongst comrades whose aims were
purer, and their hearts higher, than the actors on the present stage.
Clarendon might, however, be fully persuaded of the honest aims of the
Parliamentary Cavaliers, without approving all their methods or being
blind to the danger these methods involved.
We have now to turn to another aspect of the work of this session, which
concerned Clarendon much more directly, and which aroused in him not mere
doubts of its expediency, but direct and deeply-felt conviction of its
pernicious tendency. It is a matter which it is worth examining with some
care, because it struck at Clarendon's fundamental theory of
administration, and aroused in him an antipathy which may easily be
misunderstood if we do not apprehend exactly what it involved.
In no sphere of administration did more difficult problems emerge after
the Restoration than in that of Finance. It was then, as it always must
be, the pivot upon which all constitutional questions turned; and it was
this which had given to Parliament the lever by which the monarchy had
been overturned. When the Restoration took place, it was natural that some
of the older usages in regard to finance should be revived. Cromwell had
dictated their course to those feeble figments of Parliamentary
representation which he had allowed to exist, and had crushed out any
financial liberties which they might be supposed to possess. A regular
system of assessment, by the quarter or the month, had been laid upon the
counties. The real responsibility for this had rested with local
functionaries acting under the direct orders of the executive; and its
regularity caused it to be submitted to without resistance. Excise had
been established, as we have seen, during the Civil War, as a temporary
expedient, destined to be permanent; and any sudden alteration of this
would have led to financial confusion. The old system of subsidies, of
which a certain number were voted according to the exigencies of the time,
and the power of the Government to influence Parliament, had been
abandoned. When the Restoration came, these subsidies were for a while
resumed. But at the same time a regular revenue of £1,200,000 was granted
to the Crown, and provision was supposed to be made for it by assigning
certain taxes, and the produce of the Excise, for the purpose. But this
was found to be inadequate to realize the stated income, and that income
was found inadequate to meet the increasing expenditure, especially when
the defence of England's commercial interests had to be maintained by a
large and costly fleet. When the enormous and unprecedented grant of
£2,500,000 was made to the Crown for the Dutch war, it was provided that
it should be realized, not by the old method of subsidies, but by twelve
quarterly assessments extending over three years. Clarendon's aim was by
no means to place the Crown in a position of financial irresponsibility.
He realized that Parliament had a place in the Constitution as well as the
Crown, and had no desire to minimize the financial independence of
Parliament, or to free the Crown from the necessity of regular resort to
Parliament for such special and extraordinary grants as might be
necessary. But he thought that the Crown should be provided with a regular
revenue to meet ordinary expenses; and that it should be required to apply
to Parliament only for any increase of that revenue if special exigencies
should arise. But the revenue, so granted, should belong to the Crown,
which should be free to administer it according to the judgment of the
Ministers of the Crown. Parliament possessed the prerogative of making the
grant, and thereby of imposing conditions upon it. But once made, the
Ministers of the Crown were to be responsible for its application. Any
maladministration would be subject of punishment by the Crown, or, if need
be, of impeachment by the Parliament.
The abandonment of the system of subsidies almost necessarily led to
another far-reaching change. Separate subsidies had formerly been granted
by Parliament in respect of the nation, and by Convocation in respect of
the Church. The right of making independent grants was a doubtful
privilege for the Church, and would, had it continued, have caused endless
confusion to the Exchequer. It was abandoned by consent. No statute
abolished it. It was an old usage, but rested upon little more than usage;
and it was abolished, once and for all, not by statute, but by arrangement
between Sheldon and the leaders of the Church, on the one hand, and
Clarendon and Southampton on the other. It was an instance of the
abandonment of an ancient principle, sanctioned by the usage of centuries
and intimately bound up with the relations between Church and State, by no
action of the legislature, but solely by the action of the Crown. At the
same time, by an almost more startling extension of the prerogative, the
clergy were compensated by being allowed to take part in the election of
Parliamentary representatives.
The method by which the grants given by Parliament could be made available
for national expenditure had been found easy and convenient. For this
purpose the help of the bankers, who were generally goldsmiths of high
standing, was invoked. Clarendon gives us a detailed account of the usage.
Half a dozen of the leading monied men of the city were summoned to the
council chamber. They knew the amount of grant made by Parliament, and
were asked to what extent they were prepared to make advances upon this
amount. They did so in reliance upon the faith of the King and the Lord
Treasurer, and upon the certainty that any failure to fulfil its
obligations on the part of the Exchequer would inevitably lead to national
loss of credit, and consequent bankruptcy. If the current rate of interest
was 6 per cent., they advanced the money at 8 per cent., and counted on
the 2 per cent. to recoup them. Clarendon thought the rate fair, and found
the method eminently convenient. But the bankers relied solely upon the
good faith and prudence of the Minister. There was nothing to prevent the
King making an assignment of the revenue, as it came in, to purposes other
than the reimbursement of the bankers. The only guarantee against this was
the good faith of the responsible Minister and the certainty that the
Crown must submit its case to Parliament should the need of further grant
arise. The King had to adapt his expenditure to his revenue; but the
application of revenue to any particular branch of the expenditure was, in
Clarendon's view, a matter for himself and his responsible Ministers.
On more than one occasion in the past grants from Parliament had been
expressly assigned to specific purposes, and such an arrangement had
unquestionably much to commend it. But a long time often intervened
between the making of a grant and the realization of revenue. Money had to
be procured at once, and before the tax yielded revenue new needs had
arisen, and new expenditure had to be incurred. The system of
appropriating supplies would undoubtedly make the financial administration
more mechanical, circumscribe the responsibility of Ministers, and cripple
the power of the Crown in applying revenue towards pressing objects.
Unforeseen savings--though these, indeed, were not an item of much
importance in the financial administration of Charles's reign--could not,
under such a system, be applied to new exigencies without a further
warrant from Parliament. The whole system of appropriation, however
defensible on the modern maxims of sound finance, was inconvenient in
working, and tended to increase the dependence of the Crown on Parliament,
and to diminish at once the discretion and the responsibility of Ministers
of the Crown.
It was during the Parliament at Oxford in 1665 that this fundamental
change in the financial system was pressed forward by the personal
jealousy of that clique at Court which sought the ruin of Southampton and
Clarendon. Specious arguments could easily be brought forward against the
greed and extortion of the bankers, who were realizing fortunes by the
loose financial administration which made the King's revenue pass through
their hands, and subjected it to a heavy toll upon which they throve. Once
revenue was assigned to a specific object, the credit of the Crown, it was
alleged, would be enormously enhanced, and it would be perfectly easy to
establish a State bank, on the model of that in Amsterdam, which would be
a perennial source from which money might be drawn as required. And this
facility of supply would be joined with purity of financial
administration; Parliament would know exactly what was done with the money
that it voted; leakages would be stopped, and peculation would cease to be
possible.
The arguments were at once specious and inviting. But in truth the real
motives which prompted the new proposals were jealousy of Southampton and
Clarendon and personal ambition. The prime mover was Sir George Downing,
that turbulent and versatile political adventurer, who had run through the
whole gamut of political tergiversation, and who, as envoy to Holland, had
long worried Clarendon by the pertinacity with which he had provoked the
jealousy of the Dutch and had done all in his power to precipitate the
war. He had contrived to secure appointment as one of the Tellers of the
Exchequer, was in close confederacy with Bennet, now Lord Arlington, and
was scheming with him to oust the influence of the Chancellor and the
Treasurer. His perquisites, as Teller of the Exchequer, were lessened by
the assignment of taxes to the bankers in return for their advances, and
as the proceeds of the taxes did not pass through the Exchequer, the
percentage to the Tellers was thereby diminished. The position of Lord
Southampton was difficult to assail. "His reputation was so great, his
wisdom so unquestionable, and his integrity so confessed, that they knew
in neither of those points he could be impeached." [Footnote: _Life_,
iii. 2.] The King was still faithful to his Treasurer, and insinuations as
to his increasing age and unfitness for active business did not shake his
confidence. But Southampton's enemies were strengthened by the support of
Ashley, who, though his advancement was due to his relationship to
Southampton by marriage, was beginning to feel that he might well rid
himself of the ladder by which he had climbed, and that he himself would
be a very competent Treasurer. It was only when he perceived that his
confederates might not aid this ambition that he became more lukewarm in
his support of their schemes.
There was at least one convenience in the present system. The facile
humour of the King led him to assign revenues to suitors who had no very
creditable claims to reward. It was convenient to him to shift to the
Chancellor and the Treasurer the odium of refusing to endorse these
grants. Their watchful jealousy against inroads upon the national
resources increased the number of their enemies; but it saved the King
from the irksome burden of refusal. It was speciously urged against this
that the root of all the financial difficulties was
"the unlimited power of the Lord Treasurer, that no money could issue out
without his particular direction, and all money was paid upon no other
rules than his order; so that, let the King want as much as was possible,
no money could be paid by him without the Treasurer's warrant." [Footnote:
_Life_, iii. 5.]
It was a persuasive argument for Charles's ears. The popular pretence went
only a little way. The real aim--and this it was that attracted the King--
was that personal authority should be eliminated, and that he should no
longer be subject to the galling supervision of the two Ministers, whose
bull-dog honesty was so often inconvenient. Meanwhile the minds of the
members of the House were cunningly prepared for the reception of the new
design, by invectives against the bankers. They were "cheats,
bloodsuckers, extortioners." Their enemies "would have them looked upon as
the causes of all the King's necessities and of the want of monies
throughout the kingdom." [Footnote: _Ibid._, p. 7.]
When the Bill for supply was brought in by the Solicitor-General, Downing
found his opportunity. He proposed a proviso, the object of which was "to
make all the money that was to be raised by the Bill to be applied only to
those ends to which it was given, and to no other purpose whatsoever, by
what authority soever." The restrictions thus imposed upon the royal
authority were viewed with jealousy by many, who found in them a renewal
of that financial supremacy of the Commons which had been the symptom of
the approach of the rebellion. Cromwell, it was pointed out, had himself
seen the inconvenience of such restrictions, and had refused to submit to
them. The proviso would have been defeated, had not Downing assured the
Solicitor-General that the proviso was proposed by the King's own
direction. After the House had risen, the King sent for the Solicitor-
General, and "forbade him any more to oppose that proviso, for that it was
much for his service." [Footnote: _Ibid._, p. 11.] He refused to
listen to any remonstrances. "He would bear the inconveniences which would
ensue upon his own account, for the benefits which would accrue." Downing
took care to strengthen these favourable resolutions of the King. "He
would make his Exchequer the best and the greatest bank in Europe, where
all Europe would, when it was once understood, pay in their money for the
certain profit it would yield, and the indubitable certainty that they
should receive their money." He would, he assured the King, "erect the
King's Exchequer into the same degree of credit that the Bank of Amsterdam
stood upon." He forgot to tell the King that such credit could only be
established by eliminating the personal influence and authority of the
Crown over finance. That was no doubt a change which must come. But it
formed no part of Charles's calculation, and it was opposed to Clarendon's
theory of monarchy. Clarendon states the case with precision. Downing
propounded his scheme
"without weighing that the security for monies so deposited in banks (such
as that of Amsterdam) is the republic itself, which must expire before
that security can fail; which can never be depended on in a monarchy,
where the monarch's sole word can cancel all those formal provisions which
can be made." [Footnote: _Life_, iii. 13.]
Anxious as he was for financial purity and for a due interdependence of
King and Parliament, Clarendon was not disposed to part with this
prerogative of the Crown. Downing and his allies were equally aware that
to abandon it was no part of Charles's thoughts. It would be absurd to
argue back from later days when such a claim on the part of the Crown was
a thing of the past. The essence of the plan, which made it palatable to
the King and the object of all Downing's scheming, was that "it was to
new-model the whole Government of the country, in which the King resolved
to have no more superior officers." The power of these superior officers
was an incubus of which Charles longed to rid himself.
The Bill passed the House of Commons, and was brought to the Lords. Such
Bills, says Clarendon in an interesting passage, [Footnote: _Life_, iii.
13.] "seldom stay long with the Lords."
"Of custom, which they call privilege, they are first begun in the House
of Commons, where they endure long deliberation, and when they are
adjusted there, they seem to pass through the House of Peers with the
reading twice and formal commitment, in which any alterations are very
rarely made, except in any impositions which are laid upon their
(_i.e._ the Lords') own persons." "The same endorsement that is sent
up by the Commons is usually the Bill itself that is presented to the King
for his royal assent."
It is to be observed that Clarendon is speaking of custom only, not of
right; and he is careful to add that such Bills are "no more valid without
their (the Lords') consent than without that of the other (the Commons);
and they may alter any clause in them that they do not think for the good
of the people." Only "the Lords use not to put any stop on the passage of
such Bills, much less diminish what is offered by them to the King."
But in spite of such usage, the new provisions of the Bill so alarmed
those in the House of Lords who understood the matter, as to prompt them
to an alteration. Both the Chancellor and the Treasurer were confined by
illness, and neither of them had received notice of the Bill. It was only
when their colleagues in the House of Lords informed them of its purport
that they resolved to resist what they believed to be a deadly blow to the
power of the Crown, albeit dealt with the sanction and active approval of
the King.
By this time Ashley, who, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, found his own
prerogatives threatened, had definitely ranged himself against those with
whom he had been associated in plotting against Clarendon and Southampton.
His fertile wit supplied new arguments, and helped him to alarm the King.
Charles
"was contented that the matter should be debated in his presence; and
because the Chancellor was in his bed, thought his chamber to be the
fittest place for the consultation; and the Lord Treasurer, though
indisposed and apprehensive of the gout, could yet use his feet, and was
very willing to attend his Majesty there, without the least imagining that
he was aimed at."
Clarendon could no longer rely upon an effective ally in his aged
colleague.
Besides the King and the Duke of York and the two chief Ministers there
were present Ashley, Arlington, and Coventry. The law officers were there
to advise; and Downing was admitted that he might answer the objections to
his scheme. Ashley began the discussion by inveighing against the proviso.
The King checked this "by declaring that whatsoever had been done in the
whole transaction of it had been with his privity and approbation, and the
whole blame must be laid to his own charge, who, it seems, was like to
suffer most by it." Whatever the tendency of the proviso, it is clear that
such action made an end of all real ministerial responsibility, if the
chief Ministers of the Crown were to find their authority undermined by
schemes which the King might concoct with inferior officers. The
appropriation of supplies might be a step towards financial control; but
it was bought at a heavy cost if it was to be achieved by backstairs
influence against the advice of the King's responsible advisers. Clarendon
was not prepared to accept what he believed to be a breach of the Crown's
constitutional prerogative; but, compared with his master, he had
travelled far on the road towards constitutional monarchy. Charles's
nonchalant surrender of the powers of the Crown was carried out with
cynical disregard of all the principles of the constitution.
But the King did not refuse to admit the force of some of the adverse
arguments. He confessed "that they had given some reasons against it which
he had not thought of, and which in truth he could not answer," and he was
waiting to hear it argued further. The first objection was its novelty.
The new proviso would form a dangerous precedent, which would hereafter
appear in every Bill. The King would not be "master of his own money, nor
the Ministers of his revenue be able to assign monies to meet any casual
expenses." The authority of the Treasurer and the Chancellor of the
Exchequer must be vested in the Tellers of the Exchequer, who were
subordinate officers. Clarendon's comment upon this is characteristic of
his best vein of grave sarcasm.
"The King had in his nature so little reverence for antiquity, and did in
truth so much contemn old orders, forms, and institutions, that the
objections of novelty rather advanced than obstructed any proposition. He
was a great lover of new inventions, and thought them the effects of wit
and spirit, and fit to control the superstitious observation of the
dictates of our ancestors; so that objection made little impression."
Many sore trials to his patience have lent point and acid to Clarendon's
satirical picture of a master, whose cynicism made him fancy that blind
pursuit of novelty sat well upon the occupant of a throne that rested
chiefly upon ancient usage, and upon the glamour of reverence which that
usage brought.
The overpowering temptation to the King was the chimera of a bank which,
it was represented, would be created by this new proviso. It was in vain
that Clarendon showed that the hope was an empty one; that heavy interest
would have to be paid for advances; that good husbandry, and that alone,
could restore order to the finances. Downing was an adept in specious
argument. "He wrapped himself up, according to his custom, in a mist of
words that nobody could see light in, but they who by often hearing the
same chat thought they understood it."
To the King's credit it must be counted that he was not indifferent to the
injustice involved to the bankers, who had already advanced large sums, on
the credit of the King and his Minister, for which, under the new proviso,
they could receive no reimbursement, and might thus be ruined. That and
the other arguments impressed him. He went so far as to "wish that the
matter had been better consulted," and confessed that Downing "had not
answered many of the objections." But the balance of personal convenience,
and the facilities which Downing lavishly promised, in the end carried the
day. That vein of obstinacy, which was entwined with the love of ease in
Charles, determined him to adopt an expedient, hazardous, indeed, but
which promised some hope of financial fruit, and had been propounded on
the King's own orders. Perhaps Clarendon himself contributed to this
result by the natural, but imprudent, outbreak of indignation which moved
him in the King's own presence to scold Downing in no measured terms. To
do so was almost the same as to administer the scolding to the King
himself; and even a temper so easy as that of Charles could hardly have
taken such an outburst in good part.
"It was impossible," Clarendon told Downing, "for the King to be well
served whilst fellows of his condition were admitted to speak as much as
they had a mind to; and that, in the best times, such presumptions had
been punished with imprisonment by the Lords of the Council without the
King taking notice of it."
Clarendon himself seems to have felt that such an utterance, in the
presence of the King, to one whom the King declared to have acted on his
orders, was a straining of courtly etiquette which required some apology.
It was uttered, he tells us, in the extremity of bodily pain; and he
thought "it did not exceed the privilege and the dignity of the place he
held." Clarendon certainly set himself no very strict bonds of courtliness
in the freedom of his utterances to his King. On this particular occasion
his plain speaking seems to have rankled.
What, then, was the real meaning of this change, so bitterly resented by
Clarendon, and eventually adopted in the teeth of his advice by Parliament
and King? It is absurd to suppose that any consuming desire for financial
exactitude prompted the action of Downing, of Arlington, or of Coventry.
No doubt they anticipated one necessary result of full Parliamentary
control over finance, in the principle of appropriation. But what they
really desired was to eliminate the discretion, and thereby the control
over expenditure, which was exercised by the great officers of State. That
also was bound to come. The rapidly increasing range of administration and
of expenditure must inevitably have substituted routine rules and fixed
practice for the personal intervention, and the exercise of personal
authority, by those great officers of State. But Clarendon was loth to
part with this personal authority; he distrusted, with good reason, the
honesty and the independence of the inferior officials into whose hands
the administration of finance was intended to pass, and who could easily,
under the cover of routine practice, which relieved them from the
intervention of their superiors, conceal a system of malversation. The
change, indeed, embodied in its essentials the passing of authority from
the great responsible officers to a bureaucracy. Its full results could
not yet be seen. Its dangers have since then been prevented, and it is to
be hoped they may not again arise. But Clarendon saw in the change the
reversal of all former traditions; the diminishing of responsibility in
the high officers and the substitution for them of a lower grade of petty
officials, shielded by the great edifice of rules of routine in which they
become experts, and, as such, are unassailable. It was a change which was
bound to come. It was impossible that the vast machine of national finance
could be guided by rules laid down for each case by a responsible
Minister. The change was none the less a revolution, and was not more
welcome to Clarendon, in that it was carried out by the scheming of an
ambitious underling, working upon the facile temper of the King, who thus
hoped to have an ampler supply of revenue, freed from the control of
Ministers who could curb his extravagance.
The episode produced a marked increase of the estrangement between the
King and the Minister who had served him so well. Clarendon's fierce
denunciation of Downing's presumption rankled in Charles's memory, and
those about him took care that it should not be smoothed over. "Whatever
else was natural to wit sharpened with malice to suggest upon such an
argument, they enforced with warmth, that they desired might be taken for
zeal for his service and dignity, which was prostituted by those
presumptions of the Chancellor." [Footnote: _Life_, iii. 24.] Clarendon
soon learned the truth from the changed demeanour of the King. At first he
was at a loss to explain this; but Charles soon spoke in terms that could
not be mistaken, and expressed "a great resentment of it," as an
unpardonable insult. "And all this," adds Clarendon, "in a choler very
unnatural to him, which exceedingly troubled the Chancellor and made him
more discern, though he had evidence enough of it before, that he stood
upon very slippery ground." [Footnote: _Life_, iii. 25.] It was no
part of Clarendon's character to take such a rebuke in silence or to leave
it to pass gradually from the mind of the King. His conscience, he said,
had not reproached him; but since his Majesty thought his behaviour so
bad, "he must and did believe he had committed a great fault, for which he
did humbly ask his pardon." It was impossible, he said, that any one could
believe that he sought to keep the King from a clear view of his own
affairs; and none knew better than his Majesty how earnestly he had
striven "that his Majesty might never set his hand to anything before he
fully understood it upon such references and reports as, according to the
nature of the business, were to be for his full information." That innate
reverence for the power of the Crown, which was Clarendon's guiding
principle, could hardly have been united with sharper sarcasm upon the
business methods of the King.
To outward seeming the feeling of offence was removed. Charles had no wish
to resume the argument, and forbade him to believe "that it was or could
be in any man's power to make him suspect his affection or integrity to
his service." He covered any resentment he might feel with that
dissimulation of which he was so great a master; and soon after gave an
earnest of his continued good-will by promoting Clarendon's kinsman, Dr.
Hyde, to the Bishopric of Salisbury. "Nor was his credit with the King
thought to be lessened by anybody but himself, who knew more to that
purpose than other people could do." It may be doubted whether some of
Charles's familiars did not guess more shrewdly than Clarendon supposed.
The gossip of Pepys lets us know that the tongues of talebearers were not
silent.