CHARLES II.
{1679.} The king, observing that the whole nation concurred at first in
the belief and prosecution of the Popish plot, had found it necessary
for his own safety to pretend, in all public speeches and transactions,
an entire belief and acquiescence in that famous absurdity; and by
this artifice he had eluded the violent and irresistible torrent of the
people. When a little time and recollection, as well as the execution of
the pretended conspirators, had somewhat moderated the general fury, he
was now enabled to form a considerable party, devoted to the interests
of the crown, and determined to oppose the pretensions of the
malecontents.
In every mixed government, such as that of England, the bulk of
the nation will always incline to preserve the entire frame of the
constitution; but according to the various prejudices, interests, and
dispositions of men, some will ever attach themselves with more passion
to the regal, others to the popular part of the government. Though the
king, after his restoration, had endeavored to abolish the distinction
of parties, and had chosen his ministers from among all denominations,
no sooner had he lost his popularity, and exposed himself to general
jealousy, than he found it necessary to court the old cavalier party,
and to promise them full compensation for that neglect of which they had
hitherto complained. The present emergence made it still more necessary
for him to apply for their support; and there were many circumstances
which determined them, at this time, to fly to the assistance of the
crown, and to the protection of the royal family.
A party strongly attached to monarchy will naturally be jealous of
the right of succession, by which alone they believe stability to
be preserved in the government, and a barrier fixed against the
encroachments of popular assemblies. The project, openly embraced, of
excluding the duke, appeared to that party a dangerous innovation:
and the design, secretly projected, of advancing Monmouth, made them
apprehensive, lest the inconveniencies of a disputed succession should
be propagated to all posterity. While the jealous lovers of liberty
maintained, that a king, whose title depended on the parliament, would
naturally be more attentive to the interests, at least to the humors
of the people, the passionate admirers of monarchy considered all
dependence as a degradation of kingly government, and a great step
towards the establishment of a commonwealth in England.
But though his union with the political royalists brought great
accession of force to the king, he derived no less support from the
confederacy which he had at this time the address to form with the
church of England. He represented to the ecclesiastics the great number
of Presbyterians and other sectaries, who had entered into the popular
party; the encouragement and favor which they met with; the loudness of
their cries with regard to Popery and arbitrary power. And he made the
established clergy and their adherents apprehend, that the old scheme
for the abolition of prelacy as well as monarchy was revived, and that
the same miseries and oppressions awaited them, to which, during the
civil wars and usurpations, they had so long been exposed.
The memory also of those dismal times united many indifferent and
impartial persons to the crown, and begat a dread lest the zeal for
liberty should ingraft itself on fanaticism, and should once more
kindle a civil war in the kingdom. Had not the king still retained the
prerogative of dissolving the parliament, there was indeed reason to
apprehend the renewal of all the pretensions and violences which
had ushered in the last commotions. The one period appeared an exact
counterpart to the other: but still discerning judges could perceive,
both in the spirit of the parties and in the genius of the prince, a
material difference; by means of which Charles was enabled at last,
though with the imminent peril’ of liberty, to preserve the peace of the
nation.
The cry against Popery was loud; but it proceeded less from religious
than from party zeal, in those who propagated, and even in those who
adopted it. The spirit of enthusiasm had occasioned so much mischief,
and had been so successfully exploded, that it was not possible, by
any artifice, again to revive and support it. Cant had been ridiculed,
hypocrisy detected; the pretensions to a more thorough reformation, and
to greater purity, had become suspicious; and instead of denominating
themselves the godly party, the appellation affected at the beginning
of the civil wars, the present patriots were content with calling
themselves the good and the honest party;[*] a sure prognostic that
their measures were not to be so furious nor their pretensions so
exorbitant.
The king too, though not endowed with the integrity and strict
principles of his father, was happy in a more amiable manner and more
popular address. Far from being distant stately, or reserved, he had
not a grain of pride or vanity in his whole composition;[**] but was
the most affable, best bred man alive. He treated his subjects like
noblemen, like gentlemen, like freemen; not like vassals or boors. His
professions were plausible, his whole behavior engaging; so that he won
upon the hearts, even while he lost the good opinion of his subjects,
and often balanced their judgment of things by their personal
inclination.[***] In his public conduct likewise, though he had
sometimes embraced measures dangerous to the liberty and religion of his
people, he had never been found to persevere obstinately in them, but
had always returned into that path which their united opinion seemed
to point out to him. And upon the whole, it appeared to many cruel, and
even iniquitous, to remark too rigorously the failings of a prince who
discovered so much facility in correcting his errors, and so much lenity
in pardoning the offences committed against himself.
The general affection borne the king appeared signally about this
time. He fell sick at Windsor; and had two or three fits of a fever, so
violent as made his life be thought in danger. A general consternation
seized all ranks of men increased by the apprehensions entertained of
his successor In the present disposition of men’s minds, the king’s
death, to use an expression of Sir William Temple,[****] was regarded as
the end of the world. The malecontents, it was feared, would proceed to
extremities, and immediately kindle a civil war in the kingdom.
* Temple, vol. i. p. 335.
** Temple, vol. i p. 449.
*** Dissertation on Parties, letter vii.
**** Vol i. p. 342.
Either their entire success, or entire failure, or even the balance and
contest of parties, seemed all of them events equally fatal. The king’s
chief counsellors, therefore Essex, Halifax, and Sunderland, who stood
on bad terms with Shaftesbury and the popular party, advised him to
send secretly for the duke, that, in case of any sinister accident, that
prince might be ready to assert his right against the opposition which
he was likely to meet with. When the duke arrived, he found his brother
out of danger; and it was agreed to conceal the invitation which he
had received. His journey, however, was attended with important
consequences. He prevailed on the king to disgrace Monmouth, whose
projects were now known and avowed; to deprive him of his command in the
army; and to send him beyond sea. He himself returned to Brussels;
but made a short stay in that place. He obtained leave to retire to
Scotland, under pretence still of quieting the apprehensions of the
English nation; but in reality with a view of securing that kingdom in
his interests.
Though Essex and Halifax had concurred in the resolution of inviting
over the duke, they soon found that they had not obtained his
confidence, and that even the king, while he made use of their service,
had no sincere regard for their persons. Essex in disgust resigned the
treasury: Halifax retired to his country seat: Temple, despairing of any
accommodation among such enraged parties, withdrew almost entirely to
his books and his gardens. The king, who changed ministers as well
as measures with great indifference, bestowed at this time his chief
confidence on Hyde, Sunderland, and Godolphin. Hyde succeeded Essex in
the treasury.
All the king’s ministers, as well as himself, were extremely averse
to the meeting of the new parliament, which they expected to find as
refractory as any of the preceding. The elections had gone mostly in
favor of the country party. The terrors of the plot had still a mighty
influence over the populace; and the apprehensions of the duke’s
bigoted principles and arbitrary character weighed with men of sense and
reflection. The king therefore resolved to prorogue the parliament,
that he might try whether time would allay those humors, which, by every
other, expedient, he had in vain attempted to mollify. In this measure
he did not expect the concurrence of his council. He knew that those,
popular leaders, whom he had admitted, would zealously oppose a
resolution which disconcerted all their schemes; and that the royalists
would not dare, by supporting it, to expose themselves to the vengeance
of the parliament, when it should be assembled. These reasons obliged
him to take this step entirely of himself; and he only declared his
resolution in council. It is remarkable that, though the king had made
profession never to embrace any measure without the advice of these
counsellors, he had often broken that resolution, and had been
necessitated, in affairs of the greatest consequence, to control their
opinion. Many of them in disgust threw up about this time; particularly
Lord Russel, the most popular man in the nation, as well from the
mildness and integrity of his character, as from his zealous attachment
to the religion and liberties of his country. Though carried into some
excesses, his intentions were ever esteemed upright; and being heir to
the greatest fortune in the kingdom, as well as void of ambition, men
believed that nothing but the last necessity could ever engage him
to embrace any desperate measures. Shaftesbury, who was, in most
particulars, of an opposite character, was removed by the king from the
office of president of the council; and the earl of Radnor, a man who
possessed whimsical talents and splenetic virtues, was substituted in
his place.
It was the favor and countenance of the parliament which had chiefly
encouraged the rumor of plots; but the nation had gotten so much into
that vein of credulity, and every necessitous villain was so much
incited by the success of Oates and Bedloe, that even during the
prorogation the people were not allowed to remain in tranquillity.
There was one Dangerfield, a fellow who had been burned in the hand for
crimes, transported, whipped, pilloried four times, fined for cheats,
outlawed for felony, convicted of coining, and exposed to all the public
infamy which the laws could inflict on the basest and most shameful
enormities. The credulity of the people, and the humor of the times,
enabled even this man to become a person of consequence. He was the
author of a new incident called the meal-tub plot, from the place where
some papers relating to it were found. The bottom of this affair it
is difficult and not very material to discover. It only appears,
that Dangerfield, under pretence of betraying the conspiracies of the
Presbyterians, had been countenanced by some Catholics of condition, and
had even been admitted to the duke’s presence and the king’s; and that
under pretence of revealing new Popish plots, he had obtained access to
Shaftesbury and some of the popular leaders. Which side he intended to
cheat, is uncertain; or whether he did not rather mean to cheat both:
but he soon found, that the belief of the nation was more open to a
Popish than a Presbyterian plot; and he resolved to strike in with the
prevailing humor. Though no weight could be laid on his testimony, great
clamor was raised; as if the court, by way of retaliation, had intended
to load the Presbyterians with the guilt of a false conspiracy It must
be confessed, that the present period, by the prevalence and suspicion
of such mean and ignoble arts on all sides, throws a great stain on the
British annals.
One of the most innocent artifices practised by party men at this
time, was the additional ceremony, pomp, and expense, with which
a pope-burning was celebrated in London: the spectacle served to
entertain, and amuse, and inflame the populace. The duke of Monmouth
likewise came over without leave, and made a triumphant procession
through many parts of the kingdom, extremely caressed and admired by
the people. All these arts seemed requisite to support the general
prejudices during the long interval of parliament. Great endeavors were
also used to obtain the king’s consent for the meeting of that assembly.
{1680.} Seventeen peers presented a petition to this purpose. Many of
the corporations imitated the example. Notwithstanding several marks of
displeasure, and even a menacing proclamation from the king, petitions
came from all parts, earnestly insisting on a session of parliament. The
danger of Popery, and the terrors of the plot, were never forgotten in
any of these addresses.
Tumultuous petitioning was one of the chief artifices by which the
malecontents in the last reign had attacked the own: and though
the manner of subscribing and delivering petitions was now somewhat
regulated by act of parliament, the thing itself still remained; and
was an admirable expedient for infesting the court, for spreading
discontent, and for uniting the nation in any popular clamor. As the
king found no law by which he could punish those importunate, and, as he
deemed them, undutiful solicitations, he was obliged to encounter them
by popular applications of a contrary tendency Wherever the church and
court party prevailed, addresses were framed, containing expressions of
the highest regard to his majesty, the most entire acquiescence in his
wisdom, the most dutiful submission to his prerogative, and the deepest
abhorrence of those who endeavored to encroach upon it, by prescribing
to him any time for assembling the parliament. Thus the nation came to
be distinguished into petitioners and abhorrers. Factions indeed were at
this time extremely animated against each other. The very names by which
each party denominated its antagonist, discover the virulence and rancor
which prevailed. For besides petitioner and abhorrer, appellations which
were soon forgotten, this year is remarkable for being the epoch of
the well-known epithets of “whig” and “tory”, by which, and sometimes
without any material difference, this island has been so long divided.
The court party reproached their antagonists with their affinity to
the fanatical conventiclers in Scotland, who were known by the name of
whigs: the country party found a resemblance between the courtiers and
the Popish banditti in Ireland, to whom the appellation of tory was
affixed. And after this manner these foolish terms of reproach came into
public and general use; and even at present seem not nearer their end
than when they were first invented.
The king used every art to encourage his partisans, and to reconcile
the people to his government. He persevered in the great zeal which he
affected against Popery. He even allowed several priests to be put
to death, for no other crime than their having received orders in the
Romish church. It is singular, that one of them, called Evans, was
playing at tennis when the warrant for his immediate execution was
notified to him: he swore that he would play out his set first. Charles,
with the same view of acquiring popularity, formed an alliance with
Spain, and also offered an alliance to Holland: but the Dutch, terrified
with the great power of France, and seeing little resource in a country
so distracted as England, declined acceptance. He had sent for the duke
from Scotland; but desired him to return, when the time of assembling
the parliament began to approach.
It was of great consequence to the popular party, while the meeting
of parliament depended on the king’s will, to keep the law, whose
operations are perpetual, entirely on their side. The sheriffs of London
by their office return the juries: it had been usual for the mayor to
nominate one sheriff by drinking to him; and the common hall had ever,
without dispute, confirmed the mayor’s choice. Sir Robert Clayton, the
mayor, appointed one who was not acceptable to the popular party: the
common hall rejected him; and Bethel and Cornish, two Independents and
republicans, and of consequence deeply engaged with the malecontents,
were chosen by a majority of voices. In spite of all remonstrances and
opposition, the citizens persisted in their choice; and the court party
was obliged for the present to acquiesce.
Juries, however, were not so partial in the city, but that reason and
justice, even when the Popish plot was in question, could sometimes
prevail. The earl of Castlemaine, husband to the duchess of Cleveland,
was acquitted about this time, though accused by Oates and Dangerfield
of an intention to assassinate the king. Sir Thomas Gascoigne, a very
aged gentleman in the north, being accused by two servants, whom he had
dismissed for dishonesty, received a like verdict. These trials were
great blows to the plot, which now began to stagger, in the judgment of
most men, except those who were entirely devoted to the country party.
But in order still to keep alive the zeal against Popery, the earl
of Shaftesbury appeared in Westminster Hall, attended by the earl
of Huntingdon, the lords Russel, Cavendish, Grey, Brandon, Sir Henry
Caverly, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, Sir William Cooper, and other persons of
distinction, and presented to the grand jury of Middlesex reasons for
indicting the duke of York as a Popish recusant. While the jury were
deliberating on this extraordinary presentment, the chief justice sent
for them, and suddenly, even somewhat irregularly, dismissed them.
Shaftesbury, however, obtained the end for which he had undertaken this
bold measure: he showed to all his followers the desperate resolution
which he had embraced, never to admit of any accommodation or
composition with the duke. By such daring conduct he gave them
assurance, that he was fully determined not to desert their cause; and
he engaged them to a like devoted perseverance in all the measures which
he should suggest to them.
As the kingdom was regularly and openly divided into two zealous
parties, it was not difficult for the king to know, that the majority of
the new house of commons was engaged in interests opposite to the court:
but that he might leave no expedient untried, which could compose the
unhappy differences among his subjects, he resolved at last, after a
long interval, to assemble the parliament. In his speech he told
them, that the several prorogations which he had made had been very
advantageous to his neighbors, and very useful to himself: that he had
employed that interval in perfecting with the crown of Spain an alliance
which had often been desired by former parliaments, and which, he
doubted not, would be extremely agreeable to them: that, in order to
give weight to this measure, and render it beneficial to Christendom, it
was necessary to avoid all domestic dissensions, and to unite themselves
firmly in the same views and purposes: that he was determined, that
nothing on his part should be wanting to such a salutary end; and
provided the succession were preserved in its due and legal course,
he would concur in any expedient for the security of the protestant
religion, that the further examination of the Popish plot, and the
punishment of the criminals, were requisite for the safety both of king
and kingdom; and after recommending to them the necessity of providing,
by some supplies, for the safety of Tangiers, he proceeded in these
words: “But that which I value above all the treasure in the world, and
which I am sure will give us greater strength and reputation both at
home and abroad than any treasure can do, is a perfect union among
ourselves. Nothing but this can restore the kingdom to that strength
and vigor which it seems to have lost, and raise us again to that
consideration which England hath usually possessed. All Europe have
their eyes upon this assembly, and think their own happiness and misery,
as well as ours, will depend upon it. If we should be so unhappy as
to fall into misunderstandings among ourselves to that degree as would
render our friendship unsafe to trust to, will not be wondered at, if
our neighbors should begin to take new resolutions, and perhaps such as
may be fatal to us. Let us therefore take care, that we do not gratify
our enemies, and discourage our friends, by any unseasonable disputes.
If any such do happen, the world will see that it is no fault of mine;
for I have done all that it was possible for me to do, to keep you in
peace while I live, and to leave you so when I die. But from so great
prudence and so good affection as yours, I can fear nothing of this
kind; but do rely upon you all, that you will do your best endeavors to
bring this parliament to a good and happy conclusion.”
All these mollifying expressions had no influence with the commons.
Every step which they took betrayed the zeal with which they were
animated. They voted, that it was the undoubted right of the subject to
petition the king for the calling and sitting of parliament. Not content
with this decision, which seems justifiable in a mixed monarchy, they
fell with the utmost violence on all those abhorrers, who in their
addresses to the crown, had expressed their disapprobation of those
petitions. They did not reflect, that it was as lawful for one party of
men as for another to express their sense of public affairs; and that
the best established right may, in particular circumstances, be abused,
and even the exercise of it become an object of abhorrence. For this
offence they expelled Sir Thomas Withens. They appointed a committee for
further inquiry into such members as had been guilty of a like crime,
and complaints were lodged against Lord Paston, Sir Robert Malverer, Sir
Bryan Stapleton, Taylor, and Turner. They addressed the king against Sir
George Jefferies, recorder of London, for his activity in the same
cause; and they frightened him into a resignation of his office, in
which he was succeeded by Sir George Treby, a great leader of the
popular party. They voted an impeachment against North, chief justice of
the common pleas, for drawing the proclamation against tumultuous
petitions; but upon examination found the proclamation so cautiously
worded, that it afforded them no handle against him. A petition had been
presented to the king from Taunton. “How dare you deliver me such a
paper?” said the king to the person who presented it. “Sir,” replied he,
“my name is DARE.” For this saucy reply, but under other pretences, he
had been tried, fined, and committed to prison. The commons now
addressed the king for his liberty, and for remitting his fine. Some
printers also and authors of seditious libels they took under their
protection.
Great numbers of the abhorrers, from all parts of England, were seized
by order of the commons, and committed to custody. The liberty of the
subject, which had been so carefully guarded by the Great Charter,
and by the late law of habeas corpus, was every day violated by their
arbitrary and capricious commitments. The chief jealousy, it is true,
of the English constitution is naturally and justly directed against
the crown; nor indeed have the commons any other means of securing their
privileges than by commitments, which, as they cannot beforehand be
exactly determined by law, must always appear in some degree arbitrary.
Sensible of these reasons, the people had hitherto, without murmuring,
seen this discretionary power exercised by the house: but as it was
now carried to excess, and was abused to serve the purposes of faction,
great complaints against it were heard from all quarters. At last, the
vigor and courage of one Stowel of Exeter, an abhorrer, put an end to
the practice. He refused to obey the serjeant at arms, stood upon his
defence, and said that he knew of no law by which they pretended to
commit him. The house, finding it equally dangerous to proceed or to
recede, got off by an evasion: they inserted in their votes, that Stowel
was indisposed, and that a month’s time was allowed him for the recovery
of his health.
But the chief violence of the house of commons appeared in all their
transactions with regard to the plot, which they prosecuted with the
same zeal and the same credulity as their predecessors. They renewed the
former vote, which affirmed the reality of the horrid Popish plot;
and, in order the more to terrify the people, they even asserted that,
notwithstanding the discovery, the plot still subsisted. They expelled
Sir Robert Can and Sir Robert Yeomans, who had been complained of for
saying, that there was no Popish, but there was a Presbyterian plot. And
they greatly lamented the death of Bedloe, whom they called a material
witness, and on whose testimony they much depended. He had been seized
with a fever at Bristol; had sent for Chief Justice North; confirmed all
his former evidence, except that with regard to the duke and the queen;
and desired North to apply to the king for some money to relieve him
in his necessities. A few days after, he expired; and the whole party
triumphed extremely in these circumstances of his death: as if such
a testimony could be deemed the affirmation of a dying man; as if his
confession of perjury in some instances could assure his veracity in the
rest; and as if the perseverance of one profligate could outweigh the
last words of so many men, guilty of no crime but that of Popery.
The commons even endeavored, by their countenance and protection, to
remove the extreme infamy with which Dangerfield was loaded, and to
restore him to the capacity of being an evidence. The whole tribe of
informers they applauded and rewarded: Jennison, Turberville, Dugdale,
Smith, La Faria, appeared before them; and their testimony, however
frivolous or absurd, met with a favorable reception: the king was
applied to in their behalf for pensions and pardons: their narratives
were printed with that sanction which arose from the approbation of
the house: Dr. Tongue was recommended for the first considerable church
preferment which should become vacant. Considering men’s determined
resolution to believe, instead of admiring that a palpable falsehood
should be maintained by witnesses, it may justly appear wonderful, that
no better evidence was ever produced against the Catholics.
The principal reasons which still supported the clamor of the Popish
plot, were the apprehensions entertained by the people of the duke of
York, and the resolution embraced by their leaders of excluding him from
the throne. Shaftesbury, and many considerable men of the party, had
rendered themselves irreconcilable with him, and could find their safety
no way but in his ruin. Monmouth’s friends hoped, that the exclusion of
that prince would make way for their patron. The resentment against
the duke’s apostasy, the love of liberty, the zeal for religion, the
attachment to faction; all these motives incited the country party. And
above all, what supported the resolution of adhering to the exclusion,
and rejecting all other expedients offered, was the hope, artfully
encouraged, that the king would at last be obliged to yield to their
demand. His revenues were extremely burdened; and, even if free, could
scarcely suffice for the necessary charges of government, much less
for that pleasure and expense to which he was inclined. Though he had
withdrawn his countenance from Monmouth, he was known secretly to retain
a great affection for him. On no occasion had he ever been found to
persist obstinately against difficulties and importunity. And as his
beloved mistress, the duchess of Portsmouth, had been engaged, either
from lucrative views, or the hopes of making the succession fall on her
own children, to unite herself with the popular party, this incident
was regarded as a favorable prognostic of their success. Sunderland,
secretary of state, who had linked his interest with that of the
duchess, had concurred in the same measure.
But besides friendship for his brother, and a regard to the right of
succession, there were many strong reasons which had determined Charles
to persevere in opposing the exclusion. All the royalists and the
devotees to the church, that party by which alone monarchy was
supported, regarded the right of succession as inviolable; and if
abandoned by the king in so capital an article, it was to be feared that
they would, in their turn, desert his cause, and deliver him over to the
pretensions and usurpations of the country party. The country party,
or the whigs, as they were called, if they did not still retain some
propensity towards a republic, were at least affected with a violent
jealousy of regal power; and it was equally to be dreaded, that being
enraged with past opposition, and animated by present success, they
would, if they prevailed in this pretension, be willing as well as
able to reduce the prerogative within very narrow limits. All menaces
therefore, all promises, were in vain employed against the king’s
resolution: he never would be prevailed on to desert his friends, and
put himself into the hands of his enemies. And having voluntarily made
such important concessions, and tendered, over and over again, such
strong limitations, he was well pleased to find them rejected by the
obstinacy of the commons; and hoped that, after the spirit of opposition
had spent itself in fruitless violence, the time would come, when he
might safely appeal against his parliament to his people.
So much were the popular leaders determined to carry matters to
extremities, that in less than a week after the commencement of the
session, a motion was made for bringing in an exclusion bill, and a
committee was appointed for that purpose. This bill differed in nothing
from the former, but in two articles, which showed still an increase of
zeal in the commons: the bill was to be read to the people twice a year
in all the churches of the kingdom; and every one who should support the
duke’s title, was rendered incapable of receiving a pardon but by act of
parliament.
The debates were carried on with great violence on both sides. The bill
was defended by Sir William Jones, who had now resigned his office of
attorney-general, by Lord Russel, by Sir Francis Winnington, Sir Harry
Capel, Sir William Pulteney, by Colonel Titus, Treby, Hambden, Montague.
It was opposed by Sir Leoline Jenkins, secretary of state, Sir John
Ernley, chancellor of the exchequer, by Hyde, Seymour, Temple. The
arguments transmitted to us may be reduced to the following topics.
In every government, said the exclusionists, there is some-where an
authority absolute and supreme; nor can any determination, how unusual
soever, which receives the sanction of the legislature, admit afterwards
of dispute or control. The liberty of a constitution, so far from
diminishing this absolute power, seems rather to add force to it, and to
give it greater influence over the people. The more members of the state
concur in any legislative decision, and the more free their voice,
the less likelihood is there that any opposition will be made to
those measures which receive the final sanction of their authority. In
England, the legislative power is lodged in king, lords, and commons,
which comprehend every order of the community; and there is no pretext
for exempting any circumstance of government, not even the succession
of the crown, from so full and decisive a jurisdiction. Even express
declarations have, in this particular, been made of parliamentary
authority: instances have occurred where it has been exerted; and though
prudential reasons may justly be alleged, why such innovations should
not be attempted but on extraordinary occasions, the power and right
are forever vested in the community. But if any occasion can be deemed
extraordinary, if any emergence can require unusual expedients, it is
the present; when the heir to the crown has renounced the religion
of the state, and has zealously embraced a faith totally hostile and
incompatible. A prince of that communion can never put trust in a people
so prejudiced against him: the people must be equally diffident of such
a prince: foreign and destructive alliances will seem to one the only
protection of his throne: perpetual jealousy, opposition, faction, even
insurrections will be employed by the other as the sole securities for
their liberty and religion. Though theological principles, when set
in opposition to passions, have often small influence on mankind in
general, still less on princes, yet when they become symbols of faction,
and marks of party distinctions, they concur with one of the strongest
passions in the human frame, and are then capable of carrying men to
the greatest extremities. Notwithstanding the better judgment and milder
disposition of the king, how much has the influence of the duke already
disturbed the tenor of government! how often engaged the nation into
measures totally destructive of their foreign interests and honor,
of their domestic repose and tranquillity! The more the absurdity and
incredibility of the Popish plot are insisted on, the stronger reason it
affords for the exclusion of the duke; since the universal belief of it
discovers the extreme antipathy of the nation to his religion, and the
utter impossibility of ever bringing them to acquiesce peaceably under
the dominion of such a sovereign. The prince, finding himself in so
perilous a situation, must seek for security by desperate remedies, and
by totally subduing the privileges of a nation, which had betrayed such
hostile dispositions towards himself, and towards every thing which
he deems the most sacred. It is in vain to propose limitations and
expedients. Whatever share of authority is left in the duke’s hands,
will be employed to the destruction of the nation; and even the
additional restraints, by discovering the public diffidence and
aversion, will serve him as incitements to put himself in a condition
entirely superior and independent. And as the laws of England still
make resistance treason, and neither do nor can admit of any positive
exceptions, what folly to leave the kingdom in so perilous and absurd a
situation, where the greatest virtue will be exposed to the most severe
proscription, and where the laws can only be saved by expedients, which
these same laws have declared the highest crime and enormity!
The court party reasoned in an opposite manner. An authority, they said,
wholly absolute and uncontrollable is a mere chimera, and is nowhere to
be found in any human institutions. All government is founded on opinion
and a sense of duty; and wherever the supreme magistrate, by any law or
positive prescription, shocks an opinion regarded as fundamental, and
established with a firmness equal to that of his own authority, he
subverts the principle by which he himself is established, and can
no longer hope for obedience. In European monarchies, the right of
succession is justly esteemed a fundamental; and even though the whole
legislature be vested in a single person, it would never be permitted
him, by an edict, to disinherit his lawful heir, and call a stranger or
more distant relation to the throne. Abuses in other parts of government
are capable of redress, from more dispassionate inquiry or better
information of the sovereign, and till then ought patiently to be
endured: but violations of the right of succession draw such terrible
consequences after them, as are not to be paralleled by any other
grievance or inconvenience. Vainly is it pleaded that England is a mixed
monarchy; and that a law, assented to by king, lords, and commons, is
enacted by the concurrence of every part of the state: it is plain, that
there remains a very powerful party, who may indeed be outvoted, but who
never will deem a law, subversive of hereditary right, anywise valid or
obligatory. Limitations, such as are proposed by the king, give no shock
to the constitution, which, in many particulars, is already limited;
and they may be so calculated as to serve every purpose sought for by
an exclusion. If the ancient barriers against regal authority have been
able, during so many ages, to remain impregnable, how much more those
additional ones, which, by depriving the monarch of power, tend so far
to their own security? The same jealousy too of religion, which has
engaged the people to lay these restraints upon the successor, will
extremely lessen the number of his partisans, and make it utterly
impracticable for him, either by force or artifice, to break the fetters
imposed upon him. The king’s age and vigorous state of health promise
him a long life; and can it be prudent to tear in pieces the whole
state, in order to provide against a contingency which, it is very
likely, may never happen? No human schemes can secure the public in all
possible, imaginable events; and the bill of exclusion itself however
accurately framed, leaves room for obvious and natural suppositions, to
which it pretends not to provide any remedy. Should the duke have a son
after the king’s death must that son, without any default of his own
forfeit his title? or must the princess of Orange descend from the
throne, in order to give place to the lawful successor? But were all
these reasonings false, it still remains to be considered that, in
public deliberations, we seek not the expedient which is best in itself,
but the best of such as are practicable. The king willingly consents
to limitations, and has already offered some which are of the utmost
importance: but he is determined to endure any extremity rather than
allow the right of succession to be invaded. Let us beware of that
factious violence, which leads to demand more than will be granted; lest
we lose the advantage of those beneficial concessions, and leave
the nation, on the king’s demise, at the mercy of a zealous prince,
irritated with the ill usage which, he imagines, he has already met
with.
In the house of commons, the reasoning of the exclusionists appeared the
more convincing; and the bill passed by a great majority. It was in the
house of peers that the king expected to oppose it with success. The
court party was there so prevalent, that it was carried only by a
majority of two to pay so much regard to the bill as even to commit
it. When it came to be debated, the contest was violent. Shaftesbury,
Sunderland, and Essex argued for it; Halifax chiefly conducted the
debate against it, and displayed an extent of capacity and a force
of eloquence which had never been surpassed in that assembly. He was
animated, as well by the greatness of the occasion, as by a rivalship
with his uncle Shaftesbury; whom, during that day’s debate, he seemed,
in the judgment of all, to have totally eclipsed. The king was present
during the whole debate, which was prolonged till eleven at night. The
bill was thrown out by a considerable majority. All the bishops, except
three, voted against it. Besides the influence of the court over them,
the church of England, they imagined or pretended, was in greater danger
from the prevalence of Presbyterianism than of Popery, which, though
favored by the duke, and even by the king was extremely repugnant to the
genius of the nation.
The commons discovered much ill humor upon this disappointment. They
immediately voted an address for the removal of Halifax from the king’s
councils and presence forever. Though the pretended cause was his
advising the late frequent prorogations of parliament, the real reason
was apparently his vigorous opposition to the exclusion bill. When
the king applied for money to enable him to maintain Tangiers, which
he declared his present revenues totally unable to defend, instead of
complying, they voted such an address as was in reality a remonstrance,
and one little less violent than that famous remonstrance which ushered
in the civil wars. All the abuses of government, from the beginning
almost of the reign, are there insisted on; the Dutch war, the alliance
with France, the prorogations and dissolutions of parliament; and as
all these measures, as well as the damnable and hellish plot, are there
ascribed to the machinations of Papists, it was plainly insinuated, that
the king had, all along, lain under the influence of that party, and was
in reality the chief conspirator against the religion and liberties of
his people.
The commons, though they conducted the great business of the exclusion
with extreme violence, and even imprudence, had yet much reason for the
jealousy which gave rise to it: but their vehement prosecution of the
Popish plot, even after so long an interval, discovers such a spirit,
either of credulity or injustice, as admits of no apology. The
impeachment of the Catholic lords in the Tower was revived; and as
Viscount Stafford, from his age, infirmities, and narrow capacity, was
deemed the least capable of defending himself, it was determined to make
him the first victim, that his condemnation might pave the way for
a sentence against the rest. The chancellor, now created earl of
Nottingham, was appointed high steward for conducting the trial.
Three witnesses were produced against the prisoner; Oates, Dugdale, and
Turberville. Oates swore, that he saw Fenwick the Jesuit, deliver
to Stafford a commission signed by De Oliva, general of the Jesuits,
appointing him paymaster to the Papal army, which was to be levied for
the subduing of England; for this ridiculous imposture still maintained
its credit with the commons. Dugdale gave testimony, that the prisoner,
at Tixal; a seat of Lord Aston’s, had endeavored to engage him in the
design of murdering the king; and had promised him, besides the honor
of being sainted by the church, a reward of five hundred pounds for that
service. Turberville deposed, that the prisoner, in his own house at
Paris, had made him a like proposal. To offer money for murdering a
king, without laying down any scheme by which the assassin may insure
some probability or possibility of escape, is so incredible in itself,
and may so easily be maintained by any prostitute evidence, that an
accusation of that nature, not accompanied with circumstances,
ought very little to be attended to by any court of judicature. But
notwithstanding the small hold which the witnesses afforded, the
prisoner was able, in many material particulars, to discredit their
testimony. It was sworn by Dugdale, that Stafford had assisted in a
great consult of the Catholics held at Tixal; but Stafford proved by
undoubted testimony, that at the time assigned he was in Bath, and
in that neighborhood. Turberville had served a novitiate among the
Dominicans; but having deserted the convent, he had enlisted as a
trooper in the French army; and being dismissed that service, he now
lived in London, abandoned by all his relations, and exposed to great
poverty. Stafford proved, by the evidence of his gentleman and his page,
that Turberville had never, either at Paris or at London, been seen in
his company; and it might justly appear strange, that a person who had
so important a secret in his keeping, was so long entirely neglected by
him.
The clamor and outrage of the populace, during the trial, were extreme:
great abilities and eloquence were displayed by the managers, Sir
William Jones, Sir Francis Winnington, and Serjeant Maynard: yet did the
prisoner, under all these disadvantages, make a better defence than was
expected, either by his friends or his enemies: the unequal contest in
which he was engaged, was a plentiful source of compassion to every mind
seasoned with humanity. He represented that, during a course of forty
years, from the very commencement of the civil wars, he had, through
many dangers, difficulties, and losses, still maintained his
loyalty: and was it credible, that now, in his old age, easy in his
circumstances, but dispirited by infirmities, he would belie the whole
course of his life, and engage against his royal master, from whom he
had ever received kind treatment, in the most desperate and most bloody
of all conspiracies? He remarked the infamy of the witnesses; the
contradictions and absurdities of their testimony; the extreme indigence
in which they had lived, though engaged, as they pretended, in a
conspiracy with kings, princes, and nobles; the credit and opulence to
which they were at present raised. With a simplicity and tenderness more
persuasive than the greatest oratory, he still made protestations of
his innocence; and could not forbear, every moment, expressing the
most lively surprise and indignation at the audacious impudence of the
witnesses.
It will appear astonishing to us, as it did to Stafford himself, that
the peers, after a solemn trial of six days, should by a majority of
twenty-four voices, give sentence against him. He received, however,
with resignation, the fatal verdict. “God’s holy name be praised,” was
the only exclamation which he uttered. When the high steward told him,
that the peers would intercede with the king for remitting the more
cruel and ignominious parts of the sentence, hanging and quartering,
he burst into tears; but he told the lords, that he was moved to this
weakness by his sense of their goodness, not by any terror of that fate
which he was doomed to suffer.
It is remarkable that, after Charles, as is usual in such cases, had
remitted to Stafford the hanging and quartering, the two Sheriffs,
Bethel and Cornish, indulging their own republican humor, and complying
with the prevalent spirit of their party, over jealous of Monarchy,
started a doubt with regard to the king’s power of exercising even this
small degree of lenity. “Since he cannot pardon the whole,” said they,
“how can he have power to remit any part of the sentence?” They proposed
the doubt to both houses: the peers pronounced it superfluous; and even
the commons, apprehensive lest a question of this nature might make
way for Stafford’s escape, gave this singular answer: “This house is
content, that the sheriffs do execute William late Viscount Stafford by
severing his head from his body only.” Nothing can be a stronger proof of
the fury of the times, than that Lord Russel, notwithstanding the virtue
and humanity of his character, seconded in the house this barbarous
scruple of the Sheriffs.
In the interval between the sentence and execution, many efforts were
made to shake the resolution of the infirm and aged prisoner, and to
bring him to some confession of the treason for which he was condemned.
It was even rumored that he had confessed; and the zealous partymen,
who, no doubt, had secretly, notwithstanding their credulity,
entertained some doubts with regard to the reality of the Popish
conspiracy, expressed great triumph on the occasion. But Stafford, when
again called before the house of peers, discovered many schemes, which
had been laid by himself and others, for procuring a toleration to the
Catholics, at least a mitigation of the penal laws enacted against them:
and he protested, that this was the sole treason of which he had ever
been guilty.
Stafford now prepared himself for death with the intrepidity which
became his birth and station, and which was the natural result of the
innocence and integrity which, during the course of a long life, he
had ever maintained: his mind seemed even to collect new force from the
violence and oppression under which he labored. When going to execution,
he called for a cloak to defend him against the rigor of the season.
“Perhaps,” said he, “I may shake with cold; but, I trust in God, not
for fear.” On the scaffold, he continued, with reiterated and earnest
asseverations, to make protestations of his innocence: all his fervor
was exercised on that point: when he mentioned the witnesses, whose
perjuries had bereaved him of life, his expressions were full of
mildness and of charity. He solemnly disavowed all those immoral
principles, which over-zealous Protestants had ascribed without
distinction to the church of Rome: and he hoped, he said, that the time
was now approaching, when the present delusion would be dissipated; and
when the force of truth, though late, would engage the whole world to
make reparation to his injured honor.
The populace, who had exulted at Stafford’s trial and condemnation, were
now melted into tears, at the sight of that tender fortitude which shone
forth in each feature, and motion, and accent of this aged noble.
Their profound silence was only interrupted by sighs and groans:
with difficulty they found speech to assent to those protestations of
innocence which he frequently repeated: “We believe you, my lord! God
bless you, my lord!” These expressions with a faltering accent flowed
from them. The executioner himself was touched with sympathy. Twice he
lifted up the axe, with an intent to strike the fatal blow; and as often
felt his resolution to fail him. A deep sigh was heard to accompany his
last effort, which laid Stafford forever at rest. All the spectators
seemed to feel the blow. And when the head was held up to them with
the usual cry, “This is the head of a traitor,” no clamor of assent was
uttered. Pity, remorse, and astonishment had taken possession of every
heart, and displayed itself in every countenance.
This is the last blood which was shed on account of the Popish plot; an
incident which, for the credit of the nation, it were better to bury in
eternal oblivion; but which it is necessary to perpetuate, as well to
maintain the truth of history, as to warn, if possible, their posterity
and all mankind never again to fall into so shameful, so barbarous a
delusion.
The execution of Stafford gratified the prejudices of the country party;
but it contributed nothing to their power and security: on the contrary,
by exciting commiseration, it tended still further to increase the
disbelief of the whole plot, which began now to prevail. The commons,
therefore, not to lose the present opportunity, resolved to make both
friends and enemies sensible of their power. They passed a bill for
easing the Protestant dissenters, and for repealing the persecuting
statute of the thirty-fifth of Elizabeth: this laudable bill was
likewise carried through the house of peers. The chief justice was very
obnoxious for dismissing the grand jury in an irregular manner, and
thereby disappointing that bold measure of Shaftesbury and his friends,
who had presented the duke as a recusant. For this crime the commons
sent up an impeachment against him; as also against Jones and Weston,
two of the judges, who, in some speeches from the bench, had gone so far
as to give to many of the first reformers the appellation of fanatics.
The king, in rejecting the exclusion bill, had sheltered himself
securely behind the authority of the house of peers; and the commons
had been deprived of the usual pretence, to attack the sovereign himself
under color of attacking his ministers and counsellors. In prosecution,
however, of the scheme which he had formed, of throwing the blame on the
commons in case of any rupture, he made them a new speech. After warning
them, that a neglect of this opportunity would never be retrieved, he
added these words: “I did promise you the fullest satisfaction which
your hearts could wish, for the security of the Protestant religion, and
to concur with you in any remedies which might consist with preserving
the succession of the crown in its due and legal course of descent. I do
again, with the same reservations, renew the same promises to you: and
being thus ready on my part to do all that can reasonably be expected
from me, I should be glad to know from you, as soon as may be, how far I
shall be assisted by you, and what it is you desire from me.”
The most reasonable objection against the limitations proposed by the
king, is, that they introduced too considerable an innovation in the
government, and almost totally annihilated the power of the future
monarch. But considering the present disposition of the commons and
their leaders, we may fairly presume, that this objection would have
small weight with them, and that their disgust against the court would
rather incline them to diminish than support regal authority. They still
hoped, from the king’s urgent necessities and his usual facility, that
he would throw himself wholly into their hands; and that thus, without
waiting for the accession of the duke, they might immediately render
themselves absolute masters of the government. The commons, therefore,
besides insisting still on the exclusion, proceeded to bring in bills of
an important, and some of them of an alarming nature: one to renew the
triennial act, which had been so inadvertently repealed in the beginning
of the reign; a second to make the office of judge during good behavior;
a third to declare the levying of money without consent of parliament to
be high treason; a fourth to order an association for the safety of
his majesty’s person, for defence of the Protestant religion, for
the preservation of the Protestant subjects against all invasions and
opposition whatsoever, and for preventing the duke of York, or any
Papist, from succeeding to the crown. The memory of the covenant was too
recent for men to overlook the consequences of such an association; and
the king, who was particularly conversant in Davila, could not fail
of recollecting a memorable foreign instance, to fortify this domestic
experience.
The commons also passed many votes, which, though they had not
the authority of laws, served, however, to discover the temper and
disposition of the house. They voted, that whoever had advised his
majesty to refuse the exclusion bill, were promoters of Popery and
enemies to the king and kingdom. In another vote, they named the marquis
of Worcester, the earls of Clarendon, Feversham, and Halifax, Laurence
Hyde, and Edward Seymour, as those dangerous enemies; and they requested
his majesty to remove them from his person and councils forever. They
voted, that, till the exclusion bill were passed, they could not,
consistent with the trust reposed in them, grant the king any manner
of supply. And lest he should be enabled, by any other expedient, to
support the government, and preserve himself independent, they passed
another vote, in which they declared, that whoever should hereafter
lend, by way of advance, any money upon those branches of the king’s
revenue arising from customs, excise, or hearth money, should be judged
a hinderer of the sitting of parliament, and be responsible for the same
in parliament.
The king might presume that the peers, who had rejected the exclusion
bill, would still continue to defend the throne, and that none of the
dangerous bills, introduced into the other house, would
ever be presented for the royal assent and approbation. But as there
remained no hopes of bringing the commons to any better temper, and
as their further sitting served only to keep faction alive, and to
perpetuate the general ferment of the nation, he came secretly to a
resolution of proroguing them.
{1681.} They got intelligence about a quarter of an hour before the
black rod came to their door. Not to lose such precious time, they
passed, in a tumultuous manner, some extraordinary resolutions. They
voted, that whosoever advised his majesty to prorogue this parliament
to any other purpose than in order to pass the bill of exclusion, was a
betrayer of the king, of the Protestant religion, and of the kingdom of
England; a promoter of the French interest, and a pensioner of France:
that thanks be given to the city of London for their manifest loyalty,
and for their care and vigilance in the preservation of the king and of
the Protestant religion: that it is the opinion of this house, that that
city was burned in the year 1666 by the Papists, designing thereby
to introduce arbitrary power and Popery into the kingdom: that humble
application be made to his majesty for restoring the duke of Monmouth
to all his offices and commands, from which, it appears to the house,
he had been removed by the influence of the duke of York: and that it
is the opinion of the house, that the prosecution of the Protestant
dissenters upon the penal laws is at this time grievous to the subject,
a weakening of the Protestant interest, an encouragement of Popery, and
dangerous to the peace of the kingdom.
The king passed some laws of no great importance: but the bill for
repealing the thirty-fifth of Elizabeth, he privately ordered the clerk
of the crown not to present to him. By this artifice, which was equally
disobliging to the country party as if the bill had been rejected, and
at the same time implied some timidity in the king, that salutary act
was for the present eluded. The king had often of himself attempted, and
sometimes by irregular means, to give indulgence to nonconformists: but
besides that he had usually expected to comprehend the Catholics in this
liberty, the present refractory disposition of the sectaries had much
incensed him against them; and he was resolved, if possible, to keep
them still at mercy.
The last votes of the commons seemed to be an attempt of forming
indirectly an association against the crown, after they found that their
association bill could not pass: the dissenting interest, the city, and
the duke of Monmouth, they endeavored to connect with the country party.
A civil war indeed never appeared so likely as at present; and it was
high time for the king to dissolve a parliament which seemed to have
entertained such dangerous projects. Soon after, he summoned another.
Though he observed, that the country party had established their
interest so strongly in all the electing boroughs, that he could not
hope for any disposition more favorable in the new parliament, this
expedient was still a prosecution of his former project, of trying every
method by which he might form an accommodation with the commons; and if
all failed, he hoped that he could the better justify to his people, at
least to his party, a final breach with them.
It had always been much regretted by the royalists, during the civil
wars, that the long parliament had been assembled at Westminster, and
had thereby received force and encouragement from the vicinity of a
potent and factious city, which had zealously embraced their party.
Though the king was now possessed of guards, which in some measure
overawed the populace, he was determined still further to obviate all
inconveniences; and he summoned the new parliament to meet at Oxford.
The city of London showed how just a judgment he had formed of their
dispositions. Besides reelecting the same members, they voted thanks to
them for their former behavior, in endeavoring to discover the depth of
the horrid and hellish Popish plot, and to exclude the duke of York,
the principal cause of the ruin and misery impending over the nation.
Monmouth with fifteen peers presented a petition against assembling the
parliament at Oxford, “where the two houses,” they said, “could not be
in safety; but would be easily exposed to the swords of the Papists and
their adherents, of whom too many had crept into his majesty’s guards.”
These insinuations, which pointed so evidently at the king himself, were
not calculated to persuade him, but to inflame the people.
The exclusionists might have concluded, both from the king’s dissolution
of the last parliament, and from his summoning of the present to meet
at Oxford, that he was determined to maintain his declared resolution of
rejecting their favorite bill; but they still flattered themselves, that
his urgent necessities would influence his easy temper, and finally gain
them the ascendant. The leaders came to parliament, attended not only by
their servants, but by numerous bands of their partisans. The four
city members in particular were followed by great multitudes, wearing
ribbons, in which were woven these words, “No Popery! No slavery!” The
king had his guards regularly mustered: his party likewise endeavored to
make a show of their strength; and on the whole, the assembly at Oxford
rather bore the appearance of a tumultuous Polish diet, than of a
regular English parliament.
The king, who had hitherto employed the most gracious expressions to all
his parliaments, particularly the two last, thought proper to address
himself to the present in a more authoritative manner. He complained of
the unwarrantable proceedings of the former house of commons; and said,
that, as he would never use arbitrary government himself, neither would
he ever suffer it in others. By calling, however, this parliament so
soon, he had sufficiently shown, that no past irregularities could
inspire him with a prejudice against those assemblies. He now afforded
them, he added, yet another opportunity of providing for the public
safety; and to all the world had given one evidence more, that on his
part he had not neglected the duty incumbent on him.
The commons were not overawed by the magisterial air of the king’s
speech. They consisted almost entirely of the same members; they chose
the same speaker; and they instantly fell into the same measures,
the impeachment of Danby, the repeal of the persecuting statute of
Elizabeth, the inquiry into the Popish plot, and the bill of exclusion.
So violent were they on this last article, that no other expedient,
however plausible, could so much as be hearkened to. Ernley, one of the
king’s ministers, proposed, that the duke should be banished, during
life, five hundred miles from England and that on the king’s demise the
next heir should be constituted regent with regal power: yet even this
expedient, which left the duke only the bare title of king, could not,
though seconded by Sir Thomas Lyttleton and Sir Thomas Mompesson, obtain
the attention of the house. The past disappointments of the country
party, and the opposition made by the court, had only rendered them more
united, more haughty, and more determined. No method but their own, of
excluding the duke, could give them any satisfaction.
There was one Fitzharris, an Irish Catholic, who had insinuated himself
into the duchess of Portsmouth’s acquaintance, and had been very busy in
conveying to her intelligence of any libel written by the country party,
or of any designs entertained against her or against the court. For
services of this kind, and perhaps too from a regard to his father. Sil
Edward Fitzharris, who had been an eminent royalist, he had received
from the king a present of two hundred and fifty pounds. This man
met with one Everard, a Scotchman, a spy of the exclusionists, and an
informer concerning the Popish plot; and he engaged him to write a
libel against the king, the duke, and the whole administration.
What Fitzharris’s intentions were, cannot well be ascertained: it is
probable, as he afterwards asserted, that he meant to carry this libel
to his patron, the duchess, and to make a merit of the discovery.
Everard, who suspected some other design, and who was well pleased on
his side to have the merit of a discovery with his patrons, resolved
to betray his friend: he posted Sir William Waller, a noted justice
of peace, and two persons more, behind the hangings, and gave them an
opportunity of seeing and hearing the whole transaction. The libel,
sketched out by Fitzharris, and executed partly by him, partly by
Everard, was the most furious, indecent, and outrageous performance
imaginable, and such as was fitter to hurt than serve any party which
should be so imprudent as to adopt it. Waller carried the intelligence
to the king, and obtained a warrant for committing Fitzharris, who
happened at that very time to have a copy of the libel in his pocket.
Finding himself now delivered over to the law, he resolved to pay court
to the popular party, who were alone able to protect him, and by whom
he observed almost all trials to be governed and directed. He affirmed,
that he had been employed by the court to write the libel, in order to
throw the odium of it on the exclusionists: but this account, which was
within the bounds of credibility, he disgraced by circumstances which
are altogether absurd and improbable. The intention of the ministers,
he said, was to send about copies to all the heads of the country party;
and the moment they received them, they were to be arrested, and a
conspiracy to be imputed to them. That he might merit favor by still
more important intelligence, he commenced a discoverer of the
great Popish plot; and he failed not to confirm all the tremendous
circumstances, insisted on by his predecessors. He said, that the second
Dutch war was entered into with a view of extirpating the Protestant
religion, both abroad and at home; that Father Parry, a Jesuit, on the
disappointment by the peace, told him, that the Catholics resolved to
murder the king, and had even engaged the queen in that design; that the
envoy of Medena offered him two thousand pounds to kill the king, and
upon his refusal the envoy said, that the duchess of Mazarine, who was
as expert at poisoning as her sister, the Countess of Soissons, would,
with a little phial, execute that design; that upon the king’s death,
the army in Flanders was to come over and massacre the Protestants; that
money was raised in Italy for recruits and supplies, and there should be
no more parliaments; and that the Duke was privy to this whole plan, and
had even entered into the design of Godfrey’s murder, which was executed
in the manner related by France.
The popular leaders had all along been very desirous of having an
accusation against the Duke; and though Oates and Bedloe, in their first
evidence, had not dared to go so far, both Dugdale and Dangerfield
had afterwards been encouraged to supply so material a defect, by
comprehending him in the conspiracy. The commons, therefore, finding
that Fitzharris was also willing to serve this purpose, were not ashamed
to adopt his evidence, and resolved for that end, to save him from
the destruction with which he was at present threatened. The king had
removed him from the city prison, where he was exposed to be tampered
with by the exclusionists; had sent him to the Tower; and had ordered
him to be prosecuted by an indictment at common law. In order to prevent
his trial and execution, an impeachment was voted by the commons against
him, and sent up to the lords. That they might show the greater contempt
of the court, they ordered, by way of derision, that the impeachment
should be carried up by Secretary Jenkins; who was so provoked by the
intended affront, that he at first refused obedience; though afterwards,
being threatened with commitment, he was induced to comply. The lords
voted to remit the affair to the ordinary courts of justice, before
whom, as the attorney-general informed them, it was already determined
to try Fitzharris. The commons maintained that the peers were obliged
to receive every impeachment from the commons; and this indeed seems
to have been the first instance of their refusal: they therefore voted,
that the lords, in rejecting their impeachment, had denied justice, and
had violated the constitution of parliament. They also declared, that
whatever inferior court should proceed against Fitzharris, or any
one that lay under impeachment, would be guilty of a high breach of
privilege. Great heats were likely to ensue; and as the king saw no
appearance of any better temper in the commons, he gladly laid hold of
the opportunity afforded by a quarrel between the two houses, and he
proceeded to a dissolution of the parliament. The secret was so well
kept, that the commons had no intimation of it till the black rod came
to their door, and summoned them to attend the king at the house of
peers.
This vigorous measure, though it might have been foreseen, excited such
astonishment in the country party, as deprived them of all spirit, and
reduced them to absolute despair. They were sensible, though too late,
that the king had finally taken his resolution, and was determined to
endure any extremity rather than submit to those terms which they had
resolved to impose upon him. They found that he had patiently waited
till affairs should come to full maturity; and having now engaged a
national party on his side, had boldly set his enemies at defiance. No
parliament, they knew, would be summoned for some years; and during
that long interval, the court, though perhaps at the head of an inferior
party, yet being possessed of all authority, would have every advantage
over a body dispersed and disunited. These reflections crowded upon
every one; and all the exclusionists were terrified, lest Charles
should follow the blow by some action more violent, and immediately
take vengeance on them for their long and obstinate opposition to his
measures. The king on his part was no less apprehensive, lest despair
might prompt them to have recourse to force, and make some sudden
attempt upon his person. Both parties therefore hurried from Oxford;
and in an instant that city, so crowded and busy, was left in its usual
emptiness and tranquillity.
The court party gathered force from the dispersion and astonishment
of their antagonists, and adhered more firmly to the king, whose
resolutions, they now saw, could be entirely depended on. The violences
of the exclusionists were every where exclaimed against and aggravated;
and even the reality of the plot, that great engine of their authority,
was openly called in question. The clergy especially
were busy in this great revolution; and being moved, partly by their
own fears partly by the insinuations of the court, they represented all
their antagonists as sectaries and republicans, and rejoiced in escaping
those perils which they believed to have been hanging over them.
Principles the most opposite to civil liberty were every where enforced
from the pulpit, and adopted in numerous addresses; where the king was
flattered in his present measures, and congratulated on his escape from
parliaments. Could words have been depended on, the nation appeared to
be running fast into voluntary servitude, and seemed even ambitious of
resigning into the king’s hands all the privileges transmitted to them,
through so many ages, by their gallant ancestors.
But Charles had sagacity enough to distinguish between men’s real
internal sentiments, and the language which zeal and opposition to a
contrary faction may sometimes extort from them. Notwithstanding all
these professions of duty and obedience, he was resolved not to trust,
for a long time, the people with a new election, but to depend entirely
on his own economy for alleviating those necessities under which he
labored. Great retrenchments were made in the household: even his
favorite navy was neglected: Tangiers, though it had cost great sums
of money, was a few years after abandoned and demolished. The mole was
entirely destroyed; and the garrison, being brought over to England,
served to augment that small army which the king relied on as the solid
basis of his authority. It had been happy for the nation, had Charles
used his victory with justice and moderation equal to the prudence and
dexterity with which he obtained it.
The first step taken by the court was the trial of Fitzharris. Doubts
were raised by the jury with regard to their power of trying him, after
the concluding vote of the commons: but the judges took upon them to
decide the question in the affirmative, and the jury were obliged to
proceed. The writing of the libel was clearly proved upon Fitzharris:
the only question was with regard to his intentions. He asserted, that
he was a spy of the court, and had accordingly carried the libel to the
duchess of Portsmouth; and he was desirous that the jury should, in
this transaction, consider him as a cheat, not as a traitor. He failed,
however, somewhat in the proof; and was brought in guilty of treason by
the jury.
Finding himself entirely in the hands of the king, he now retracted
all his former impostures with regard to the popish plot, and even
endeavored to atone for them by new impostures against the country
party. He affirmed, that these fictions had been extorted from him by
the suggestions and artifices of Treby, the recorder, and of Bethel
and Cornish, the two sheriffs: this account he persisted in even at his
execution; and though men knew that nothing could be depended on which
came from one so corrupt, and so lost to all sense of honor, yet were
they inclined, from his perseverance, to rely somewhat more on his
veracity in these last asseverations. But it appears that his wife had
some connections with Mrs. Wall, the favorite maid of the duchess of
Portsmouth; and Fitzharris hoped, if he persisted in a story agreeable
to the court, that some favor might, on that account, be shown to his
family.
It is amusing to reflect on the several lights in which this story has
been represented by the opposite factions. The country party affirmed,
that Fitzharris had been employed by the court, in order to throw the
odium of the libel on the exclusionists, and thereby give rise to a
Protestant plot: the court party maintained, that the exclusionists had
found out Fitzharris, a spy of the ministers, and had set him upon this
undertaking, from an intention of loading the court with the imputation
of such a design upon the exclusionists. Rather than acquit their
antagonists, both sides were willing to adopt an account the most
intricate and incredible. It was a strange situation in which the people
at this time were placed; to be every day tortured with these
perplexed stories, and inflamed with such dark suspicions against their
fellow-citizens. This was no less than the fifteenth false plot, or sham
plot, as they were then called, with which the court, it was imagined,
had endeavored to load their adversaries.[*]
* College’s trial.
The country party had intended to make use of Fitzharris’s evidence
against the duke and the Catholics; and his execution was therefore
a great mortification to them. But the king and his ministers were
resolved not to be contented with so slender an advantage. They
were determined to pursue the victory, and to employ against the
exclusionists those very offensive arms, however unfair, which that
party had laid up in store against their antagonists. The whole gang of
spies, witnesses, informers, suborners, who had so long been supported
and encouraged by the leading patriots, finding now that the king was
entirely master, turned short upon their old patrons and offered their
service to the ministers. To the disgrace of the court and of the age,
they were received with hearty welcome, and their testimony, or rather
perjury, made use of in order to commit legal murder upon the opposite
party. With an air of triumph and derision, it was asked, “Are not these
men good witnesses, who have established the Popish plot, upon whose
testimony Stafford and so many Catholics have been executed, and whom
you yourselves have so long celebrated as men of credit and veracity?
You have admitted them into your bosom: they are best acquainted with
your treasons: they are determined in another shape to serve their king
and country: and you cannot complain, that the same measure which
you meted to others, should now, by a righteous doom or vengeance, be
measured out to you.”
It is certain that the principle of retaliation may serve in some cases
as a full apology, in others as an alleviation, for a conduct which
would otherwise be exposed to great blame. But these infamous arts,
which poison justice in its very source, and break all the bands of
human society, are so detestable and dangerous, that no pretence of
retaliation can be pleaded as an apology or even an alleviation of the
crime incurred by them. On the contrary, the greater indignation the
king and his ministers felt, when formerly exposed to the perjuries
of abandoned men, the more reluctance should they now have discovered
against employing the same instruments of vengeance upon their
antagonists.
The first person on whom the ministers fell was one College, a London
joiner, who had become extremely noted for his zeal against Popery,
and was much connected with Shaftesbury and the leaders of the country
party: for as they relied much upon the populace, men of College’s rank
and station were useful to them. College had been in Oxford armed with
sword and pistol during the sitting of the parliament; and this was made
the foundation of his crime. It was pretended that a conspiracy had been
entered into to seize the king’s person, and detain him in confinement,
till he should make the concessions demanded of him. The sheriffs of
London were in strong opposition to the court; and it was not strange,
that the grand jury named by them rejected the bill against College.
The prisoner was therefore sent to Oxford, where the treason was said to
have been committed. Lord Norris, a courtier, was sheriff of the county;
and the inhabitants were in general devoted to the court party. A jury
was named, consisting entirely of royalists; and though they were men
of credit and character, yet such was the factious rage which prevailed,
that little justice could be expected by the prisoner. Some papers,
containing hints and directions for his defence, were taken from him,
as he was conducted to his trial; an iniquity which some pretended to
justify by alleging, that a like violence had been practised against
a prisoner daring the fury of the Popish plot. Such wild notes of
retaliation were at that time propagated by the court party.
The witnesses produced against College were Dugdale, Turberville,
Haynes, Smith; men who had before given evidence against the Catholics,
and whom the jury, for that very reason, regarded as the most perjured
villains. College, though beset with so many toils, and oppressed with
so many iniquities, defended himself with spirit, courage, capacity,
presence of mind; and he invalidated the evidence of the crown, by
convincing arguments and undoubted testimony: yet did the jury, after
half an hour’s deliberation, bring in a verdict against him. The inhuman
spectators received the verdict with a shout of applause: but the
prisoner was nowise dismayed. At his execution, he maintained the same
manly fortitude, and still denied the crime imputed to him. His whole
conduct and demeanor prove him to have been a man led astray only by the
fury of the times, and to have been governed by an honest but indiscreet
zeal for his country and his religion.
Thus the two parties, actuated by mutual rage, but cooped up within the
narrow limits of the law, levelled with poisoned daggers the most
deadly blows against each other’s breast, and buried in their factious
divisions all regard to truth, honor and humanity.