spirit, without being convinced that Cromwell fully shared in those
fanatical sentiments which prompted the army to insist upon the king's
death. A contemporary account, from which Mr Carlyle, some pages before
this letter occurs, has quoted largely, represents this chief of the
Puritans in exactly the same point of view. The officers of the army had
made certain overtures to the king, certain efforts at a reconciliation,
which had been fruitless; and which had been, moreover, attended with
much division and contention amongst themselves. They had turned aside,
it seems, from "that path of _simplicity_ they had been blessed in, to
walk in a _politic_ path," and were, accordingly, afflicted, "as the
wages of their backsliding hearts," with tumults, and jealousies, and
divisions. But the godly officers, says the pious record of Adjutant
Allen, met at _Windsor Castle_! "and there we spent one day together in
prayer; inquiring into the causes of that sad dispensation. And, on the
morrow, we met again in the morning; where many spake from the Word and
prayed; and the then Lieutenant-General Cromwell did press very
earnestly on all there present, to a thorough consideration of our
actions as an army, and of our ways particularly as private Christians;
to see if any iniquity could be found in them; and what it was; that, if
possible, he might find it out, and so remove the cause of such sad
rebukes as were upon us, (by reason of our iniquities, as we judged,) at
that time. And the way, more particularly, the Lord led us to herein was
this: to look back and consider what time it was when, with joint
satisfaction, we could last say, to the best of our judgments, The
presence of the Lord was amongst us, and rebukes and judgments were not,
as then, upon us.... By which means we were, by a gracious hand of the
Lord, led to find out the very steps, (as were all there jointly
convinced,) by which we had departed from the Lord, and provoked Him to
depart from us, which we found to be those cursed carnal conferences,
our own conceited wisdom, our fears, and want of faith, had prompted us,
the year before, to entertain with the king and his party. And at this
time, and on this occasion, did the then Major Goffe, (as I remember was
his title,) make use of that good word, Proverbs 1st and 23d, _Turn you
at my reproof; behold I will pour out my Spirit unto you, I will make
known my words unto you._" In fine, their "iniquities," their want of
faith, their carnal conferences--that is to say, all desire for peace,
all humanity, all moderation, all care for their country--were cast
aside, and they came to the solitary gloomy resolution, "That it is our
duty to call Charles Stuart, that man of blood, to an account for that
blood he had shed, and mischief he had done to his utmost, against the
Lord's cause and people in these poor nations."
Let no one suppose that, because Cromwell, and other officers of the
army, had been negotiating with the king, bidding for him, in fact,
against the Parliament, and offering terms such as it was mere
infatuation upon his part not to accept, that they were, therefore, not
sincere in this their fanaticism, which now so clearly told them they
should be doing the express will of God in putting him to death. Those
who have paid attention to this disease of the mind, know well, that
while nothing is more violent at one moment, nothing is more flexible at
another. Against the assaults of reason it is rock,--it is adamant; but
to self-interest, or a covert passion, it is often surprisingly ductile.
The genuine fanatic is gifted with a power which will equally uphold
him, whether he walks to the right or to the left, and lets him change
his course as often as he will. He has a logic that is always
triumphant--which proves him always in the right--whether he would
advance or recede. Success--it is God's own sanction; failure--it is
what you please,--God's disapproval if you would retreat--a trial only
of your faith, if you have the heart to advance. In the present case,
our pious army, having found it impossible to treat with the king, has
but to spend "its day in prayer," and its fierce zeal resumes its former
channel with greater violence than ever. It has been led astray, it
finds, by carnal reasonings and sinful weakness; and, rushing back to
its old "path of simplicity," it raises the cry of death!
This account, which Adjutent Allan gives of diseased piety and perilous
fanaticism, Mr Carlyle accompanies with interjections of applause, and
cheers of encouragement. To him, also, it seems quite fit that the army
should return to its path of "simplicity." The King must die.
How little, up to the very last, did that unfortunate monarch know of
the terrible spirit of those enemies into whose hands he had fallen! He
saw himself necessary to the tranquillisation and stable government of a
nation still imbued with the love of monarchy, he therefore thought
himself and the monarchy were safe; he knew not that he was contending
with men who, when they rose to their high "heroic" mood, had a supreme
contempt for all considerations touching mere human polity,--the mere
peace and government of mankind. He trusted much to the sacredness of
royalty, the majesty of the purple, the divinity of a King; he was
delivered over to the power of enemies, whose glory it was to tread down
the glories of the world; who, so far from finding any sacredness in his
royalty, had classed him amongst all the wicked kings of the Old
Testament, sentenced to be exterminated with the idolatry they fostered,
and with whom the very audacity and fearful temerity of the deed, (if
this at all affected them,) would add only to its merit. Unfortunate
monarch! The tide of sympathy runs now against him, but we confess still
to retain our compassion for the fallen prince,--our compassion, very
little, it may be, of admiration. We see him contending against fearful
odds, keeping up a high and kingly spirit to the last. So far he braved
it nobly, and played a desperate game, if not wisely, yet with unshaken
nerves. His character, without a doubt, bears, as Lingard writes, "the
taint of duplicity." But it was a duplicity which, in his father's
court, would have been chuckled over as good practice of state-craft. We
are strangely fashioned--kings, and all of us--made up of fragments of
virtue, ill-assorted parcels of morality. Charles, when he had given his
parole of honour, would not escape from his imprisonment in the Isle of
Wight, though the means of escape were offered to him. But the wily and
diplomatic monarch thought he was entitling himself to the praise of all
men of spirit and intelligence, when, by fallacious promises and
protestations, he strove to play off one party of his enemies against
the other. He was practising, to the best of his ability, all the
traditionary maxims and manoeuvres of a subtle policy. Nor was it
ability that he wanted. On an Italian soil, these Italian arts might
have availed him. But what were the sleights and contrivances of a
traditionary state-craft against the rude storm of tumultuous passions
which had been conjured up around him! He was fencing with the
whirlwind. Perhaps no prince, trained in a court, can be a match for the
rude adversaries which revolutionary times raise up against him. What
chance is there that he should ever learn the nature of his new and
terrible enemy? You have taught him, according to all the laws of
woodcraft, to chase the stag and the fox, and now you let loose upon him
the wild beast of the forest! How was Charles to learn what manner of
being was a Puritan, and how it struck its prey? His courtiers would
have taught him to despise and ridicule--his bishops to look askance
with solemn aversion,--but who was there to teach him to fear this
Puritan?--to teach him that he must forthwith conciliate, if he could
not crush?
It is worth while to continue the narrative a little further. We adopt
Mr Carlyle's words. "At London, matters are coming rapidly to a crisis.
The resumed debate, 'shall the army remonstrance be taken into
consideration?' does not come out affirmative; on the contrary, on
Thursday the 31st, it comes out negative, by a majority of ninety. 'No,
we will not take it into consideration.' 'No?' The army at Windsor
thereupon spends again 'a day in prayer.' The army at Windsor has
decided on the morrow, that it will march to London; marches, arrives
accordingly, on Saturday, December 2d; quarters itself in Whitehall, in
St James's, 'and other great vacant houses in the skirts of the city and
villages about, no offence being given any where.' In the drama of
modern history, one knows not any graver, more note-worthy scene;
earnest as very death and judgment. They have decided to have justice,
these men; to see God's justice done, and his judgments executed on this
earth."
Adjutant Allen and Mr Carlyle are both of the same mind,--take the same
views of public matters, political and religious. But the Adjutant
himself would open great eyes at the sentence which next follows:--
"The abysses where the thunders and splendours are bred--the reader sees
them again laid bare and black. Madness lying close to the wisdom which
is brightest and highest;--and owls and godless men who hate the
lightning and the light, and love the mephitic dusk and darkness, are no
judges of the actions of heroes! Shedders of blood? Yes, blood is
occasionally shed. The healing surgeon, the sacrificial priest, the
august judge, pronouncer of God's oracles to man, these and the
atrocious murderer are alike shedders of blood; and it is an owl's eye,
that, except for the _dresses_ they wear, discerns no difference in
these! Let us leave the owl to his hootings; let us get on with our
chronology and swift course of events."
By forcibly expelling more than one hundred of the members of
Parliament, and thus converting a minority into a majority, these
"sacrificial priests" contrived to accomplish their very righteous act.
In the face of raving such as this, it would be absurd to enter
seriously upon any consideration, moral or political, touching the
King's death. We would rather that Mr Carlyle occupied the field alone.
We saw him just now dealing with his "abysses," and his "lightning;" we
quote his concluding comment on this event, which will present a
specimen of his more facetious style of eloquence, and the singular
_taste_ he is capable of displaying:--
"This action of the English regicides did in effect strike a damp like
death through the heart of _flunkeyism_ universally in this world.
Whereof flunkeyism, cant, cloth-worship, or whatever ugly name it have,
has gone about incurably sick ever since; and is now at length, in these
generations, very rapidly dying. The like of which action will not be
needed for a thousand years again. Needed, alas! not till a new genuine
hero-worship has arisen, has perfected itself; and had time to
degenerate into a flunkeyism and cloth-worship again! which I take to be
a very long date indeed.
"Thus ends the second civil war: in regicide, in a Commonwealth, and
keepers of the liberties of England: In punishment of delinquents, in
abolition of cobwebs;--if it be possible, in a government of Heroism
and veracity; at lowest of anti-flunkeyism, anti-cant, and the
_endeavour_ after heroism and veracity."
Flunkeyism! Such is the title which our _many-sided_ man thinks fit to
bestow on the loyalty of England! But serious indignation would be out
of place. A buffoon expression has this advantage, it is unanswerable.
Yet will we venture to say, that it is a losing game this which you are
playing, Mr Carlyle, this defiance of all common sense and all good
taste. There is a respectability other than that which, in the
unwearying love of one poor jest, you delight to call "gig
respectability," a respectability based on intelligence and not on
"Long-Acre springs," whose disesteem it cannot be wise to provoke, nor
very pleasant to endure.
The Commonwealth is proclaimed by sound of trumpet. The king and the
lords are cashiered and dismissed. A house of representatives and a
council of state form the constitution of England. Cromwell is one of
the council. But for the present the war in Ireland carries him away
from the scene of politics.
On this Irish campaign, Mr Carlyle breaks out, as may be supposed, in a
strain of exultation. He always warms at blood and battle. His piety, or
his poetry--not admirable whichever it may be--glows here to a red heat.
We are as little disposed perhaps as himself, to stand "shrieking out"
over the military severities of this campaign, but if we could bring
ourselves to believe that Mr Carlyle is really serious in what he
writes, we should say that the most impracticable maudlin of peace
societies, or "Rousseau-sentimentalism," were wisdom itself compared to
his own outrageous and fanatical strain. If the apologist of Cromwell
will be content to rest his case on the plain ground open to all
generals and captains on whom has devolved the task of subjecting a
rebellious and insurrectionary country--on the plain ground that the
object is to be more speedily effected, and with less bloodshed and
misery to the inhabitants, by carrying on the war at the commencement
with the utmost severity, (thus breaking down at once the spirit of
insurrection,) than by prolonging the contest through an exercise of
leniency and forbearance--we are not aware that any decisive answer can
be given to him. It is an awful piece of surgery to contemplate--one may
be excused, if one shudders both at it and the operator--but,
nevertheless, it may have been the wisest course to pursue. As a general
rule, every one will admit that--if war there must be--it is better that
it should be short and violent, than long and indecisive; for there is
nothing so mischievous, so destructive of the industry and moral
character of a people, as a war which, so to speak, _domesticates_
itself amongst them. Put aside "the saint" entirely,--let us see only
the soldier,--and Cromwell's campaign in Ireland may present nothing
more terrible than what elsewhere, and in the campaigns of other
generals, we are accustomed to regard as the necessary evils of war;
nothing more than what a Turenne, a Conde, or a Frederic of Prussia,
might have applauded or practised. But this is precisely the last thing
our editor would be disposed to do; any so common-place, and commonsense
view of the matter, would have been utterly distasteful: he _does_ bring
the saint very prominently upon the field, and we are to recognise in
Cromwell--"an armed soldier, terrible as Death, relentless as Doom;
_doing God's judgments on the enemies of God!_"
"It is a phenomenon," he continues, "not of joyful nature; no, but of
awful, to be looked at with pious terror and awe. Not a phenomenon which
you are taught to recognise with bright smiles, and fall in love with at
sight:--thou, art thou worthy to love such a thing; worthy to do other
than hate it, and shriek over it? Darest thou wed the Heaven's
lightning, then; and say to it, Godlike One? Is thy own life beautiful
and terrible to thee; steeped in the eternal depths, in the eternal
plendours?"--(Vol. ii. p. 53.)
In the despatch which Cromwell addresses to the Speaker, Lenthall, after
the storm of Tredah, otherwise Drogheda, we observe that the Puritan is
as strong as ever, but that the Soldier and the great Captain speak out
with increased boldness. Our sectarian farmer of St Ives, who brooded,
by the dark waters of the Ouse, over the wickedness of surpliced
prelacy, whose unemployed spirit sank at times into hypochondria, and
was afflicted with "strange fancies about the town-cross," has been
moving for some time in the very busiest scene the world could furnish
him, and has become the great general of his age. The spirit of the "big
wars" has entered, and grown up side by side with his Puritanism. The
ardour of the battle fully possesses him; he is the conqueror always in
the tremendous charge he makes at the head of his Ironsides; and he lets
appear, notwithstanding his self-denying style, a consciousness and a
triumph in his own skill as a tactician. He is still the genuine
Puritan; but the arduous life, the administrative duties of a soldier
and a general, have also been busy in modifying his character, and
calling forth and exercising that self-confidence, which he will by and
by recognise as "faith" and the leading of Providence, when he assumes
the place of dictator of his country.
From one passage in this despatch it would appear that his severity at
the storm of Drogheda was not wholly the result of predetermined policy,
but rose, in part, from the natural passion which the sword, and the
desperate struggle for life, call forth.
"Divers of the enemy retreated into the Mill-Mount, a place very strong
and of difficult access. The Governor, Sir Arthur Ashton, and divers
considerable officers being there, our men getting up to them, were
ordered by me to put them all to the sword. _And, indeed, being in the
heat of action_, I forbade them to spare any that were in arms in the
town; and, I think, that night they put to the sword about 2000 men:
divers of the officers and soldiers being fled over the bridge into the
other part of the town, where about 100 of them possessed St Peter's
church steeple, some the west gate, and others a strong round tower next
the gate called St Sunday's. These being summoned to yield to mercy,
refused; whereupon I ordered the steeple of St Peter's church to be
fired, when one of them was heard to say in the midst of the flames,
'God damn me, God confound me! I burn, I burn.'"
In the same despatch there is rather a noticeable passage, which
illustrates the manner in which the Puritan general was accustomed to
regard the Roman Catholics and their worship. There may be some who have
been so far deceived by the frequent use of the terms "religious
toleration" in conjunction with the name of Cromwell, as to attribute to
him a portion of that liberal spirit which is the greatest boast of
cultivated minds in the present century. His religious toleration
extended only to the small circle of sects whose Christian doctrine,
whose preaching, and whose forms of worship were almost identical; it
was just the same toleration that a Baptist dissenter of our day may be
supposed to extend towards an Independent dissenter, or a member of the
Countess of Huntingdon's connexion. The Independents differed from the
Presbyterians in no one definite article of creed, with this
exception--that they set no value upon _ordination_, and violently
objected to the restraining any good man from public preaching, or any
of the ministrations of a pastor, because he wanted this authorisation
of a visible church. For this point of "religious freedom" (an
expression which in their mouths has little other than this narrow
signification) they had to contend with the Presbyterians. The sect
which has to resist oppression, or the restraints of power, uses, of
course, the language of toleration. The Independents used it in their
controversy with the Presbyterians, just as the latter had employed it
in their controversy with Episcopacy. But Independents and Presbyterians
were alike intolerant of the Episcopalian or the Roman Catholic. All
sects of that age preached toleration when a powerful adversary was to
be deprecated--preached it then, and then only. The Independents coming
last upon the field, preached it last; but they have no title beyond
others to the spirit of toleration. Cromwell put down the mass as he
would put down a rebellion--as openly, as decidedly, as rigorously.
"It is remarkable," continued the despatch, "that these people, at the
first, set up the mass in some places of the town that had been
monasteries; but afterwards grew so insolent, that, the last Lord's day
before the storm, the Protestants were thrust out of the great church
called St Peter's, and they had public mass there; and in this very
place near 1000 of them (_the Catholics--a clear judgment_) were put to
the sword, fleeing thither for safety. I believe all their friars were
knocked on the head promiscuously but two; the one of which was Father
Peter Taaff, brother to the Lord Taaff, whom the soldiers took the next
day and made an end of. The other was taken in the Round Tower, under
the repute, (_the disguise_) of a lieutenant, and when he understood
that the officers in that tower had no quarter, he confessed he was a
friar; but that did not save him."
Ireland was no sooner subjected by this unflinching and terrific
severity, than the presence of the great general of the Commonwealth was
needed in Scotland. The Scots had no predilection for a republic, no
desire whatever for it; they were bent solely on their covenant, their
covenant and a Stuart king. It was a combination very difficult to
achieve. Nevertheless they took their oath to both, and marched into
England to establish them both over the United Kingdom. Here was
sufficient enthusiasm at all events; sufficient, and of the proper kind,
one would think, to earn the sympathies of our editor. And he does look
upon the Scots at this time as an "heroic nation." But, unfortunately,
it is precisely the heroic nation that his own great hero is about to
combat and subdue. He is compelled, therefore, upon his part, as the
faithful bard and minstrel of his chosen champion, to give them
up--them, and their covenant, and Stuart king--to merciless sarcasm.
Indeed, he tells us, that the great, the sole fault of the Scots, was
precisely this--that they did not produce a Cromwell. "With Oliver born
Scotch," he says or sings, "one sees not but the whole world might have
become Puritan!"
However, he launches his Puritan hero against the godly and heroic
nation with full sound of trumpet, not unmixed with a certain vague and
solemn voice of prophecy.
"In such spirit goes Oliver to the wars--a god-intoxicated man, as
Novalis elsewhere phrases it. I have asked myself, if any where in
modern European history, or even in ancient Asiatic, there was found a
man practising this mean world's affairs with a heart more filled by the
idea of the Highest? Bathed in the eternal splendours--it is so he walks
our dim earth: this man is one of few. He is projected with a terrible
force out of the Eternities, and in the Times and their arenas there is
nothing that can withstand him. It is great; to us it is tragic; a thing
that should strike us dumb! My brave one, thy noble prophecy _is_
divine; older than Hebrew David; old as the origin of man; and shall,
though in wider ways than those supposed, be fulfilled."--(P. 172.)
We feel no disposition to follow Cromwell to the Scottish wars, though
"bathed in the eternal splendours." We hardly know of any thing in
history to our taste more odious than this war between the Scottish
Covenanter and the English Puritan; the one praying clamorously for
victory against "a blaspheming general and a sectarian army;" the other
animating his battle with a psalm, and charging with a "Lord, arise! and
let thy enemies be scattered," or some such exclamation. Both generals,
in the intervals of actual war, sermonise each other, and with much the
same spirit that they fight. Their diplomacy is a tangled preachment,
and texts are their war-cries. Meanwhile, both are fighting for the
gospel of Christ! only one will have it _with_, the other _without_ the
covenant! Such "eternal splendours" are not inviting to us. We will step
on at once to the battle of Worcester, which concluded both the Scottish
war, and all hopes for the present of the royalist party.
This last of his battles and his victories dismisses the great Puritan
from the wars. It is a striking despatch he writes from the field of
Worcester. He is still the unmitigated Puritan; he still preaches to
Speaker Lenthall, but he preaches somewhat more dogmatically. There is
an air of authority in the sermon. We all know that godly exhortation
may be made to express almost every shade of human passion; as what son
and what wife has not felt who has lived under the dominion and
discourse of one of these "rulers in Israel." The Parliament felt, no
doubt, the difference between the sermons of their general and those of
their chaplain.
Cromwell and the army return to London. It is now that the Commonwealth
is to be really put upon its trial. Hitherto the army, that had made and
could unmake it, had been occupied first in Ireland, then in Scotland;
and the minds of people at home had been equally occupied in watching
its achievements. The Commonwealth has lived upon the expectations of
men. It has been itself an expectation. It is now to be perfected, its
organisation to be completed, its authority established.
But Cromwell was not a Washington. Not only did he want that serene and
steady virtue which counselled the champion of American independence to
retire into the ranks of the constitution--commander in the field,
private soldier in the city--not only did he fail in this civic virtue,
and found it hard to resign the sway and authority he had so long
exercised; but the inestimable advantages of a constitutional government
his mind had not been cultivated to appreciate. His thoughts had
hitherto taken another direction. His speculative habits theology had
moulded; his active habits had been formed in the camp. He felt that he
could administer the government better than any of the men around him:
we will give him credit, too, for the full intention to administer it
conscientiously, and for the good of the nation; but for those enlarged
views of the more enlightened patriot, who is solicitous to provide not
alone for the present necessities, but for the future long life of a
people--he had them not. He grew afterwards into the statesman, as he
had grown into the soldier; but at this time the Puritan general had
very little respect for human institutions.
We are far from asserting, that even with the assistance of Cromwell a
republic could have been established in England. But he lent no helping
hand; his great abilities, his fervent zeal, were never employed in this
service. He kept aloof--aloof with the army. He gathered himself to his
full height, standing amidst the ruins of the civil war: all men might
see that he alone kept his footing there. When the unhappy Parliament,
struggling with its cruel embarrassments, not knowing how to dissolve
itself with safety, had brought down on it the impatience, the distrust,
the contempt of men--when he had allowed its members to reap the full
harvest of a people's jealousies and suspicions--when at length they
were on the point of extricating themselves by a bill determining the
mode of electing a successor--_then_ he interfered, and dissolved them!
A question may be raised, how far Cromwell had the power, if such had
been his wish, to take over the army to the side of the Parliament, to
lead it into due allegiance to the Commonwealth. The officers of the
army and the members of the Parliament formed the two rival powers in
the kingdom. Cromwell, it may be said, _could_ not have united them,
could only make his choice between them. It would have been only a
fraction of the army that he could have carried over with him. The
division between the council of officers and the Parliament was too
wide, the alienation too confirmed and inveterate, to have been healed
by one man, though it was the Lord General himself. Thus, it may be said
that Cromwell, in the part he acted against the Long Parliament, was
thrust forward by a revolutionary movement, which, according to the law
of such movements, must either have carried him forward in the van, or
left him deserted or down-trodden in the rear.
This would be no flattering excuse. But whatever truth there may be in
this view of the case, Cromwell never manifested any intention or any
desire to quit the cause of the army for that of the Parliament. He was
heart and soul with the army; it was there his power lay; it was there
he found the spirits he most sympathised with. He walked at the head of
the army here as in the war. It was alone that he entered the House of
Parliament--alone "in his gray stockings and black coat," with no staff
of officers about him, no military parade, only a few of his Ironsides
in the lobby. Though aware he should have the support of his officers,
there is no proof that he had consulted them. The daring deed was _his_.
And it is one of the most daring deeds on record. The execution of the
King--in that day when kings were something more in the imagination of
men than they are now--was indeed an audacious act. But it was shared
with others. This dissolution of the Parliament, and assumption of the
dictatorship--this facing alone all his old compeers, met in due
legislative dignity, and bidding them one and all depart--strikes us as
the bolder deed.
The scene has been often described, but nowhere so well, or so fully, as
by Mr Carlyle. We cannot resist the pleasure of quoting his spirited
account of this notable transaction.
"The Parliament sitting as usual, and being in debate upon the
bill, which it was thought would have been passed that day,
'the Lord General Cromwell came into the House, clad in plain
black clothes and gray worsted stockings, and sat down, as he
used to do, in an ordinary place.' For some time he listens to
this interesting debate on the bill, beckoning once to
Harrison, who came over to him, and answered dubitatingly.
Whereupon the Lord General sat still for about a quarter of an
hour longer. But now the question being to be put, That this
bill do now pass, he beckons again to Harrison, says, 'This is
the time; I must do it!' and so 'rose up, put off his hat, and
spake. At the first, and for a good while, he spake to the
commendation of the Parliament, for their pains and care of the
public good; but afterwards he changed his style, told them of
their injustice, delays of justice, self-interest, and other
faults,' rising higher and higher into a very aggravated style
indeed. An honourable member, Sir Peter Wentworth by name, not
known to my readers, and by me better known than trusted, rises
to order, as we phrase it; says, 'It is a strange language
this; unusual within the walls of Parliament this! And from a
trusted servant, too; and one whom we have so highly honoured;
and one--' Come, come,' exclaims my Lord General, in a very
high key, 'we have had enough of this'--and in fact my Lord
General, now blazing all up into clear conflagration, exclaims,
'I will put an end to your prating,' and steps forth into the
floor of the House, and 'clapping on his hat,' and occasionally
'stamping the floor with his feet,' begins a discourse which no
man can report! He says--Heavens! he is heard saying: 'It is
not fit that you should sit here any longer!' You have sat too
long here for any good you have been doing lately, 'You shall
now give place to better men! Call them in!' adds he, briefly,
to Harrison, in way of command; and some 'twenty or thirty'
grim musketeers enter, with bullets in their snaphances; grimly
prompt for orders; and stand in some attitude of carry arms
there. Veteran men: men of might and men of war, their faces
are as the faces of lions, and their feet are swift as the roes
upon the mountains; not beautiful to honourable gentlemen at
this moment!
"'You call yourselves a Parliament,' continues my Lord General,
in clear blaze of conflagration. 'You are no Parliament! Some
of you are drunkards,' and his eye flashes on poor Mr Chalmer,
an official man of some value, addicted to the bottle; 'some of
you are'--and he glares into Henry Martin and the poor Sir
Peter, who rose to order, lewd livers both--'living in open
contempt of God's, commandments. Following your own greedy
appetites, and the devil's commandments. Corrupt, unjust
persons,' and here I think he glanced 'at Sir Bulstrode
Whitlocke, one of the Commissioners of the Great Seal, giving
him and others very sharp language, though he named them not.'
'Corrupt, unjust persons, scandalous to the profession of the
Gospel:' how can you be a Parliament for God's people? Depart,
I say, and let us have done with you. In the name, of God--go!
"The House is of course all on its feet--uncertain, almost,
whether not on its head: such a scene as was never seen before
in any House of Commons. History reports with a shudder that my
Lord General, lifting the sacred mace itself, said, 'What shall
we do with this bauble? Take it away!'--and gave it to a
musketeer. And now--'Fetch him down!' says he to Harrison,
flashing on the Speaker. Speaker Lenthall, more an ancient
Roman than any thing else, declares, He will not come till
forced. 'Sir,' said Harrison, 'I will lend you a hand;' on
which Speaker Lenthall came down, and gloomily vanished. They
all vanished; flooding gloomily, clamorously out, to their
ulterior businesses, and respective places of abode: the Long
Parliament is dissolved! 'It's you that have forced me to
this,' exclaims my Lord General, 'I have sought the Lord night
and day, that He would rather slay me than put me upon the
doing of this work.' 'At their going out, some say the Lord
General said to young Sir Harry Vane, calling him by his name,
That _he_ might have prevented this; but that he was a juggler,
and had not common honesty.' 'O Sir Harry Vane,' thou, with thy
subtle casuistries and abstruse hair-splittings, thou art other
than a good one, I think! 'The Lord deliver me from thee, Sir
Harry Vane!' 'All being gone out, the door of the House was
locked, and the key, with the mace, as I heard, was carried
away by Colonel Otley,' and it is all over, and the unspeakable
catastrophe has come, and remains."--(Vol. ii. p. 361.)
The usurpation of Cromwell is, we believe, generally considered as the
most fortunate event which, under the peculiar circumstances of the
country, could have occurred. The people, it is said; were not prepared
for a republic. The attempt, therefore, to establish one, would have
been attended by incessant tumults; its short and precarious existence
would have been supported by the scaffold and the prison. It would have
terminated indeed, as did the Protectorate, in a Restoration, but the
interval between the death of Charles I. and the accession of his son,
would have been passed in a very different manner. Under the
Protectorate the country rallied its strength, put forth its naval
power, obtained peace at home, and respect abroad. Under a republic, it
would have probably spent its force, and demoralised itself, in
intestine strife and by a succession of revolutionary movements.
But if this view be quite correct, it will not justify Cromwell. It is
one thing to be satisfied with the course of events, quite another with
the conduct of the several agents in them. Cromwell, in the position in
which he stood, as an honest man and a patriot, should have done his
best for the establishment of the Commonwealth; and this he did not. We
are far, as we have said, from venturing to give a decisive opinion on
the probability (with the united efforts of the victorious general and
the Parliament) of forming a republic. But we are not disposed to think
that the cause was hopeless. Had the Parliament been allowed to recruit
its numbers without dissolving itself--the measure which it constantly
desired, and which Cromwell would not hear of, though, without a doubt,
it was the very line of conduct which his own practical sagacity would
have led him to, if his heart had been in the business--the minds of men
would have had time to settle and reflect, and a mode of government,
which had already existed for some years, might have been adopted by the
general consent.
_We_ look upon the Restoration very calmly, very satisfactorily, for
whom a second revolution has placed another dynasty upon the throne,
governing upon principles quite different from those which were rooted
in the Stuarts. We see the Restoration, with the Revolution of 1688 at
its back, and almost consider them as one event. But a most loyal and
contented subject of Queen Victoria, would have been a Commonwealthsman
in those days. How could it then have been foreseen that all the power,
and privilege, and splendour of royalty, should exist only to _protect_
the law, to secure the equal rights of all--that monarchy, retaining a
traditionary awe and majesty derived from remote times, should remain
amongst us to supply to a representative government that powerful,
constant, and impartial executive which, from the mere elements of a
republic, it is so difficult to extract? Who could have imagined that a
popular legislature, and the supremacy of the law, could have been so
fortunately combined and secured under the shadow of the monarchy?
Enlightened minds at that time could not have looked calmly towards a
Restoration; they probably thought, or would have been led to think,
that, in the position they then were, it was better to take the
constitution of Holland, than the government of France, for their model.
But the multitude--with what enthusiasm they welcomed the restoration of
the Stuarts! Very true. But the Protectorate was no antagonist to
monarchy. Republican pride was never called forth to contend in the
public mind against the feeling of loyalty, and an attachment to kings.
The Protectorate was itself a monarchy without its splendour, or the
prestige of hereditary greatness. It was a monarchy under the Geneva
gown. Was it likely that the populace would accept of this in lieu of
the crowned and jewelled royalty which was wont to fill its imagination?
However, the experiment--fortunately for us, as the result has turned
out--was never destined to be made. Cromwell dissolved the Long
Parliament. He now stood alone, he and the army, the sole power in the
state. His first measure, that of sending a summons in his own name, to
persons of his own choice, and thus, without any popular election
whatever, assembling what is called the Little Parliament, or Barebones
Parliament, shows a singular audacity, and proves how little trammelled
he was himself by traditionary or constitutional maxims. He who would
not allow the Long Parliament to recruit its numbers, and thus escape
the perils of a free election of an altogether new assembly, extricates
himself from the same embarrassment by electing the whole Parliament
himself. Some historians have represented this measure as having for its
very object to create additional confusion, and render himself, and his
own dictatorial power, more necessary to the state. It has not appeared
to us in this light. We see in it a bold but rude assay at government.
In this off-hand manner of constituting a Parliament, we detect the
mingled daring of the Puritan and the Soldier. In neither of these
characters was he likely to have much respect for legal maxims, or rules
of merely human contrivance. Cromwell was educating himself for the
Statesman: at this juncture it is the Puritan General that we have
before us.
The Little Parliament having blundered on till it had got itself
entangled in the Mosaic dispensation, resigned its power into the hands
of him who had bestowed it. Thereupon a new _Instrument of Government_
is framed, with the advice of the council of officers, appointing
Cromwell Protector, and providing for the election of a Parliament.
This Parliament being elected, falls, of course, on the discussion of
this very Instrument of government. Henceforth Cromwell's great
difficulty is the management of his Parliaments. The speeches he
delivered to them at various times, and which occupy the third volume of
the work before us, are of high historical interest. They are in every
respect superior to his letters. Neither will their perusal be found to
be of that arduous and painful nature which, from the reputation they
have had, most persons will be disposed to expect. The _sermon_ may
weary, but the _speech_ is always fraught with meaning; and the mixture
of sermon and speech together, portray the man with singular
distinctness. We see the Puritan divine, the Puritan soldier, becoming
the Puritan statesman. His originally powerful mind is excited to fresh
exertion by his onerous and exalted position. But he is still constant
to himself. Very interesting is the exhibition presented to us of this
powerful intellect, breaking out in flashes of strong sense, and
relapsing again into the puerilities of the sect. But as it falls upon
the strong sense to _act_, and on the puerilities only to _preach_, the
man comes out, upon the whole, as a great and able governor.
The reputation which Oliver's speeches have borne, as being involved,
spiritless, tortuous, and even purposely confused, has resulted, we
think, from this--that an opinion of the whole has been formed from an
examination of a few, and chiefly of those which were delivered on the
occasion of his refusing the offered title of king. His conduct on this
occasion, it would be necessary for an historian particularly to
investigate, and in the discharge of this duty he would have to peruse a
series of discourses undoubtedly of a very bewildering character. They
are the only speeches of Cromwell of which it can be said that their
meaning is not clearly, and even forcibly expressed. And in this case it
is quite evident, that he had no distinct meaning to express; he had no
definite answer to give the Parliament who were petitioning him to take
the title of king. He was anxious to gain time--he was talking _against
time_--an art which we moderns only have thoroughly mastered. How could
Cromwell, who was no great rhetorician, be otherwise than palpably
confused, and dubious and intricate? Nothing can be clearer than that he
himself leant towards the opinion of the Parliament, that it would be
good policy to adopt the royal title. It was so connected with the old
attachments and associations of Englishmen, it had so long given force
to the language of the law, its claims were so much better known, its
prerogatives so much better understood than those of the new title of
Protector, that the resumption of it must have appeared very advisable.
But the army had been all along fighting against _the King_. Whilst to
the lawyer and the citizen the title was still the most honourable and
ever to be venerated, to the soldier of the Commonwealth it had become a
term of reproach, of execration, of unsparing hostility. Oliver Cromwell
might well hesitate before assuming a title which might forfeit for him
the allegiance of a great portion of the army. He deferred his answer,
to have an opportunity for estimating the nature and amount of the
resistance he might expect from that quarter; and he came to the
conclusion, that the risk of unsettling the affections of the army was
not to be incurred for either any personal gratification to himself
(which we take to have not weighed much with him) in assuming the title
of king, or for the advantages which might accrue from it in the
ultimate settlement of the nation. His addresses, therefore, to the
Parliament on this occasion not being definite answers to the
Parliament, nor intended to be such, but mere postponements of his
answer, were necessarily distinguished by indecision, uncertainty, and
all sorts of obscurities. But, these excepted, his speeches, however
deficient in what pertains to the _art of composition_, in terseness, or
method, or elegance of phrase, are never wanting in the great
essentials--the expression of his meaning in a very earnest and forcible
manner. The mixture of sermon and speech, we allow, is not inviting; but
the sermon is just as clear, perhaps, as any which the chaplain of the
House would have preached to them, and it must be remembered, that to
explain _his_ meaning, _his_ political sentiments, the sermon was as
necessary as the speech.
By the new instrument of government, the Protector, with his council,
was authorised, in the interval before the meeting of Parliament, to
issue such ordinances as might be deemed necessary. This interval our
Puritan governor very consistently employed, first of all, in
establishing a gospel ministry throughout the nation. Thirty-eight
chosen men, "the acknowledged flower of English Puritanism," were
nominated a Supreme Commission, for the trial of public preachers. Any
person holding a church-living, or pretending to the tithes or
clergy-dues, was to be tried and approved of by these men. "A very
republican arrangement," says Mr Carlyle, "such as could be made on the
sudden, but was found in practice to work well."
This and other ordinances having been issued, his first Parliament
meets. It cannot be said that our Puritan Protector does not rise to the
full level of his position. One might describe him as something of a
propagandist, disposed to teach his doctrine of _the rights of
Christian men_ to the world at large. It is thus he opens his
address:--"GENTLEMEN, You are met here on the greatest occasion that, I
believe, England ever saw; having upon your shoulders the interests of
three great nations, with the territories belonging to them: and truly I
believe I may say it without any hyperbole, you have upon your shoulders
_the interest of all the Christian people in the world_. And the
expectation is, that I should let you know, as far as I have cognisance
of it, the occasion of your assembling together at this time."
But this Parliament fell upon the discussion, as we have said, of the
very instrument of government under which they had been called together.
Mr Carlyle is as impatient as was Oliver himself at this proceeding of
the "Talking apparatus." But how could it be otherwise? Every thing
that had taken place since the dissolution of the Long Parliament was
done by mere arbitrary authority. The present Parliament, however called
together, must consider itself the only legitimate, the only
constitutional power: it _must_ look into this instrument of government.
But if it was impossible not to commence the discussion, it was equally
impossible ever to conclude it. We all know to what length a debate will
run upon a constitutional question; and here there was not one such
question, but a whole constitution to be discussed. In vain they debated
"from eight in the morning to eight at night, with an hour for
refreshment about noon:" there was no probability of their ever coming
to a conclusion.
This would never do. Oliver shuts up the Parliament-house, stations his
musketeers at the door, calls the members to him, presents them with a
parchment, "a little thing," to sign, acknowledging his authority, and
tells them he will open the door of the House to such only as shall put
their names to it. We will quote some parts of the speech he made to
them on this occasion, and our readers shall judge whether such a
speech, delivered by the living man Cromwell, was likely to fail in
effect, whether it was deficient in meaning or in energy. We shall omit
the parenthetical comments of the editor, because, however these may
amuse and relieve the reader who is making his way through the whole
work, and who becomes familiarised with their style, they would only
confuse and distract the attention in a brief extract. The single words
or phrases which he has introduced, merely to make the sense clear, are
retained whenever they are really necessary for this purpose, and
without the inverted commas by which they are properly distinguished in
the text. We will premise, that the protestations which Cromwell here
makes, that he did not seek the government, but was earnestly petitioned
to undertake it, may well, in part, be true. When he had once dissolved
the Long Parliament, it was no longer a matter of choice for himself or
others whether he would take the reins of government. To whom could he
commit them? From that time, the government rested upon his shoulders.
If he had manifested a wish to withdraw from the burden he had thus
brought down upon himself, there is no doubt but that he would have been
earnestly petitioned to remain at his post. The greatest enemy of
Cromwell, if he had been a lover of his country, would have joined in
such a petition; would have besought him to remain at the helm, now he
had thrown all other steersmen overboard. No; he must not quit it now.
He is there for the rest of his life, to do battle with the waves, and
navigate amongst rocks and quicksands as best he may.
Let us hear his own statement and defence of the manner in which he
became advanced and "captive" to his high and perilous place.
"GENTLEMEN,--It is not long since I met you in this place, upon
an occasion which gave me much more content and comfort than
this doth. That which I have now to say to you will need no
preamble to let me into my discourse; for the occasion of this
meeting is plain enough. I could have wished, with all my
heart, there had been no cause for it.
"At our former meeting I did acquaint you what was the first
rise of this government which hath called you hither, and by
the authority of which you have come hither. Among other things
which I then told you of, I said you were a Free Parliament;
and so you are, whilst you own the government and authority
which called you hither. But certainly that word (Free
Parliament) implied a reciprocity, or it implied nothing at
all. Indeed, there was a reciprocity implied and expressed; and
I think your actions and carriages ought to be suitable. But I
see it will be necessary for me now a little to magnify my
office, which I have not been apt to do. I have been of this
mind, I have been always of this mind, since I first entered
upon my office. If God will not bear it up, let it sink!--but
if a duty be incumbent upon me, to bear my testimony to it,
(which in modesty I have hitherto forborne,) I am, in some
measure, necessitated thereunto: and therefore that will be the
prologue to my discourse.
"I called not myself to this place. I say again, I called not
myself to this place! Of that God is witness: and I have many
witnesses who, I do believe, could lay down their lives bearing
witness to the truth of that, namely, that I called not myself
to this place! And, being in it, I bear not witness to myself
or my office; but God and the people of these nations have also
borne testimony to it. If my calling be from God, and my
testimony from the people, _God and the people shall take it
from me, else I will not part with it!_ I should be false to
the trust that God hath placed in me, and to the interest of
the people of these nations if I did.
"I was by birth a gentleman; living neither in any considerable
height, nor yet in obscurity. I have been called to several
employments in the nation--to serve in Parliament and others;
and, not to be over-tedious, I did endeavour to discharge the
duty of an honest man, in those services, to God and his
people's interest, and to the Commonwealth; having, when time
was, a competent acceptation in the hearts of men, and some
evidences thereof. I resolve not to recite the times, and
occasions, and opportunities, which have been appointed me by
God to serve him in; nor the presence and blessing of God,
therein bearing testimony to me.
"Having had some occasion to see, together with my brethren and
countrymen, a happy period put to our sharp wars and contests
with the then common enemy, I hoped, in a private capacity, to
have reaped the fruit and benefit, together with my brethren,
of our hard labours and hazards: the enjoyment, to wit, of
peace and liberty, and the privileges of a Christian and a man,
in some equality with others, according as it should please the
Lord to dispense unto me. And when I say God had put an end to
our wars, or at least brought them to a very hopeful issue,
very near an end,--after Worcester fight,--I came up to London
to pay my service and duty to the Parliament which then sat,
hoping that all minds would have been disposed to answer what
seemed to be the mind of God, namely, to give peace and rest to
his people, and especially to those who had bled more than
others in the carrying on of the military affairs,--I was much
disappointed of my expectation. For the issue did not prove so.
_Whatever may be boasted or misrepresented, it was not so, not
so!_
"I can say in the simplicity of my soul, I love not, I love
not,--I declined it in my former speech,--I say, I love not to
rake into sores, or to discover nakednesses! The thing I drive
at is this: I say to you, I hoped to have had leave to retire
to a private life. I begged to be dismissed of my charge; I
begged it again and again; and God be judge between me and all
men if I lie in this matter! That I lie not in matter of fact,
is known to very many; but whether I tell a lie in my heart, as
labouring to represent to you what was not upon my heart, I say
the Lord be judge. Let uncharitable men, who measure others by
themselves, judge as they please. As to the matter of fact, I
say it is true. As to the ingenuity and integrity of my heart
in that desire--I do appeal, as before, upon the truth of that
also. But I could not obtain what my soul longed for. And the
plain truth is, I did afterwards apprehend some more of
opinion, (such the differences of their judgment from mine,)
that it could not well be.
"I confess I am in some strait to say what I could say, and
what is true, of what then followed. I pressed the Parliament,
as a member, to period themselves; once and again, and again,
and ten, nay twenty times over. I told them, for I knew it
better than any one man in the parliament could know it,
because of my manner of life, which had led me every where up
and down the nation, thereby giving me to see and know the
temper and spirits of all men, and of the best of men--that the
nation loathed their sitting. I knew it. And so far as I could
discern, when they _were_ dissolved, _there was not so much as
the barking of a dog_, or any general or visible repining at
it.
"And that there was high cause for their dissolution, is most
evident: not only in regard there was a just fear of that
parliament's perpetuating themselves, but because it actually
was their design. Had not their heels been trod upon by
importunities from abroad, even to threats, I believe there
never would have been any thoughts of rising, or of going out
of that room, to the world's end. I myself was sounded, and by
no mean persons tempted; and proposals were made me to that
very end: that the parliament might be thus perpetuated; that
the vacant places might be supplied by new elections, and so
continue from generation to generation."
He proceeds to object to the measure which the Parliament was really
about to pass, that it would have established an uninterrupted
succession of Parliaments, that there would have been "a legislative
power always sitting," which would thereby have encroached upon the
executive power. The speech then enlarges on the general assent of the
people, of the army, of the judges, of the civic powers, to the
instrument of government, to the Protectorate, and on the implied
assent which they themselves had given by accepting their commissions
under it.
"And this being so, though I told you in my last speech that
you were a free Parliament, yet I thought it was understood
withal that I was the Protector, and the authority that called
you! That I was in possession of the government by a good right
from God and man. And I believe, that if the learnedest men in
this nation were called to show a precedent equally clear of a
government so many ways approved of, they would not in all
their search find it. And if the fact be so, why should we
sport with it? With a business so serious!... For you to disown
or not to own it; for you to act with parliamentary authority
especially, in the disowning of it, contrary to the very
fundamental things, yea against the very root itself of this
establishment, to sit and not own the authority by which you
sit--is that which I believe astonisheth more men than myself;
and doth as dangerously disappoint and discompose the nation,
as any thing that could have been invented by the greatest
enemy to our peace and welfare."
After drawing the distinction between fundamentals, which may not be
shaken, and circumstantials, which it is in the power of Parliament to
alter and modify, he continues:--
"I would it had not been needful for me to call you hither to
expostulate these things with you, and in such a manner as
this! But necessity hath no law. Feigned necessities, imaginary
necessities, are the greatest cozenage which man can put upon
the providence of God, and make pretences to break known rules
by. But it is as legal, as carnal, and as stupid to think that
there are _no_ necessities which are manifest and real, because
necessities may be abused or feigned. I have to say, the wilful
throwing away of this government, such as it is, so owned by
God, so approved by men, so witnessed to, as was mentioned
above, were a thing which--and in reference to the good of
these nations and of posterity--_I can sooner be willing to be
rolled into my grave and buried with infamy, than I can give my
consent unto!_
"You have been called hither to save a nation--nations. You had
the best people, indeed, of the Christian world put into your
trust, when you came hither. You had the affairs of these
nations delivered over to you in peace and quiet; you were, and
we all are, put into an undisturbed possession, nobody making
title to us: Through the blessing of God, our enemies were
hopeless and scattered. We had peace at home; peace with almost
all our neighbours round about. To have our peace and interest,
whereof those were our hopes the other day, thus shaken, and
put under such a confusion; and ourselves rendered hereby
almost the scorn and contempt of those strangers who are
amongst us to negotiate their masters' affairs!... Who shall
answer for these things to God or to men? To men, to the people
who sent you hither? who looked for refreshment from you; who
looked for nothing but peace and quietness, and rest and
settlement? When we come to give an account to them, we shall
have it to say, 'Oh, we quarrelled for the _Liberty of
England_; we contested, and went to confusion for
that!--_Wherein, I pray you, for the Liberty of England?_ I
appeal to the Lord, that the desires and endeavours we have
had--nay, the things will speak for themselves,--the liberty of
England, the liberty of the people, the avoiding of tyrannous
impositions either upon men as men, or Christians as
Christians,--is made so safe by this act of settlement, that it
will speak for itself."
The Protector then tells them that, "seeing the authority which
called them is so little valued and so much slighted, he had
caused a stop to be put to their entrance into the Parliament-house,"
until a certain "somewhat," which would be found "in the lobby
without the Parliament-door"--an adhesion to the government in its
fundamentals--should be signed.
This extract, as will be readily supposed, would lead to a far too
favourable opinion of Cromwell's oratory, if understood as a specimen of
his usual manner of speaking; but our readers will probably confess,
that they did not expect that the speeches of Cromwell would have
yielded such an extract.
Oliver has, it will be observed, a singularly modest way of speaking of
his political remedies and projects. In referring, on a later occasion,
to his major-generals, he says, "Truly when that insurrection was, we
did find out a _little poor invention_, which I hear has been much
regretted. I say there was _a little thing_ invented, which was the
erecting of your major-generals, to have a little inspection upon the
people thus divided, thus discontented, thus dissatisfied." On the
present occasion, the "somewhat which was to be found at the lobby of
the Parliament-door," was, after a little demur, accepted and signed by
all but a certain number of declared republicans. The parliament
afterwards fell from the discussion of a whole constitution, to debates
apparently as warm, and as endless, upon poor Biddle the Quaker, and
other kindred subjects. Thus their allotted session of five months
passed; at the end of which time Cromwell dissolved them.
"I do not know what you have been doing," he tells them in his speech on
this occasion. "I do not know whether you have been alive or dead. I
have not once heard from you all this time--I have not--and that you all
know."
Cromwell's second parliament manifested a wiser industry, and a more
harmonious temper--thanks to one of the Protector's "little inventions."
Each member was to be provided with a certificate before entering the
house; "but near one hundred honourable gentlemen can get no
certificate--none provided for _them_--and without certificate there is
no admittance. Soldiers stand ranked at the door; no man enters without
his certificate!" The stiff republicans, and known turbalent persons,
are excluded. From this Parliament Cromwell accepts again the title of
Protector, and is installed with great state; things take a more legal
aspect; the major-generals are suppressed; a House of Lords is
instituted; and a settlement of the nation seems at last effected.
But the second session of this Parliament relapsed again into a restive
and republican humour. The excluded members had been admitted, and
debates arose about this "other house," as they were disposed to
nominate the Lords. So much confusion resulted in the country from this
unsettled state of the representative assembly, and so many
insurrectionary designs were fostered by it, that the Protector was
compelled abruptly to dissolve the Parliament. He tells them:--
"That which brought me into the capacity I now stand in, was
the petition and advice given me by you, who, in reference to
the ancient constitution, did draw me to accept the place of
Protector. _There is not a man living can say I sought it; no,
not a man nor a woman treading upon English ground._ But,
contemplating the sad condition of these nations, relieved from
an intestine war into a six or seven years' peace, I did think
the nation happy therein. But to be petitioned thereunto, and
to be advised by you to undertake such a government, a burden
too heavy for any creature--and this to be done by the House
which then had the legislative capacity--certainly I did look
that the same men who made the frame, should make it good unto
me. _I can say, in the presence of God, in comparison with whom
we are but like poor creeping ants upon the earth, I would have
been glad to have lived under any woodside, to have kept a
flock of sheep, rather then have undertaken such a government
as this._ But, undertaking it by the advice and petition of
you, I did look that you who had offered it unto me, should
make it good."