speech, which was considered a model of eloquence, he maintained that
James, by his flight and abdication, had forfeited all claim to
allegiance, and he drew up a manifesto to that effect, declaring the
throne of England to be vacant.
He was thus most instrumental in the passing of the Exclusion Bill,
which precluded the succession of a Popish Prince to the Crown of
England. In all the differences of opinion which now ensued between
the two Houses, John Sommers zealously supported the claims of
William and Mary. He also gained lasting renown by the declaration
that he drew up for classing under general heads ‘such things as were
necessary for the better security of our religion, laws, and
liberties.’ Hence sprang the world-famed Bill of Rights, with which
the name of John Sommers is indissolubly connected. William and
Mary were proclaimed King and Queen; Lord Shrewsbury made his friend,
and that friend’s merits, known to the new Sovereigns; and Sir John
Sommers, Knight, was appointed Solicitor-General. He now took a
prominent part in every public question of importance, evincing the
utmost consistency in his opinions and principles; and his biographer
and earnest admirer, Lord Campbell, appears never to have found fault
with his administration of justice, excepting in one instance, namely,
the course he pursued with regard to a Bill for regulating high
treason—a question we leave to judicial minds. But the same pen awards
him great praise for the manner in which he conducted prosecutions
before Courts of Justice, which he designates as ‘mild, candid, and
merciful.’ Speaking of the trial of Lord Preston and others for high
treason (the first State trial of the reign), in which his moderation
and humanity were universally extolled, Sommers himself said: ‘I
did never think that it was the part of any, who were counsel for the
King in cases of this nature, to aggravate the crime of the prisoners,
or to put false colours on the evidence.’
Indeed, the manner in which these trials were conducted formed an
epoch in legal annals, contrasting brilliantly with the injustice and
cruelty which had characterised former tribunals. Lord Preston, though
found guilty, and sentenced to death, owed his respite and subsequent
pardon to the recommendation of Sir John Sommers.
When war was declared with France, it was the Solicitor-General who
drew up the declaration; and in 1692 he was promoted to the office of
Attorney-General, and shortly afterwards chosen counsel for the
plaintiff in the first trial for criminal conversation, _i.e._ the
Duke of Norfolk _versus_ Sir John Germaine. But the divorce was not
granted till after Sommers became Chancellor. In 1693 he was
again returned for Worcester, and a few days afterwards the Great Seal
of England was intrusted to his keeping, and he took his seat at the
Council Board. Evelyn thus records the event: ‘The Attorney-General
Sommers made Lord Keeper, a young lawyer of extraordinary
merit.’
The appointment (with the exception, naturally, of adverse
politicians) was generally popular. Burnet says: ‘Sommers is
very learned in his own profession, with a great deal more learning in
other professions,—divinity, philosophy, and history.’
He had great capacity for business, a fair and gentle temper, having
all the patience and softness, as well as the justice and equity,
becoming a great magistrate. He had always agreed in his notions with
the Whigs, and had striven to bring them to better thoughts of the
King, and greater confidence in him. During the seven years he
presided in the Court of Chancery he won golden opinions, having most
important judicial duties to perform, and acting on several occasions
as Lord Steward in State trials. A close friendship now existed
between the King and Sommers, but the latter knew how to uphold
both his personal and official dignity, which he proved in a most
remarkable manner at the beginning of this reign, in a passage of arms
that occurred between his Royal master and himself. During the time
that the Seal was in commission, his Majesty had exercised unlimited
judicial patronage, and conceived the idea of continuing to do so,
unquestioned. He was on the eve of embarking for Flanders at the time
of Sommers’s appointment, and he sent Lord Nottingham to the new
Minister, with orders to make out patents for the Chief Baron of the
Exchequer, the Chief-Justice of Chester, and for the Attorney-General.
This cavalier manner of proceeding did not suit Sir John
Sommers, and as the King was still detained at Harwich, waiting
for favourable winds, he wrote a respectful but resolute letter to his
Majesty on the subject, pointing out, in clear, distinct terms, that,
under the conditions imposed on him, he must tender his
resignation—_Anglicè_, he would not accept a post shorn of all
judicial patronage. The King responded nobly to this straightforward
appeal, declined the resignation, paid the Lord Keeper the highest
tribute as to ability and fitness for the great office, announced his
intention of non-interference for the future, but ended by the hope
that Sommers would take the names of the candidates already
mentioned into consideration.
In fact, this short misunderstanding increased and cemented the
cordiality between King and Minister. The three men William had named
were continued, but the office of Attorney-General soon after falling
vacant, was filled up by a nominee of Sommers’s own selection.
Although he declined the offer of a Peerage, he sat in the House of
Lords as Speaker, and exercised a weighty influence over William’s
opinions. On the subject of ‘unlicensed printing,’ the liberal King
and the liberal Minister were agreed, and the Bill was passed by
which, says Macaulay, ‘English literature was emancipated for ever.’
It was strange how little excitement was caused by so great an event.
Neither Evelyn nor Luttrell allude to it in their Diaries, and the
Dutch Minister forgot to mention it in his despatches.
However, from this time forth, the liberty of the Press was assured;
and ‘now we have only to be watchful,’ Lord Campbell sapiently
remarks, ‘lest the Press itself be not turned into an engine of
tyranny.’
In 1690 Queen Mary was attacked with small-pox, and to the
inexpressible grief of her husband, shared by the greater part of the
nation, she died after a very short illness. Friendly messages had
been exchanged between her and her sister, but Mary’s state was too
critical to allow of her being exposed to the excitement of an
interview. When the last scene was over, and the last duties paid to
the beloved Queen and consort, the attempt at reconciling the Princess
of Denmark and her brother-in-law was renewed, and Lord Sunderland,
the Duke of Marlborough, and Sir John Sommers, joined to promote
the wished-for result. Anne had been persuaded to write to the King,
who, stunned by grief, showed little inclination to respond to her
advances. Sommers therefore, bent on carrying out his object,
made his way into the Royal presence at Kensington, where he found
William absorbed in speechless grief. He waited for some time in
respectful sympathy, hoping that the King would break the painful
silence, but was at length compelled to take the initiative.
With the gentle delicacy that characterised him, the Lord Keeper
broached the subject, pointing out how essential it was, on public as
well as private grounds, that the enmity between his Majesty and his
wife’s sister should cease. ‘Do as you will,’ replied the unhappy
widower, ‘I can think of no business.’ An interview was accordingly
arranged. Anne was graciously received, apartments assigned her in St.
James’s Palace, and due honour paid her as heir-presumptive to the
Crown. William once more pressed a Peerage on Sir John (through his
friend, now Duke of Shrewsbury), but it was again declined. He was
placed virtually at the head of the Regency (the Archbishop of
Canterbury presiding only in name), when the King again left England
for a foreign campaign.
He took a prominent part in the great measure for the reformation of
the coinage, and drew up and strongly advocated a plan by which
clipping money could be prevented; but this was not carried into
effect. Lord Macaulay praises him highly for the appointments he made
of such eminent men as Sir Isaac Newton and John Locke, for the
respective posts of Warden of the Mint and a Lordship of Trade.
In 1697 Sir John resigned the Seals, only to have them returned to
him, with the title of Lord Chancellor and Baron Sommers of
Evesham, county Worcester, as also grants of the manors of Reigate and
Howleigh in Surrey, with a yearly income to enable him to keep up the
same. On the retirement of Lord Godolphin, the Ministry became wholly
Whig,—Montagu, Russell, Sommers, and Wharton forming ‘the
Junto.’ In the same year the Peace of Ryswick was signed, by which
France made great concessions, and acknowledged William as King of
England, and Anne as his successor, a circumstance which gave rise to
much rejoicing. But serious differences took place between the King
and his Parliament, which required the disbanding of the troops that
had done such good service in foreign campaigns. The most stormy
discussions ensued, and the press, in all the wild ardour of recent
emancipation, thundered with controversy. To Lord Sommers was
attributed (indeed Macaulay speaks of the authorship as a certainty) a
treatise, called ‘The Balancing Letter,’ which made a great noise at
the time, weighing, as it did, the arguments for and against the
momentous question, but undoubtedly leaning towards the advisability
of maintaining a small standing army. In spite of William’s vehement
opposition, he found himself compelled to ship off his beloved Dutch
Guards, and to diminish the English forces.
Until this time the life of John Sommers had been uninterrupted
in its prosperity and advancement; but a change in his fortunes was
now impending. Henceforward he had both public and private trials to
encounter, added to which, his health had become much impaired. In
July 1698, Parliament being dissolved, and the King gone to Holland,
Lord Sommers gladly availed himself of the opportunity to
recruit his bodily powers, by drinking the waters in the pleasant
retirement of Tunbridge Wells. The question of the Spanish succession
(Charles II., king of that country, being at the time in a dying
state) belongs rather to the political history of Europe than to the
biography of an individual, yet Lord Sommers was so intimately
connected with the so-called ‘Tradition Treaties,’ that we cannot
altogether keep silence on the matter. Before the King’s departure for
Holland, William had already consulted Sommers on the subject,
and, on arriving at the Loo, he wrote, authorising him to consult with
any of his colleagues, on whose discretion and secrecy he could rely,
and asking for opinions on the arrangement proposed, which his Majesty
detailed at full length. Now such a treaty could not be concluded
without the appendage of the Great Seal and the signature of one
Secretary of State. The Lord Chancellor was therefore directed to send
full powers to the Loo, sealed, but with blanks left for the names of
the Plenipotentiaries; and it was strongly urged that the clerks whose
duty it was to draw up the documents should be kept in profound
ignorance of the subject, and the importance of the work they were
performing. The Royal missive found ‘Sommers at a distance from
his political friends, his delicate frame enfeebled by the labours and
vigils of many months, and his aching head giddy with the first
draughts of the chalybeate spring.’ But he lost no time, and
communicated promptly with all the leading statesmen, who agreed with
the King in wishing to see the question of the Spanish succession
settled without delay. Sommers, however, delicately hinted to
his master that he and his colleagues had misgivings on many points of
the treaty, although the Royal wishes had been complied with.
The powers were sent off, the enjoined secrecy observed, the blanks
left for the names of two Commissioners, who, the Lord Chancellor
suggested, should be English, either by birth or naturalisation, and
consequently responsible to Parliament.
A second Partition Treaty was shortly afterwards drawn up and signed,
with fresh clauses and allotments to the different European powers,
with the same secrecy; and when the terms of these treaties became
known in England, a great outcry was raised against the Whigs, and
strenuous efforts made to overthrow the Administration. The Lord
Chancellor, in particular, became the mark for attacks of different
kinds, such as his misconduct in the appointment and dismissal of
magistrates, while a novel charge for the dignitary of the Woolsack
was adduced against John Lord Sommers, namely that of piracy on
the high seas,—not in person, indeed, but by proxy. Thus it came
about: he, in common with other Ministers, had subscribed a sum of
several hundreds towards the fitting out of a ship called _The
Adventure Galley_, for the purpose of ridding the Indian seas of
pirates. The command was given to Captain William Kid, a naval
officer, who had hitherto borne a high character for honour as well as
courage.
As may easily be believed, Lord Sommers knew nothing of the
matter further than that he thought it became the post he occupied to
assist in such a public service; and a grant was made to all the
undertakers of the scheme that they should become possessed of any
booty taken from the pirates by their ship. Captain Kid was armed with
full powers to sink, burn, and destroy the pirates, but on breathing
the air of the buccaneering seas, he turned pirate himself, and became
a dangerous foe to honest traders of all nations, till, after a sharp
encounter with an English frigate, he was taken, and brought home in
irons. A motion was now brought forward by his (Sommers’s)
political adversaries, that the Lord Chancellor should be made
responsible for all the outrages committed by Kid, with whom, they
affirmed, he had intended to go shares for the purpose of swelling his
own coffers,—‘Such black constructions,’ says Burnet, ‘are men apt to
put on the actions of those whom they intend to disgrace.’ The charge,
being preposterous, was rejected by a large majority.
A Bill was now brought in to resume the Irish forfeited estates, which
the King had bestowed on his Dutch favourites, and Lord Sommers
incurred both the Royal displeasure and that of the Opposition in
Parliament for his absence during the debates, although he pleaded the
excuse of bad health. William expected assistance from the Chancellor
in opposing this measure, but the public opinion was so strong that
Sommers did not consider it advisable to support his Majesty.
His enemies had now become persistent in their attacks; and a motion
was made in the House of Commons to the effect that ‘the King should
be advised to remove the present Lord Chancellor from his councils for
ever,’ in common with other leading Ministers.
He had been absent from his duties for some time, in consequence of
failing health, in spite of which the Opposition did all in their
power to induce him to coalesce in the formation of a new Government;
and in answering the overtures made him by Lord Sunderland,
Sommers replied that he considered such a step would be
inconsistent with honour.
The refusal naturally increased the bitterness of his adversaries, and
Harley especially, who rose in arms against him.
William, with all his predilection for the Chancellor, was at length
persuaded of the expediency of removing him, and Lord Sommers
received a hint to that effect, ‘which determined him to wait on his
Majesty at Kensington, in order to know his real mind.’ The King told
him plainly that the time had come when it was necessary for the Seals
to pass into other hands, at the same time expressing a wish that
Sommers himself would resign.
The Chancellor begged his Majesty’s pardon for following the advice of
numerous friends, who had warned him against such a step, which would
be ascribed to guilt or fear; adding that he well knew the designs of
his enemies; that the Great Seal was his greatest crime, and if
permitted to keep it, in spite of their malice, he would do so, being
well aware what a bad use they would make of it. He had no fear of
them, but he would be firm to his friends, with more in that style;
but the King only shook his head, and said, ‘It must be so.’ And thus
was Lord Sommers discharged from the great office which he had
held for so many years, ‘with the highest reputation for capacity,
integrity, and diligence.’
Strangely enough, this ever-coveted post was offered to and refused by
several men ‘high in the law,’ possibly from the fear of comparison
with such an illustrious predecessor. The Seals were at length
delivered to Sir Nathan Wright, ‘in whom,’ says Burnet, ‘there was
nothing equal to the post, much less to the man who had lately filled
it.’
Wright represented a dark shadow between two such shining lights as
Sommers and Cowper.
After a short residence at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of the
waters, the ex-Chancellor retired to his villa, and, resuming his
literary pursuits, strove to forget all the mortification and
humiliation to which he had lately been exposed. Louis XIV., breaking
through the conditions imposed by the Tradition Treaty, took advantage
of a will made by the Spanish king on his deathbed, in which the
imbecile Charles had been made to bequeath his dominions to the French
king’s grandson, Philip of Anjou; and the young prince was despatched
to Madrid with a splendid and exulting Court. A violent outcry ensued
in England against the Whigs, and Lord Sommers in particular, to
whom this public catastrophe was in a great measure attributed.
Parliament was dissolved, and on the reassembling of the new House,
the Commons proposed to impeach the ex-Chancellor for the part he had
taken in concluding these treaties, and for other high crimes and
misdemeanours. Prior thus alludes to the circumstance in writing to
the Duke of Manchester: ‘I congratulate you on being out of this noise
and tumult, where we are tearing and destroying every man his
neighbour. To-morrow is the great day, when we expect my Lord
Chancellor to be fallen upon, though God knows of what crime he is
guilty, but that of being a great man and an upright judge.’
Sommers begged to be heard in his own defence, and his demeanour
was so dignified, and his explanation so clear, as to enlist many
members on his side, notably Robert Walpole, a young senator,
afterwards Prime Minister, who took the warmest interest in Lord
Sommers’s cause, and voted in his behalf. Notwithstanding, the
motion for the impeachment (with that of four other noblemen) was
carried in the House of Commons—a measure which caused tremendous
indignation in the Upper House, ‘at the infringement of their
privileges;’ while the King’s reply to the Lower House conveyed a
rebuke (though couched in mild terms) for the irregularity of their
proceedings. In spite of King and Peers the impeachment commenced, and
fourteen articles were exhibited against Lord Sommers. The six
first concerned his share in carrying out the Partition Treaties; the
next five accused him of passing illegal grants of Crown property in
his own favour; the thirteenth, of giving a commission to William Kid,
pirate; ‘while the last,’ says Lord Campbell, ‘was a frivolous charge
of judicial delinquency.’
A violent altercation now took place between the two Houses of
Parliament regarding the time and manner of the trial, the Whig
element at that time being paramount among the Lords, while the Tories
preponderated in the Commons. So it came to pass, when the Peers were
seated in great state in Westminster Hall, and Lord Sommers
placed within the bar, the Commons were summoned to make good their
indictment, but in vain. A long pause ensued, but not one member
appeared, and after another solemn procession to and from their own
House, their Lordships decided the question by themselves.
John Lord Sommers was acquitted by a majority of his peers, and
the impeachment dismissed. ‘The following comparison between his
demeanour and that of a former Chancellor, Lord Verulam, on a similar
occasion, is thus drawn by Joseph Addison: ‘The conduct of these
extraordinary persons under the same circumstances was vastly
different. One, as he had given just occasion for his impeachment,
sank under it, and was reduced to such abject submission as diminished
the lustre of so exalted a character. But Lord Sommers was too
well fortified in his integrity to fear the impotence of an attack on
his reputation, and though his accusers would gladly have dropped
their impeachment, he was instant for the prosecution, and would not
let the matter rest till it was brought to an issue.’
The two Houses fell to fighting once more, and fierce and bitter
hatred was fostered by the late proceedings. The Duke of Shrewsbury,
Sommers’s early and faithful friend, alluding to these
squabbles, thus writes to him from Rome: ‘I cannot help referring to
my old opinion, and wonder that a man can be found in England, who has
bread, that will be concerned in public business. Had I a son I would
sooner breed him a cobbler than a courtier, and a hangman than a
statesman.’
In 1701 James II. died, and Louis XIV. astonished Europe in general,
and England in particular, by recognising the Pretender as King of
England,—a step which even incensed the Jacobites, jealous of foreign
interference, and set the Whig party in a flame. A reaction now took
place in favour of the latter faction: the King dismissed his Tory
Ministers, and it was confidently believed that in the formation of a
new Cabinet Lord Sommers would resume office. But William’s days
were numbered. His health had long been a source of anxiety to his
friends and the nation at large, when a fatal accident hurried the
crisis. He had not yet relinquished his favourite exercise of riding,
and even occasionally hunted, but neither his seat nor his hand was
what it had been. Riding one day through his favourite haunt of the
Home Park at Hampton Court, mounted on ‘Grey Sorrel,’ the horse,
having just broken into a gentle canter, stumbled at a molehill, and
fell on his knees, throwing his rider, who broke his collar-bone, and
otherwise injured himself. The bone was set; William proceeded in his
coach to Kensington, but he never rallied. ‘His last days,’ says his
enthusiastic admirer Macaulay, ‘were worthy of his life.’ He
transacted business calmly, took an affectionate leave of his friends,
joined in prayer with the two Bishops who attended him, and breathed
his last. Round his neck was found, suspended to a black riband, the
locket which contained the hair of his beloved wife.