ON THE WINGS OF THE STORM
With Monk's success his real difficulties began. His first act was to
attend the Council of State. The Oath of Abjuration was tendered to
him and he refused it. A third of the Council had done the same, and
amongst them irreproachable Republicans. He suggested a conference
between the two parties to settle the point. For the present he
certainly could not take it. He must consult the Coldstreamers.
"The officers of my army," he said, and his words must have sounded
strangely like a threat, "are very tender in taking oaths." So he
returned to his apartments to be besieged with callers. Politicians
were there eager for a word on which to work, and astute foreign
ministers at their wits' end what to report to their respective
governments. For every one a discreet answer had to be provided.
All Sunday the game continued with little relief, except a secret
information that Scot's son had been boasting how in a few days the
general would be in the Tower with his head in danger.
Monk wisely took no more notice of the information than to display
his force by lining the way from Whitehall to Westminster with a
"triumphant guard" as on Monday he went down in state to receive the
thanks of Parliament. Scot had told him that a declaration of his
devotion to the House and his dislike of the addresses was expected. It
was a trying ordeal, but his blunt honesty took him through. A chair
of state had been placed for him at the bar, but he refused to sit,
as unbecoming a servant of the Parliament. Standing he received the
fulsome vote of thanks, and then leaning over the back of the chair,
he made his modest acknowledgments, protesting he had done no more
than his duty. As though he were making an official report of matters
in which he had no personal concern, he told them that on his way to
town he had observed the country to be very anxious for a settlement,
and that a number of addresses had been presented to him. The demands
they contained and his own unexceptionable answers were summarised
with soldier-like brevity. "But although I said it not to them," he
continued, "I must say (with pardon) to you; that the less oaths and
engagements are imposed (with respect had to the security of the common
cause) the sooner your settlement will be attained to.... I know all
the sober gentry will close with you if they may be tenderly and
gently used. And I am sure you will so use them; as knowing it to be
the common concern to amplify and not lessen our interest, and to be
careful that neither the Cavalier nor the Fanatic party have a share
in your civil or military power." In conclusion he respectfully called
attention to the advisability of confirming the land-grants of the
Irish soldiers and adventurers, and of settling several points for the
better and more equable administration of Scotland.
Nothing could have been done better. The immediate effect of the
speech was an immense increase in Monk's popularity. The conservative
Republicans were delighted at his deferential demeanour; their ladies,
returning from Mrs. Monk's reception at Whitehall, approved her
sweetmeats, and complacently noted how she had helped them to wine with
her own hand; while the country at large read the general's speech as a
threat to the oligarchy which oppressed it. The city was enthusiastic,
for not only did it begin to doubt the sincerity of his devotion to the
Rump, but by his conclusion about Ireland the capitalists saw in him
their champion. And, as we have seen, at such a crisis the capitalists
had then the same peculiar influences which they have exercised under
similar conditions in more modern times.
In fact from this moment the city became the scene on which the drama
of the Restoration was to be played out. A week ago Mordaunt had
arrived on a special mission from Charles to assure the Corporation
of his constitutional intentions should he return, and the city had
definitely turned its face to the King. The situation which the
prevailing political uncertainty had brought about was no longer
endurable. Trade was in a state of complete stagnation. Property was
felt to be unsafe. The city was without a single representative in
Parliament. It saw the moment had come for a decisive step, and two
days after Monk's speech, on the ground that the sitting Parliament was
not a representative assembly, the Common Council resolved to pay no
more taxes till the House had filled up its vacancies.
Monk's principles were immediately put to a severe test. It was late
at night when the vote of defiance became known at Whitehall, but a
summons came for his instant attendance at the Council of State. The
hours went by and he did not return. His friends remembered young
Scot's boast, and gathered in alarm. Ashley Cooper tried to take his
seat in the Council-chamber, but found it locked and guarded. Mrs. Monk
hammered on the door and cried frantically to her husband, but not a
sound came back. In despair she retired to her apartments, and it was
past two before she was relieved by her husband's reappearance. Then it
was only for a moment. To his friends' dismay he briefly told them that
at daybreak the city was to be occupied, and then refusing to listen to
any one went to bed. His paymasters had ordered him to coerce those on
whom all his hopes depended, and he was going to obey.
The movement was punctually carried out, and no sooner were the guards
set and the troops at their quarters than Monk, in accordance with his
instructions, sent for a number of the leading citizens and placed them
under arrest. This done, to the amazement of his officers, he ordered
them to remove the city gates and portcullises, and the post and chains
by which the streets were barricaded. In vain they protested, in
vain his most devoted followers tendered their commissions. His only
reply was to order the subordinate officers to do the work of their
superiors. Of so astounding a piece of obedience no one knew what to
think. The common soldiers were inclined to look upon it as a joke;
the officers were in despair. At last a deputation of the Corporation
waited on him to expostulate, and promise that if he would desist the
Common Council would meet early on the morrow and reconsider its
determination.
Monk at once complied, and reported to the Council of State
recommending a lenient course. They replied brutally that they had
dissolved the Common Council, and that he was not only to take down
the gates but to break them in pieces. Again he obeyed. "Now, George,"
cried Haslerig when he heard of it, "we have thee for ever, body and
soul." On the morrow, with growing anger, the troops recommenced the
hateful work. They fraternised with the people, and together they
railed at the Rump. Morley, who held the Tower, came and offered to
declare against the men of Westminster if Monk would only give the
word. His warmest friends went to reason with him, but the general
sat in his quarters at the Three Tuns, near Guildhall, grimly chewing
his tobacco, and no one dare speak to him. So extraordinary was his
conduct that his officers began to believe he had some deep design. The
orders were carried out to the last letter; guards were set at all the
important points, and in the afternoon the rest of the army marched
back to its quarters about Westminster.
Haslerig and his friends had won an incalculable victory. On Monk
hung the hopes of the country, and they had deliberately struck him a
fatal blow where they knew his spotless sense of honour exposed him
without defence to their attack. His position was indeed desperate,
and no sooner was he alone at Whitehall than Clarges came in to point
out the extremity of his danger. The wanton insult he had put upon
the liberties of the great municipal corporation must turn against
him not only every town in the kingdom, but the whole influence of
finance and commerce. It was the deliberate intention of the Council
that it should. Nothing could now save him but to return immediately
to the city and declare for a free Parliament. Monk would not listen.
Clarges in desperation began to urge the folly of being true to men
who did not keep their side of the engagement. He showed the general
how through the whole affair he had been treated with contempt. Ever
since his entry into London the Government had habitually called him
"Commissioner" Monk. They had denied him the very rank they themselves
had conferred upon him, and violated the commission on which he based
his obedience. The general began to waver. He felt the injustice
keenly, and confessed at last that something must be done to regain the
country's esteem. With that he dismissed his kinsman, saying that he
would take till Tuesday to consider what course he should adopt.
It was Friday. By Tuesday the news would be all over the kingdom and
he a ruined man. It was absolutely necessary to do something at once.
Presently Clarges returned with Dr. Barrow, the general's private
physician and judge-advocate, a man who had been of great service
throughout. Two or three officers accompanied them, with whom they
had privately agreed to brave the general's displeasure in one more
effort to save him from his rigid integrity. With the vehemence of
despair they poured out proof after proof of the Rump's iniquitous
intentions. Haslerig was in correspondence with Lambert. Ludlow, whom
Monk had accused of treason on Coote's information, still sat in
his place. A tumultuous petition in favour of strict abjuration had
been fomented and received by the House at the hands of Praise-God
Barebones himself, the ringleader of those very fanatics against whom
he had come to act. The Council was even then, it was said, considering
whether they should cashier him on the ground that in leaving the city
he had disobeyed its orders. After all his devotion it was more than
the honest soldier could endure, and reluctantly he consented to march
into the city next day. Having issued his orders accordingly, he told
his little council to prepare some excuse to the Parliament. No excuse
could be found. The general was worn out; for the last two nights he
had had no sleep; unable to resist any longer, he at last allowed a
letter to be prepared, setting out the real reasons of the movement and
demanding the House to keep its word. With that he went to bed, and all
through the night the four councillors that remained were busy with the
manifesto.
Early next morning the members came down to the House in the ordinary
course. The guards were all on duty as usual, and the Speaker proceeded
to take the chair. No sooner, however, was business begun than two of
Monk's colonels came in with a long letter signed by the general and
fourteen of his field-officers. In respectful but unequivocal language
it charged them with deliberately seeking to undo all the good that
had been effected by their restoration. It desired them, therefore, to
show their good intentions by settling the qualification of members
and issuing writs for the vacant seats by the next Friday. It reminded
them that the date fixed for their dissolution was at hand, and finally
informed them that with the intention of waiting for their "full
and free concurrence to these just desires of the nation," and of
preserving order till it was obtained, the army had retired into the
city.
The House was thrown immediately into a tumult of consternation. At the
very moment when their terrible slave seemed safely bound he had risen
up and snapped his chains like threads. Every kind of proposition was
made to recall him, but eventually Scot and Robinson were ordered to
carry a soft answer into the city. They found Monk with the Lord Mayor,
and in the lowest spirits. His reception had been more than cold; the
city had lost faith in him; he had broken the guiding rule of his life
and had lost faith in himself. His friends urged him to declare at once
for a free Parliament, but hoping against hope that he still might
not be forced to use the military power against the civil, he refused
to give a hint of his intended revolt till he heard the answer of the
House. When it came, shifty and meaningless, he doubted no longer.
Without heat he dismissed the messengers, but his officers insulted
them, and the mob hooted them out of the city. Once more himself, blunt
and determined, he stood up in the Guildhall to address the Council
which the Lord Mayor had consented to call at five o'clock. With manly
frankness he told them how he detested the work he had had to do. If
laying down his commission would have stopped it, he would gladly have
done so, but it would only have been put into unkinder hands. "But what
I have to tell you," he concluded, "is that this morning I have sent to
the Parliament to issue out writs within seven days for the filling up
of their House, and when filled to sit no longer than till May 6th,
that they may give place to a full and free Parliament."
The enthusiasm with which his words were received was indescribable.
As the news spread through the city the people gave way to the wildest
demonstrations of joy. Late as it was the bells were set a-ringing; the
soldiers, who had been shivering all day in their ranks on Finsbury
Fields, were brought in to be fed and fêted like kings. Bonfires were
soon blazing in every street, and anything that could do duty for an
effigy of the Rump was cast into them. To such a pitiable decrepitude
had the glorious Long Parliament lived.
As its doom was cried from end to end of England the same extravagant
scenes were enacted. Associations were everywhere formed to refuse the
payment of taxes till Monk's demands were complied with. Everywhere men
were worshipping the executioner of their doting liberator. His guards
kept watch at the Parliament's gates; from the city his sword was
stretched over it. In spite of himself, in spite of every effort to set
a lawful authority above him, George Monk was uncrowned King of England.
But the sternest of those who had made the renown of the greatest of
Parliaments were still in their places, and it was soon clear that they
meant to leave no stone unturned to dethrone their enemy. Persuasion
having failed they tried what force could do. A new commission for
the army was appointed, so arranged that Monk must always be in the
minority. They distributed arms to the Fanatics; they tampered with
his troops; they industriously spread reports amongst Fleetwood's army
that Monk and the city were in league to restore the King. Monk's
complete reply was to seize the arms of Cavaliers and Fanatics alike
and to refuse to allow the city to mobilise its militia. Then they fell
to coaxing again, with no more success. For Monk began to see a better
way of ridding himself of the power which had fallen on him than by
surrendering it on any terms to those who had so misused it.
Ever since he had established himself at Draper's Hall addresses and
petitions of all kinds had flowed in upon him. It soon appeared that
the great majority of them were in favour of escaping from the deadlock
by the restoration of the secluded members. To this the general had
always been averse. They were pronounced Royalists, who wished to
go back to the Isle of Wight treaty and the _status quo_ of 1648,
regardless of the vested interests that had arisen meanwhile. It meant
the resumption of the land-grants which had been made for the services
of those who had shed their blood for the good old cause, and that in
Monk's eyes meant a new civil war. Already the suspicions which his
understanding with the city had aroused were once more driving the
Republicans into the extended arms of Lambert's militarism, and he
seems to have at this time regarded the objections to the King's return
as insuperable. Milton with all his eloquence, and Haslerig with all
the ardour of his democratic faith, were blinding him to everything but
the "good old cause." "From my soul I desire a Commonwealth," he wrote
to Haslerig, and so long as the secluded members showed themselves
irreconcilable to the Republic he would have nothing to do with them.
Now, however, it was suggested to him that they were willing to come to
terms with the sitting members, and he permitted a conference between
the victims and the instigators of Pride's Purge.
The conference was so far satisfactory that the general entered into
direct negotiations with the secluded members on behalf of the army.
The chief points on which he insisted were a clear understanding
that nothing was to be done to change the form of government from
a Commonwealth; that the House should dissolve immediately it had
provided for the interim administration of the country; and that the
land-grants should be confirmed. On the first two points their answer
was satisfactory. The last they rejected on the ground that they
had no authority to pass such an act. Were any proof wanted of the
disinterestedness of Monk's conduct at this time, it is that in spite
of his undeniable love of money he gave up the point on which hung the
hard-earned savings of a lifetime. Yet even this risk he was prepared
to run for the good of the country he loved so well. Early on February
21st all the secluded members who were in town assembled at Whitehall.
There the general met them and made them a speech setting forth his
view of the situation. He told them that monarchy was not to be
thought of. The old foundations were so broken that they could not be
restored. If the nation found their long struggle was only to end in a
restoration they would never again be induced to rise for the liberties
of Parliament, and the cause of freedom would be lost for ever. Besides
a King meant bishops, and that the country would never endure again. So
he dismissed them to Westminster under the escort of his own lifeguard.
Almost the first act of the reinvigorated Parliament was to name Monk
"Captain-General under Parliament of all the land forces in England,
Scotland, and Ireland." By virtue of this exalted rank he became as
fully as the sovereign of to-day the constitutional head of the nation
in arms. Added to this he was made jointly with Montague general of
the fleet, and when the list of the new Council of State came out his
name appeared in large type across the top like a king's. Haslerig at
once saw his opportunity for a new departure. To destroy Monk's power
directly was no longer possible, but so exalted was his position that
could it be forced a little higher it would become insecure; or if the
worst came to the worst, a protectorate, or even a King George, was
better than the accursed Stuart.
This dangerous move on the part of the Commonwealth men soon began to
show itself. A pamphlet had already appeared setting out Monk's royal
descent. Now an insidious motion was made in the House to bestow on
him and his heirs for ever the palace of Hampton Court and all its
parks, and a Bill to give it effect was successfully brought in. But
before long a still better opportunity presented itself to Haslerig.
On March 13th the House, on the plea of leaving the nation absolutely
free, abrogated the "Engagement" which members had to take to be true
and faithful to the Commonwealth as established without King or House
of Lords. Monk was highly annoyed. He looked upon it as a breach of the
conditions on which the secluded members had been admitted. Jealous
of his principles, he had seated them with a high hand on the express
understanding that nothing was to be done to alter the constitution.
Practically the vote went far to make him and the army responsible
for the counter-revolution to which it directly pointed, and which
every day looked more unavoidable. Haslerig saw the moment had come
to play his trump card. With the concurrence of their party and a
number of officers, he, Scot, and some others repaired to Whitehall,
bent on inducing Monk to assume the protectorate. Clarges was first
sounded. He gave no encouragement, and the conspirators left him to go
straight to the lord-general. In alarm lest his brother-in-law's power
of resistance should be unequal to so splendid a temptation, Clarges
flew to the Council which was sitting in a room close by. In answer to
an urgent summons Ashley Cooper came out, and Clarges hurriedly told
him his alarming suspicions of what was going on in the lord-general's
apartments.
Meanwhile by every argument Haslerig and his friends were pressing
Monk to take upon himself the civil authority as well as the military.
It was clear, they said, from the late vote that a restoration was
intended, and a restoration meant his death, for like Stanley, who
enthroned the Tudors, he was too great to live. Monk told them to
fear nothing. The House merely wanted to leave its successor entirely
free, and as for taking upon himself the civil authority, the fate
of Cromwell's family was a warning to which he could not be deaf.
Haslerig urged that Cromwell was a usurper, while Monk would be
acclaimed by the nation. He himself was prepared to bring a petition
with a hundred thousand signatures. But the lord-general was obdurate,
and dismissing the conspirators he repaired to his place at the
Council. The moment he appeared Ashley Cooper got up and moved that
the room be cleared and the doors locked. Then he charged Monk with
having received some indecent overtures from seditious persons, and
demanded a full disclosure of their nature that the Council might
take steps accordingly. But the kindly old general had no mind to see
proscriptions begin. He had no idea of letting one party shed the blood
of another, and being fully determined to hold the balance true till
the nation's wishes could be weighed, he was not averse to letting the
Council see what volcanic forces he could explode upon them at a word.
"There is not so much danger in agitation as you apprehend," he said
when Ashley Cooper had done. "It is true some have been with me to be
resolved in scruples concerning the present transactions in Parliament,
but they went away from me well satisfied." And the Council had to
tamely receive the rebuke of the fearless look and laconic address
which their consciences were too guilty to resent.
So the incident ended, but not without one important result. As Gumble
had lost the general's ear from being suspected probably of too close
an understanding with his old patron Scot, so now Clarges, who had
succeeded him, was superseded by a new councillor. By the advice of his
brother Nicholas the general invited his kinsman Morice, the secluded
member for Plymouth, to come up and take his seat, and from this time
forward the slow-witted soldier had at his elbow the political sagacity
of this scholarly recluse.
It was indeed fortunate that he had, for he was not yet to be left in
peace. Haslerig immediately returned to the attack with a petition from
a number of officers begging the lord-general to sign a declaration
in favour of a Commonwealth and against a single person, and to get
the Parliament to do the same. In the army lay the great danger to
the country. Monk knew that the only chance of a settlement rested
on his ability to keep it in hand till the great voice of the nation
could speak its mind with overwhelming authority. Sensible of the
gravity of the situation, he told the deputation he would give them
an answer in Council of War on the morrow. He was confronted with a
danger as great as any he had yet encountered, and he met it with his
usual address. To the malcontents' arguments his spokesmen answered
that their fears and hopes were alike groundless. The writs ran in
the name of the Commonwealth, and every one who had served against
the Parliament was disqualified. In any case no good could come of an
attempt to put pressure on the House, for it would only dissolve itself
and plunge the nation once more into anarchy. And they need not hope
that the lord-general in that event would assume the government. They
would merely be left a prey to the common enemy. Monk confirmed all his
friends had said in the usual laconic speech with which he was wont
to close such discussions. Still they were not satisfied. An officer
continued to boldly argue that the qualifications were no safeguard,
as the new Parliament alone had power to decide whether they had been
observed. The argument was unanswerable. Monk abruptly cut it short
by saying that the meetings of military councils to meddle with civil
matters were subversive of discipline, and for the future he absolutely
forbade them. The army was still tingling with the blows by which the
terrible disciplinarian had broken it to his will. In various parts
of the country where insubordination had shown itself new ones had
been inflicted to remind them in whose grip they were. The new spirit
of modern discipline which Monk had begotten was already arising, and
Haslerig was once more baffled.
Still he was not defeated, and the last hours of the great Parliament
are obscured in the mists of another intrigue in which the indomitable
Republican played a mysterious part. A resolution had been passed that
the dissolution should take place on or before March 16th. As the time
drew near signs of a strong disinclination to abide by it began to
appear. Monk, who had retired to St. James's to keep as much in the
background as possible, began to have his suspicions. The original
understanding had been that they were to sit for about a week and do
nothing but arrange for a new Parliament and an interim Government,
and to take measures to keep the military Fanatics quiet. This merely
meant that they were to provide Monk with pay for the army and all that
was necessary for the preservation of order. They chose, however, to
interpret it by passing a Bill for the re-establishment of the militia,
and putting it into the hands of their own men. Not content with this
breach of faith, they began busying themselves with Church matters. In
a Presbyterian and Independent Parliament such questions were not to
be settled in an hour. When the writs came out, moreover, it was found
that they had been made returnable five days later than the specified
time. The Militia Bill had gone to the printers, but had not yet been
published. A committee was sent to inquire into the delay. It was
found that the Bill had been tampered with in the press. Haslerig was
suspected of being at the bottom of it. However that may be, it had
the effect he would have wished. Monk's suspicions were changed to
certainties. At St. James's it became clear that the Presbyterians were
manoeuvring to gain time, till they had the new militia in readiness
to support them in prolonging their sitting and recalling the King on
their own terms. Pym indeed had so openly advocated this course that
the general had had to send for him privately and warn him to hold his
tongue. It was just what Monk had feared, but though his own sympathies
were in favour of the moderate Presbyterians, he was not going to allow
that party to steal a march on the country any more than the Cavaliers
or Fanatics or Republicans, and he put his foot down at once.
When the House met on the 6th an ominous letter from the redoubtable
general was in the Speaker's hands. Like naughty children conscious of
their guilt, they voted that it should not be opened for the present
lest it contained a command for them to be gone. The previous day the
Bill for settling Hampton Court upon the general had been thrown out
on the third reading, at the instance of his friends, it was said, but
from what ensued it would seem that at least it was done with unseemly
alacrity; and if Monk did not approve of it, it is certainly strange
that it was allowed to proceed so far. At all events, as the alarming
letter lay unopened before them, they hurriedly voted the lord-general
£20,000 and the stewardship of the palace and all its parks. Then the
seal was broken and the general's message read. It assured them that he
would be responsible for the peace of the Commonwealth with his army,
and desired them to stop the reorganisation of the militia. What more
it contained we do not know. The immediate effect was that the House
despatched a committee to St. James's to give satisfaction to the irate
general, and voted to take the question of dissolution the first thing
after dinner.
As soon as the members met again after the mid-day adjournment the
committee reported that they had been to the general, and he was
satisfied with their explanations. But the House had been taught
a lesson, and in a few hours, by its own act, the most renowned
Parliament that ever sat was no more.