THE UNCROWNED KING
Monk had now led the country another distinct march along the thorny
path he was clearing with such anxious devotion, and Sir William
Davenant burst out into a long panegyric on the occasion. But at the
same time he reminded the general--
"Yet greater work ensues such as will try
How far three realms may on your strength rely."
The Parliament was gone, but the Council of State remained, and
there the patriotic struggle began again! The Presbyterian section
was strong, and outside it was backed by a powerful combination, at
the head of which were Northumberland, Manchester and the men of the
days to which the Self-Denying Ordinance put an end. These saw that a
restoration was inevitable, and felt that the only salvation of the
country lay in a renewal of the Isle of Wight treaty. Though baulked
by Monk's watchfulness in their attempt to get the King recalled by
a Presbyterian Parliament, they did not despair of outmarching the
Cavaliers and Opportunists. Their last chance was in a restoration
through the agency of the Council of State before the new Parliament
could meet, and again and again they pressed Monk to openly espouse
their cause. He only said he was in the service of the Commonwealth
and could not listen. The pressure grew greater, the party more
powerful, and he found it necessary to treat their proposals more
seriously, but still he gave no hope. In despair, at last, they
seized upon some expression he had let fall to send word to the King
that they had won him, and that they were prepared to enter into
formal negotiations for a restoration. A fortnight before the needy
voluptuary, weary of his exile, would have embraced the offer with
avidity, but now, to the astonishment of all concerned, the proposition
was coldly, almost contemptuously received. Something had happened of
which they were in entire ignorance, something so singular as almost
to startle us anew into an exaggeration of the personal influence in
history.
Up till now Monk's reputation as a Commonwealth man was practically
without a spot. By honestly doing his duty he had lived down every
suspicion. All but the most sanguine of the Cavalier agents considered
him hopelessly loyal to his trust. Best known of these was his cousin
Sir John Grenville, who, in spite of his notorious malignancy, was free
of St. James's on the ground of his relationship. But he had no better
luck than the rest. Fruitlessly he sought a private interview through
his old friend Morice. Night after night he stayed till every one was
gone, but "Good-night, cousin; 'tis late," was all he got for his pains
as the wary old general went off to bed.
Such was Monk's position when the Portuguese ambassador asked for an
audience. The recent treaty of the Pyrenees had left Portugal at the
mercy of Spain, and she had sent a special envoy to England to seek
assistance. For some time past the envoy had been in negotiation
with the Council of State for a renewal of Cromwell's alliance, but
the action of the Presbyterian leaders seems to have demonstrated to
him that its authority was moribund. The power of Monk and the now
inevitable recall of the King suggested to him a brilliant piece of
diplomacy, and he resolved to flash a dazzling proposal in the eyes of
the general. Father Russell, the secretary to the embassy, seems first
to have sounded Morice. But at all events, amidst the enormous mass of
business with which he exhausted his secretaries, Monk found time for
an interview.
The ambassador began by saying that without wishing to pry into the
general's intentions with regard to the King, he thought it only right
to tell him that Charles Stuart ought at once to get out of Spanish
territory. He was then at Brussels, and the envoy assured Monk that the
moment the Spaniards got wind of the national reaction in favour of a
restoration they would kidnap his person, and hold him as a hostage for
the retrocession of Jamaica and Dunkirk. Monk, who already had reason
to suspect the Spaniards of intriguing with the Irreconcilables through
the Jesuits, was much impressed, and the ambassador was encouraged
to explain his solicitude for Charles's safety. In the event of a
restoration, he said, his master was prepared, in return for military
assistance against Spain, to offer the King the hand of the Infanta,
and with her a dowry of an unheard-of sum of money, together with the
towns of Tangiers and Bombay. The advantages of the arrangement it was
needless to point out. It would give to England the command of the
Mediterranean and East Indian trade, and enable her to complete the
humiliation of her great rival which the heroes of the Armada had begun.
To a man of Monk's hot patriotism, who remembered Raleigh, who had
been moulded into manhood while Drake and Grenville and Hawkins were
living memories, the proposal was too dazzling to resist. His passion
for the expansion of England had never been quenched. His faith in it
as a panacea for all political trouble was as strong as ever. Before
him stretched the prospect of a glorious war, in which the fierce
ardour of the Fanatic soldiers would find worthy employ, and serve to
lift their country out of the slough into which they had plunged it
to a greatness beyond the dreams of their fathers. The fires of his
youth were rekindled. He may even have dreamed of ending his career in
wiping out the disgrace in which it had begun, and at the head of the
most powerful navy and the finest army in the world of outshining the
greatest of the great Queen's captains.
Whatever was the overmastering cause, the wary strategist suddenly
changed front, cast his scruples to the winds, and the Portuguese
ambassador immediately applied to the Council for a frigate to carry
him and his portentous secret to Lisbon. Monk had determined to
communicate with the King. Charles's danger was great and pressing.
At any moment a precipitate message from the Presbyterians to the
Court might give the Spaniard the signal to act; nor was the anxious
general without good ground to suspect that the French ambassador
was intriguing with the Manchester cabal, and that Mazarin had a
chance, if not an intention, of playing the same game. On the eve of
its accomplishment the long-wished-for settlement was in desperate
peril of wreck, and calm and swift as ever the old soldier set to
work single-handed to thwart the designs of the two most renowned
diplomatists in Europe.
Absolute secrecy was essential. The Portuguese negotiations with the
Committee of Safety were continued as if nothing had happened, and
the general looked round for a messenger on whom he could implicitly
rely. Morice could not be spared, and it was clear that Grenville was
the only man. After two ineffectual attempts to induce him to disclose
his secret mission to Morice, Monk was convinced of his discretion,
and granted him an interview. In the dead of night, shortly after the
dissolution, he was introduced into Morice's private apartments at St.
James's. The general appeared from a secret stairway, and Grenville
without preface or apology thrust into his hands the King's letters
which his cousin Nicholas had refused to take up to Scotland. Monk
started back, and asked him fiercely how he dared so play the traitor.
The Cavalier quietly replied that in the service of the King, his
master, danger had grown familiar to him. Overcome with his young
kinsman's coolness, and the memories of all he owed to his house, the
old general unbent at once and cordially embraced him. Then he read the
King's letter. In flattering terms it assured him of Charles's favour,
and of his intention to follow Monk's advice implicitly if he would
only espouse his cause. Grenville added what he had been authorised to
promise--a hundred thousand a year for him and his officers, any title
he chose, and the office of Lord High Constable. Monk replied that what
he did was for his country's good, and that he would not sell his duty
or bargain for his allegiance. Grenville pressed for a written answer,
but the wary soldier refused; he had intercepted too many letters
himself. Grenville was told he must take his reply by word of mouth,
and so was dismissed till the morrow.
For some time past the general had had confidential consultations
with the leaders of the various parties, with a view apparently of
finding a common ground on which a settlement might be made when the
new Parliament met. Lenthal, for whose ripe experience Monk seems
to have had a high regard, had suggested as the terms that would be
most satisfactory to the country, a general amnesty, the confirmation
of the land-titles, and liberty of conscience. These the general
now determined to make the basis of negotiation, and when Grenville
returned the following evening he found them incorporated in a pithy
memorandum. An urgent appeal to the King to leave Brussels for some
place in Holland was added, and a strict caution to Grenville that he
was not to ask for any reward for the service Monk was doing. After
reading over these instructions to his cousin several times till he had
them by heart, the general threw the paper into the fire. With final
orders not to leave Charles till he was out of Spanish territory, and
not even to treat of a reward, Grenville was dismissed, and left London
the same night. Thus it was that when the letter of the Presbyterians
surprised the exultant exiles in the act of preparing an answer to the
general's message of salvation, the King only laughed, and said, "I
perceive that these people do not know that I and General Monk stand on
much better terms."
Charles at once acted on the general's advice, and after seeing him
safely upon Dutch soil, Grenville on April 4th hastened back with
a dangerous burden. Besides official letters for the two Houses of
Parliament, the Council, the army, and the city, each containing a copy
of the famous Declaration from Breda, he carried an autograph letter
from the King to the general, together with a commission for him to
be Captain-General of the Three Kingdoms, and a signet and seal for a
Secretary of State, to be delivered to whomsoever the general chose.
The letter Monk accepted, but he had still enough of the true soldier
of fortune in him to refuse a commission incompatible with the one he
held. Nor would he take the seals, but told Grenville to hide himself
and his papers till Parliament met, and then act according to his
instructions.
The few Royalists who were in the secret were already in a state of
ecstasy. Mordaunt, who had been working successfully in other quarters,
had written over that nothing could now stop the King's return but an
attempt by Lambert on the Council or Monk. Fortunately Lambert was in
the Tower, but nevertheless the danger was great. As the designs of
the Presbyterians became known the army grew more and more restless.
Agitators began to persuade them they were to be cheated out of land,
arrears, and all the long struggle had won them. Monk saw his regiments
must be still further purged. To effect this Charles Howard of Naworth,
who commanded his bodyguard, together with Ashley Cooper and the old
Coldstreamers, prepared a petition to him that every officer should
be required, in view of the insubordinate spirit that was arising,
to sign an engagement to be true to the Government as it was then
constituted. The precaution was taken none too soon. A few days after
Grenville's return a letter was intercepted disclosing a conspiracy
of Anarchists and extreme Republicans as formidable as any with which
Cromwell had had to contend. It was written from Wales by Desborough,
the most formidable of the Fanatics, to a partisan in the city. The
idea involved the destruction of Charles and his brothers as well as of
Monk, and early in May the Fanatics were to rise in Wales, seize all
the towns on the Marches, and set up the Long Parliament at Shrewsbury.
By this masterly move they hoped to attract the Presbyterians, whom
they had been careful to make jealous of the Cavaliers. Already it
appeared they had the support of the Jesuits, who, as Monk knew very
well, were always ready to join hands with Independency. Till all
was ready the army was to be kept in a state of ferment and distrust
of its leaders, and the new House was to have "bones to pick," so as
to prevent the possibility of any decided step being taken towards
the King's recall. Vane was to lead the insurrection, and Haslerig's
support was expected. Already the city had quarrelled with the
Presbyterian leaders. Other signs of the conspirators' work appeared,
and Monk and the Council were taking their precautions when suddenly
the danger was doubled. On April 11th (or 10th), after Colonel Howard
had presented the officers' petition to the general, like a thunderclap
came the news that Lambert had escaped from the Tower.
It was at such a moment that Monk was greatest. Small as was his
opinion of his rival as a soldier, he knew Lambert was looked upon
by the malcontents of the army as their champion. It was a name to
conjure with, and the Fanatics had got the one thing wanting, a man
the soldiers would follow. Monk acted with all his old energy. Arrests
were made right and left. The new Engagement was presented to all the
regiments, and every officer who refused to sign was cashiered. Morgan
was reinforced in Scotland and the city militia mobilised. Still the
work had only begun. Lambert, after narrowly escaping arrest in the
city, got away into the country. The expected desertions began, and
Monk ordered the Engagement to be signed by rank and file as well as
officers. Whole troops and companies refused, and whole troops and
companies were disarmed and broken. As fast as one regiment was sound
it was despatched to remodel another; but hardly was the operation
complete than intelligence came that Lambert had appeared in arms in
the western Midlands. Instantly Colonels Howard and Ingoldsby--daring
Dick Ingoldsby, Cromwell's favourite _sabreur_, "who could neither
pray nor preach"--were hurried with two flying columns to the scene
of action; but that was not all. Monk was not a man to do things by
halves. The events of the next week it was impossible to foretell; he
could only prepare for the worst. By the elections the country had
already declared for the King, and, determined at all costs to save it
from Lambert and the Fanatics, Monk sent for Sir John Grenville. He
told him that if the rising were not immediately crushed the army might
revolt at any time. "In that case," he continued, "I shall publish my
commission from the King, and raise all the royal party of the three
nations." Sir John was instructed to hold himself in readiness to
convey the necessary orders to the leading Cavaliers, and that night
his brother Barnard was speeding towards Holland with the general's
warning to the King.
Monk's heroic remedy was destined to be untried. His energy had
once more saved the country from civil war. On Easter Tuesday, six
days after the alarm was given, a grand review of the mobilised
trained-bands was held in Hyde Park. From ten thousand throats the
great Royalist reaction found voice. Many cheered for the King
openly; the auxiliaries drank his health on their knees; George Monk
was the darling of the hour. As though nothing should be wanting
from his triumph, when the enthusiasm was at its highest a party of
travel-stained horse was seen moving along the outskirts of the park.
Right under the gallows at Tyburn they passed, and a new shout rent the
air; for in their midst rode Lambert with swordless scabbard.
His attempt was premature, and had been crushed at a blow. Pistol in
hand, Dick Ingoldsby had ridden him down as he galloped from the field;
but the great conspiracy was practically untouched. Desborough's agents
redoubled their activity. Monk's officers, sensible of the danger, came
to beg him to proclaim the King at once before Parliament met, and so
win the whole glory for himself and the army. But even the stirring
scene in the park could not shake his splendid self-control. He quietly
reminded them of their oft-expressed determination to keep the military
power in obedience to the civil, and of the Engagement they had so
recently signed. What they proposed, he said, was treason, and so he
dismissed them.
In spite of the danger which still threatened from the Parliamentary
delays, which he knew the Fanatics were fostering, he was determined to
proceed in a constitutional manner, and he arranged with his cousin,
Charles's accredited agent, the exact method of procedure. Parliament
met quietly on the 25th. Monk took his seat for Devon, having elected
to sit for his native county in preference to Cambridge University
by which he had been also returned. The Commons next day passed the
general a vote of thanks for his unparalleled services in having
conquered the enemies of Church and State without so much as "a bloody
nose." The few Presbyterian Lords who had met uninvited and unresisted
did the same, and Monk in his acknowledgment bluntly begged them to
look forward and not backward in transacting affairs, a hint they
were careful to take. While this was going on in Parliament Sir John
Grenville presented himself at the Council-chamber and asked to see
the lord-general. Monk came out and received from his cousin's hands
as from a stranger an official letter addressed "To our trusty and
well-beloved General Monk, to be by him communicated to the President
and Council of State, and to the officers of the armies under his
command." Monk at once ordered his guards to detain the messenger and
returned to the Council-chamber. There he broke the seal and handed
the letter unread to the president. The surprise was complete. No
one but Morice had an idea of what had been going on. Still it was
clear that the letter came from Charles, and after some debate it was
resolved that without being read it should be presented to Parliament
on May 1st, the day they had fixed for the business of the settlement
of the nation. Meanwhile Grenville was to be placed under arrest, but
the general interposed, saying that although a stranger he was a near
kinsman of his own, and that he would be responsible for his appearance
at the bar.
But it was not intended that Grenville should wait for the summons.
So soon as the Houses met he attended, and sprung upon them the
official letters he had for each. In the Commons Morice was on his
feet before the House could recover its breath, and moved that the
constitutional government of the country was by King, Lords, and
Commons. The motion was carried in a rush of enthusiasm, and Monk asked
leave to communicate the King's despatch to the army. It was granted.
Similar votes were passed in the Lords, and the Commonwealth was
constitutionally at an end. At a subsequent sitting, however, the House
came a little more to its senses. Sir Matthew Hale rose to move for a
committee to inquire what terms had been offered to the late King. Monk
saw, or thought he saw, the cloven hoof of the Sectaries. Here was one
of the "bones to pick" which he knew they meant to provide. He rose to
his feet immediately and solemnly warned the House not to presume on
the apparent quiet of the country. Incendiaries, he said, were on the
watch for a place to raise a flame: he had full information, which it
was not expedient to make public; but he could not answer for the army
or undertake to preserve order if the King were not sent for at once.
There is no reason to doubt not only that he believed what he said, but
that it was really true, and that the Sectaries and Republicans were
fast loosening his grip on the troops. Relying on Charles's promises to
himself, he saw no danger in his unconditional return, for, as he went
on to point out to the House, without troops or money the King would
be at their mercy. He concluded by moving that commissioners should be
immediately sent to invite Charles to England; "And the blood be on the
head of him," he cried, "who delays the settlement."[10]
His words were greeted with a thunder of applause. The old
constitutionalists saw that Monk's appeal was irresistible, and in
the excitement of the moment vote after vote was passed that went
beyond the most extravagant hopes of the most sanguine Cavalier. The
Revolution was at an end, and the lord-general's lady proceeded to
herald the new era by frankly turning to her old trade and purchasing a
stock of linen at wholesale prices on the King's account for Whitehall.
The rapid transformation that followed is a matter of history. Both
France and Spain saw the victim of their long intrigues suddenly
snatched from their grasp, and each made desperate efforts to coax
him back into its power. All their blandishments were in vain. Monk
had succeeded in his resolve that if the King came back it should be
without entangling the country in any engagements with foreign powers.
Mazarin and De Haro had been completely outwitted by the dull soldier,
and the cardinal died of vexation, it used to be said, in the following
year.
Early on May 25th Monk was roused at Canterbury with the news that the
fleet, which was bringing home the King, was in sight. There he had
just arrived, the idol of the swarms of gentlemen that were flocking
to Dover to welcome Charles and push their fortunes. He was worshipped
and tormented as the fountain of honour. In his pocket he had a long
list of importunate friends and enemies whom he had good-naturedly
promised to recommend for places in the Government. His bodyguard was
filled with noblemen. The very roads threatened to be blocked with
the multitude of high-born supplicants, till the old disciplinarian,
shocked at the indecency of the scramble, imperiously enrolled them
into regiments and insisted on some order being observed.
Monk was "the sole pillar of the King's confidence," and so soon as
the fleet reached Dover Roads Charles sent an express to say that he
would not land till he came to him. No sooner was the summons received
than he was on horseback again hastening to Dover. The critical moment
had come. Every one then agreed that it was Monk who had restored
the King, but how and why no one could exactly tell. As the boat
containing the royal party touched the beach they crowded round to see
the meeting of the two uncrowned kings, hoping that Monk's demeanour
would lift the mist in which the future was wrapped and show them who
was going to wield the sceptre. Charles himself was as nervous and
anxious as the rest. This formidable figure that had arisen so suddenly
and with such mystery, this man of darkness who had done as it were
single-handed what for years had defied the efforts of his own most
trusted councillors, and who yet forbade the very mention of reward,
the perplexed King could only fear.
On the beach they met, and to every one's surprise the soldierly
figure sank upon its knee and kissed the royal hand as deferentially
as though it were the king who had made the general. Startled into
an unwonted display of emotion Charles raised him, and embracing him
with genuine fervour called him his father. Both were too moved for
many words. Without more ado, amidst the shouts of the people and
the thunder of the guns from forts and fleet, the two walked side
by side to the royal coach. There the soldier of fortune took his
place with the King and his brothers; and the Duke of Buckingham was
clever enough, to every one's annoyance, to get possession of the boot
uninvited.
The transports of delight which marked the whole progress to Canterbury
were like a dream to Charles, so little could he understand it all.
His first sensation, when he had time to realise his position quietly,
was one of disgust at the indecency with which petitions for places
had been showered upon him the moment he landed. It was impossible to
satisfy them all, and the throne before him bid fair to be a bed of
thorns; but far worse was yet to come. Hardly was he alone when the
terrible general came into his room. Monk was no courtier, and his
Court manners were already exhausted. It was a visit of business, and
his way of doing business was aggressively direct. Without any preface
or apology he went straight to the point, and in his blunt rough way
told the King he could not do him better service than to recommend him
councillors who would be acceptable to the people. With that he handed
in his list of names. Charles nervously thrust it into his pocket,
thanked the general, and dismissed him. Clarendon was sent for, and
together they read the alarming memorandum. It contained the names of
but two Cavaliers. Charles was aghast. What did it mean? Was this the
solution of Monk's extraordinary conduct? Did he intend to be mayor
of the palace to a _roi fainéant_? Clarendon knew as well as Monk the
great revolutionary forces that were straining unseen beneath all
the enthusiasm. He knew they were only kept under by an army which
sympathised with them in its heart. The fleet was still riding off
Dover; Monk had only to hold up his finger, and in a few hours the King
would be on his travels again. The chancellor determined to get Morice
to find out what the general intended. In an hour he came back. The
general, he reported, was extremely pained that he had caused the King
any uneasiness. He held the royal commission, and was there to receive
orders, not to give them. The paper was merely a list of persons he
had promised to recommend. The King was at perfect liberty to accept
or reject them, only there were a few whom he heartily wished he could
make use of.
The episode was ended; the King breathed again, but he never forgot the
fright. Till the veteran passed away Charles never ceased to fear his
power and love the hand that used him so gently. Ashley Cooper, whom
Monk specially recommended, was sworn a Privy Councillor on the spot,
together with the general himself, Morice, and the Earl of Southampton;
but the King committed himself no further. Morice was also given the
seals which Monk had refused to confer in spite of a heavy bribe, and
the general himself received the Garter at the hands of the Dukes of
York and Gloucester. He was offered the choice of any of the great
offices of State, and he characteristically chose that of Master of the
Horse. It had little or nothing to do with politics, and the patronage
was extensive.
So the play was ended, and in a blaze of triumph such as England had
never known the King entered London in the midst of a magnificent
procession. Immediately behind him rode the lord-general beside the
obtrusive Duke of Buckingham. Never before or since has a subject
occupied such a position and arrogated less to himself. The ovation
with which the King and his deliverer were received was deafening.
Charles was perfectly dazed. He could hardly speak to his faithful
Parliament as Lords and Commons met him jostling one another in a
disorderly and excited mob. He recognised no one, and was so exhausted
with the din that he could not attend the Thanksgiving in the Abbey.
So as though the note of incapacity must be struck at the outset, he
turned aside and took refuge in Whitehall. Still the glory of the
conqueror was none the less, nor his satisfaction less complete.
He could lay his head on his pillow that night with the happy
consciousness that the burden of empire was lifted from his shoulders,
that his country was at peace again, and still more, which was dearest
of all to his great heart, that the triumph had been won without the
cost of a single life.