Bases on which Saint-Foix has founded his Theory--Disputes of
Saint-Foix and Father Griffet--The Recollection of Monmouth becomes
Legendary in England--Ballads announcing his Return--Indisputable
Proofs of Monmouth’s Death in 1685--Interview of Monmouth with his
Wife and Children--He is conducted to the Scaffold--His Firmness--The
Last Words which he utters--Awkwardness of the Executioner.
In an anonymous libel, published in Holland under the title of _Amours
de Charles II. et de Jacques II., Rois d’Angleterre_, we read “that
in 1688, a few days after the departure from London of King James
II., overthrown by William of Orange, Earl Danby sent to seek Colonel
Skelton, who had formerly been Lieutenant of the Tower, which post the
Prince of Orange had taken away from him, in order to give it to Lord
Lucas. ‘Mr. Skelton,’ said Earl Danby to him, ‘yesterday, when supping
with Robert Johnston, you told him that the Duke of Monmouth was alive,
and that he was imprisoned in some castle in England.’ ‘I have not said
that he was alive, and imprisoned in any castle, since I know nothing
about it,’ answered Skelton; ‘but I have said that the night after the
Duke of Monmouth’s pretended execution, the King, accompanied by three
men, came to remove him from the Tower; that they covered his head
with a kind of hood, and that the King and the three men entered a
carriage with him.’”[157]
With the exception of this story, in the exactitude of which Saint-Foix
himself has not very great confidence, since he says, “These are
books whose authors seek only to amuse those who read them,”[158] he
invokes for the establishment of his theory merely vague conversations,
confused reports which he has collected, and the testimony of public
rumour. “A surgeon,” he tells us, “named Nélaton, who was in the
habit of going every morning to the Café Procope, related there
several times, that when first assistant to a surgeon near the Porte
Saint-Antoine, he was sent for one day to bleed a person, and that he
was taken to the Bastille, where the governor introduced him into the
chamber of a prisoner, who had his head covered with a long napkin,
tied behind the neck; that this prisoner complained of bad headaches;
that his dressing-gown was yellow and black, with large gold flowers;
and that from his accent he recognized him to be English.” “Father
Tournemine,” adds Saint-Foix,[159] “has often repeated to me that,
having gone to pay a visit to the Duchess of Portsmouth with Father
Sanders, formerly King James’s confessor, she had said to them, in
a succession of conversations, that she should always reproach that
Prince’s memory with the execution of the Duke of Monmouth, after
Charles II., in the hour of death, and ready to communicate, had made
him promise, in the presence of the host, which Huldeston, a Catholic
priest, had secretly brought in, that, whatever rebellion the Duke of
Monmouth might attempt, he would never have him punished with death.
‘Nor did he do so,’ replied Father Sanders, with animation.” In order
to explain how Monmouth could have been carried off alive, and how the
people were deceived by this sham execution, Saint-Foix furnishes a
proof not a whit less uncertain than the preceding. “It was reported
about London,” he says, “that an officer of his army, who closely
resembled him, being made prisoner, and certain of being condemned to
death, had received the proposal to personate him with as much joy
as if he had been accorded life, and that, on this being reported
abroad, a great lady, having gained over those who could open his
coffin, and having looked at his right arm, exclaimed, ‘Ah! this is not
Monmouth!’”[160]
Slight as was the basis of this theory, it must be admitted that
Father Griffet combated it with very inconclusive arguments, and that
Saint-Foix had no great difficulty in refuting him in his turn. To the
objection founded upon the uselessness of always leaving in mystery
the name of the prisoner who died in 1703, when both James II. and
William of Orange had also ceased to live, Saint-Foix replied, very
judiciously, that Louis XIV. might have consented to guard Monmouth
at Pignerol, both in order to oblige James II., his ally, and to have
in his power a Stuart, whom he might one day be able to oppose to
the ambition of William of Orange, if James II. continued to remain
childless; but that the unexpected birth of a Prince of Wales[161]
having rendered this piece of foresight useless, it was natural that
Louis XIV. would not wish it known that he had constituted himself
the gaoler of an English prince. “It was very likely indeed,” added
Saint-Foix,[162] “that the partisans of William of Orange having
published that this Prince of Wales was a supposititious child, would
not have failed to say that since means had been found to represent
on the scaffold and behead one man in place of another, it was much
easier to feign a pregnancy and a confinement.” Now Louis XIV., who
had continued to support the exiled Stuarts with sufficient obstinacy
to imprudently recognize this Prince of Wales under the title of James
III.,[163] was bound to prevent a revelation of a nature to confirm
the injurious doubts which had arisen at the period of this Prince’s
birth.[164]
The necessity for the mystery being thus justified by the pride
and self-interest of Louis XIV., Saint-Foix refuted Father Griffet
not less cleverly on the point of the substitution of an unknown
individual for Monmouth about to die on the scaffold. Reproached with
its improbability, he answered that this generosity was very easy to
comprehend--that such an act of devotion had scarcely any merit in
an officer of Monmouth’s army, condemned, like the latter, to death,
and who was sacrificing to his old general, not his life, but simply
his name. Finally, a comparative examination of several circumstances
connected with the execution, ingeniously touched upon and grouped
together, such as the choice of the bishops attending the condemned,
the few words that he uttered, the look of reproach which he gave the
executioner, who did not kill him at the first blow of the axe,[165]
finished by convincing Saint-Foix.
Moreover, Saint-Foix’s error was also that of a portion of the English
nation, who, through idolizing Monmouth, came to disbelieve in the fact
of his death, just as Saint-Foix did through attachment to his theory.
The popular affection survived even the generation who had espoused his
cause;[166] and the hero, adorned with all the seductive qualities that
had made him the idol of the people, and clothed by time with qualities
which he the least[167] possessed, speedily became a legendary
character. In Dorsetshire and the neighbouring counties, many, during
the remainder of their lives, cherished the hope of seeing him again;
and for very many years, on the occasion of any important event, the
old men used confidently to announce in whispers that the time was
approaching when King Monmouth would reappear. Several ballads foretold
this return:--[168]
“Though this is a dismal story
Of the fall of my design,
Yet I’ll come again in glory,
If I live till eighty-nine;
For I’ll have a stronger army,
And of ammunition store.”
Again--
“Then shall Monmouth in his glories
Unto his English friends appear,
And will stifle all such stories
As are vended everywhere.
They’ll see I was not so degraded,
To be taken gathering pease,
Or in a cock of hay up braided.
What strange stories now are these!”
In many poor families trifling objects which had belonged to him
have been preserved as precious relics even to our own days, and two
impostors having on different occasions travelled about the country
under the name of Monmouth, found everywhere among the lower orders
the most cordial reception, as well as encouragement, assistance, and
evidence of the most touching and constant affection.
How much more would this adoration, of which Monmouth had rendered
himself unworthy by his flight, have nevertheless embellished his
memory, and, without absolving him, have made of him a legendary hero;
how much more striking still would it have appeared, if, as Saint-Foix
believed, he of whom the poets sang in their ballads, of whom the
peasants talked by their firesides in the evening, and whose speedy
return the people were awaiting, had been, at that very instant,
confined in a prison in the remotest parts of the Alps, his face hidden
from the gaze of man, unknown to all save a gaoler as rigorous as he
was incorruptible? When the stage took possession of the subject of
the Man with the Iron Mask, it preferred to adopt the version which
makes him a brother of Louis XIV., as being the most interesting one.
The supposition that Monmouth was the Man with the Iron Mask would
have been much more dramatic, because, while in some points touching
upon reality, it would, on the one hand, have allowed of representing
a whole nation plunged in grief and filled with expectation, and on
the other, the conquered of Sedgemoor following Saint-Mars from prison
to prison, and after having almost attained a throne, being obscurely
interred in the evening by two turnkeys of the Bastille!
But however thrilling this accumulation of misfortune would have
been, history cannot admit its truth. Whatever Saint-Foix may have
thought--whatever the English common people may have believed--Monmouth
died on the scaffold, July 15, 1685. Authentic despatches, signed
by Louis XIV.’s ambassador,[169] furnish proof of it; and this
monarch, far from having been an accomplice, as has been said, of an
abduction of the Duke, and far from having consented to act as his
keeper, received day by day exact news of the early progress of his
revolt, and of his defeat, capture, and death. In these despatches,
penned by an impartial and perfectly independent witness, and which
appeared destined never to be divulged, there is nothing that allows
us to suppose that a pardon was granted, but we find in them instead
irrefragable proof of James II.’s inflexible severity. Almost to
his last moment Monmouth showed himself but little worthy of the
regret which he was to leave behind him. He saw his wife, but without
emotion, and thought only of again beseeching his life from the Earl of
Clarendon, who accompanied her. On the evening of Monday, July 14, he
learned that he would be led to death the next morning. At once turning
pale, he remained for a long time silent, and the first word that he
could utter was a demand for a respite. He repeated this in several
letters addressed to James II., as well as to the most considerable
persons of the court, and desired to see the King once more, a request
which was refused him.[170] When he had lost all hope he became
shamefully depressed: to agitation, and to the efforts exerted up to
that moment to save his life, succeeded a gloomy silence; to cowardly
fears, the dejection of despair. The next day his children were brought
to him; he blessed them, and bade them adieu, as well as his wife,
from whom he parted without sorrow.[171] For many years his affection
had been given to Lady Wentworth, whom he said was his wife before God,
whilst he had espoused Lady Monmouth when too young for the marriage
to be according to the spirit of God, although valid before the law.
During the hours which preceded his death, Lady Wentworth was the
constant object of his preoccupations, of his regrets, and of his most
lively solicitude. Sometimes he maintained that his long relations
with her had always been innocent, sometimes he gave out that he had
always considered her as his legitimate wife. Without doubt it was the
recollection of this noble and distinguished person, who loved him
tenderly, and who a few months afterwards was to follow him to the
tomb, that caused Monmouth to regain his feeling of dignity, till then
disregarded. He all at once became more firm; and at ten in the morning
entered the carriage of the Lieutenant of the Tower with a courage
worthy of his race and of the woman who had inspired it in him.
The open space where the scaffold was erected, all the streets leading
to it, and the roofs of the neighbouring houses were covered with a
multitude, who showed its disapprobation by a silence broken only by
sighs and sobs. Every eye was fixed on Monmouth, who, having smilingly
saluted the soldiers of the guard, was mounting with a firm foot the
steps of the scaffold. Every one awaits with anxiety his last words.
He pronounces them in a loud and distinct voice, and with the energy
of fanaticism. He finishes by saying, “That he has satisfied his
conscience, and that he dies in peace with God.” The Sheriff having
pressed him to declare before the people whether he died in the
faith of the English Church, he answered “Yes,” without hesitation;
and on the bishops who accompanied him observing that, according to
the principles of that church, he ought to obey his lawful king, he
replied, “There is no question of that now; I have nothing to say
about it.” Then he added, “that he had God’s pardon, and that he had
nothing to reproach himself with in reference to Lady Wentworth, for
whom he entertained as much esteem as affection.” The Sheriff having
represented to him the scandal which he had caused in Holland by living
publicly with this woman, and having asked him if he had married her,
“I am sorry for this scandal,” replied Monmouth, “but this is not
the time to answer your question.” The bishops afterwards conversed
with him about the consequences of his revolt, of the blood which he
had caused to be shed, and of so many companions led on by him to
their ruin. Affected by this language, Monmouth said in a low voice
that he agreed with them and that he regretted it. Next the bishops
present offered up fervent prayers, which the Prince listened to with
attention, and to each of which he answered, “Amen!” Then, addressing
the executioner, he gave him six guineas, earnestly begging him to
do his work quickly, and not to serve him like Lord Russell, whom he
had struck three or four times. After having assured himself that the
axe was sufficiently sharp, he refused to have his eyes bandaged, and
placed his head upon the block. The bishops continue their prayers. The
tears of the crowd flow fast. The executioner, probably troubled by the
fears which Monmouth had expressed, strikes the first blow unskilfully.
The victim lifts up his head; then, without uttering a word, replaces
it on the block. Three more blows are struck by the unsure hand of this
man, whom the yells and imprecations of the crowd cause to tremble. At
length, at the fifth blow, the head is separated from the body, and the
spectators rush upon the scaffold, some, in a state of fury, wishing to
punish the awkward executioner, others, with pious haste, desirous of
dipping their handkerchiefs in the blood of one whom they considered a
martyr.[172]
FOOTNOTES:
[157] _Amours de Charles II. et de Jacques II., Rois d’Angleterre._
First part, pp. 74, 75.
[158] _Réponse de M. de Saint-Foix au R.P. Griffet_, Paris. Ventes,
Libraire à la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, 1770, p. 94.
[159] _Ibid._, p. 95 _et seq._
[160] _Réponse de M. de Saint-Foix au R. P. Griffet_, p. 96.
[161] Born, June 21, 1688, of James II. and Marie d’Este; recognized as
King by Louis XIV., November, 16 1701, on the death of James II.
[162] _Réponse de Saint-Foix au P. Griffet_, p. 118 _et seq._
[163] On the death of James II. This ill-timed boldness was one of
Louis XIV.’s gravest errors, and stirred up the English nation against
him. See our work _L’Europe et les Bourbons sous Louis XIV._, chap.
viii. p. 190.
[164] See Chap. iv. (p. 51 _ante_) of the present work, in which this
accusation of criminal fraud brought by William of Orange against his
father-in-law, James II., has already been considered.
[165] According to Saint-Foix, the bishops chosen were not acquainted
with Monmouth’s appearance, and the _pretended_ officer only uttered
a few words, while the look given by the victim after the third blow
of the axe was intended as a reproach to those who had promised that
he should die without pain. But these observations are more ingenious
than well-founded. Monmouth was accompanied to the scaffold by the
bishops who had visited him in prison, and we shall shortly see that
he said a good deal, that the execution took place at ten o’clock
in the morning, and that far from complaining even by a look of the
executioner’s unskilfulness, Monmouth bore his horrible punishment with
great resignation.
[166] _Observator_, August 1, 1685; _Gazette de France_, November
2, 1686; Letter of Humphrey Wanley, August 25, 1698, in the Aubrey
collection, given by Macaulay in his _History of England_.
[167] “If the Duke of Monmouth had been able to have concealed
himself or to have escaped, his last action had given him such a good
reputation amongst the English that he would have been able to have
drawn many persons towards him every time that he might have shown
himself to the people of England,” wrote the French ambassador to Louis
XIV., July 19, 1685:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
section England, 155.
[168] They are to be found in the Pepsyan Collection, and have been
given by Macaulay in his _History of England_.
[169] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section England,
155; Despatches, June 23 and 28, and July 12, 19, 23, 25 and 26, 1685.
[170] Despatch from the French Ambassador, July 26, 1685: “He asked a
second time to speak to him, but it was not allowed.”
[171] Burnet, i. 645; Macaulay.
[172] Official despatches from the French Ambassador in England, July
15-25 and July 16-26, 1685.