CHARLES II.
{1681.} When the cabal entered into the mysterious alliance with France,
they took care to remove the duke of Ormond from the committee of
foreign affairs; and nothing tended further to increase the national
jealousy entertained against the new measures, than to see a man of
so much loyalty, as well as probity and honor, excluded from public
councils. They had even so great interest with the king as to get Ormond
recalled from the government of Ireland; and Lord Robarts, afterwards
earl of Radnor, succeeded him in that important employment. Lord
Berkeley succeeded Robarts; and the earl of Essex, Berkeley. At last,
in the year 1677 Charles cast his eye again upon Ormond, whom he had so
long neglected; and sent him over lieutenant to Ireland. “I have done
every thing,” said the king, “to disoblige that man; but it is not in
my power to make him my enemy.” Ormond, during his disgrace, had never
joined the malecontents, nor encouraged those clamors which, with too
much reason, but often for bad purposes, were raised against the king’s
measures. He even thought it his duty regularly, though with dignity,
to pay his court at Whitehall; and to prove, that his attachments were
founded on gratitude, inclination, and principle, not on any temporary
advantages. All the expressions which dropped from him, while neglected
by the court, showed more of good humor than any prevalence of spleen
and indignation. “I can do you no service,” said he to his friends; “I
have only the power left by my applications to do you some hurt.” When
Colonel Cary Dillon solicited him to second his pretensions for an
office, and urged that he had no friends but God and his grace, “Alas!
poor Cary,” replied the duke, “I pity thee: thou couldst not have two
friends that possess less interest at court.” “I am thrown by,” said he,
on another occasion, “like an old rusty clock; yet even that neglected
machine, twice in twenty-four hours, points right.”
On such occasions when Ormond, from decency, paid his attendance at
court, the king, equally ashamed to show him civility and to neglect
him, was abashed and confounded. “Sir,” said the profligate Buckingham,
“I wish to know whether it be the duke of Ormond that is out of favor
with your majesty, or your majesty with the duke of Ormond; for of the
two, you seem the most out of countenance.”
When Charles found it his interest to show favor to the old royalists,
and to the church of England, Ormond, who was much revered by that whole
party, could not fail of recovering, together with the government of
Ireland, his former credit and authority. His administration, when lord
lieutenant corresponded to the general tenor of his life; and tended
equally to promote the interests of prince and people, of Protestant and
Catholic. Ever firmly attached to the established religion, he was
able, even during those jealous times, to escape suspicion, though he
gratified not vulgar prejudices by any persecution of the Popish party.
He increased the revenue of Ireland to three hundred thousand pounds a
year: he maintained a regular army of ten thousand men: he supported
a well-disciplined militia of twenty thousand: and though the act of
settlement had so far been infringed, that Catholics were permitted to
live in corporate towns, they were guarded with so careful an eye, that
the most timorous Protestant never apprehended any danger from them.
The chief object of Essex’s ambition was to return to the station
of lord lieutenant, where he had behaved with honor and integrity:
Shaftesbury and Buckingham bore an extreme hatred to Ormond, both from
personal and party considerations: the great aim of the anti-courtiers
was to throw reflections on every part of the king’s government. It
could be no surprise, therefore, to the lord lieutenant to learn,
that his administration was attacked in parliament, particularly by
Shaftesbury; but he had the satisfaction, at the same time, to hear of
the keen though polite defence made by his son, the generous Ossory.
After justifying several particulars of Ormond’s administration against
that intriguing patriot, Ossory proceeded in the following words:
“Having spoken of what the lord lieutenant has done, I presume with the
same truth to tell your lordships what he has not done. He never advised
the breaking of the triple league; he never advised the shutting up of
the exchequer; he never advised the declaration for a toleration;
he never advised the falling out with the Dutch and the joining with
France: he was not the author of that most excellent position, Delenda
est Carthago, that Holland, a Protestant country, should, contrary to
the true interests of England, be totally destroyed. I beg that your
lordships will be so just as to judge of my father and all men according
to their actions and their counsels.” These few sentences pronounced by
a plain, gallant soldier, noted for probity, had a surprising effect
upon the audience, and confounded all the rhetoric of his eloquent and
factious adversary. The prince of Orange, who esteemed the former
character as much as he despised the latter, could not forbear
congratulating by letter the earl of Ossory on this new species of
victory which he had obtained.
Ossory, though he ever kept at a distance from faction, was the most
popular man in the kingdom; though he never made any compliance with
the corrupt views of the court, was beloved and respected by the king.
A universal grief appeared on his death, which happened about this time,
and which the populace, as is usual wherever they are much affected,
foolishly ascribed to poison. Ormond bore the loss with patience and
dignity; though he ever retained a pleasing, however melancholy, sense
of the signal merit of Ossory. “I would not exchange my dead son,” said
he, “for any living son in Christendom.”
These particularities may appear a digression; but it is with pleasure,
I own, that I relax myself for a moment in the contemplation of these
humane and virtuous characters, amidst that scene of fury and faction,
fraud and violence, in which at present our narration has unfortunately
engaged us.
Besides the general interest of the country party to decry the conduct
of all the king’s ministers, the prudent and peaceable administration of
Ormond was in a particular manner displeasing to them. In England, where
the Catholics were scarcely one to a hundred, means had been found to
excite a universal panic, on account of insurrections and even massacres
projected by that sect; and it could not but seem strange that in
Ireland, where they exceeded the Protestants six to one, there should no
symptoms appear of any combination or conspiracy. Such an incident, when
duly considered, might even in England shake the credit of the plot,
and diminish the authority of those leaders who had so long, with such
industry, inculcated the belief of it on the nation Rewards, therefore,
were published in Ireland to any that would bring intelligence or become
witnesses; and some profligates were sent over to that kingdom, with a
commission to seek out evidence against the Catholics. Under pretence
of searching for arms or papers, they broke into houses, and plundered
them: they threw innocent men into prison, and took bribes for their
release: and after all their diligence, it was with difficulty that that
country, commonly fertile enough in witnesses, could furnish them with
any fit for their purpose.
At last, one Fitzgerald appeared, followed by Ivey, Sanson, Dennis,
Bourke, two Macnamaras, and some others. These men were immediately sent
over to England; and though they possessed neither character sufficient
to gain belief even for truth, nor sense to invent a credible falsehood,
they were caressed, rewarded, supported, and recommended by the earl of
Shaftesbury. Oliver Plunket, the titular primate of Ireland, a man of
peaceable dispositions, was condemned and executed upon such testimony.
And the Oxford parliament entered so far into the matter, as to vote
that they were entirely satisfied in the reality of the horrid and
damnable Irish plot. But such decisions, though at first regarded as
infallible, had now lost much of their authority; and the public still
remained somewhat indifferent and incredulous.
After the dissolution of the parliament, and the subsequent victory of
the royalists, Shaftesbury’s evidences, with Turberville, Smith, and
others, addressed themselves to the ministers, and gave information of
high treason against their former patron. It is sufficiently scandalous,
that intelligence conveyed by such men should have been attended to;
but there is some reason to think, that the court agents, nay, the
ministers, nay, the king himself,[*] went further, and were active in
endeavoring, though in vain, to find more reputable persons to support
the blasted credit of the Irish witnesses.
* See Captain Wilkinson’s Narrative.
Shaftesbury was committed to prison, and his indictment was presented to
the grand jury. The new sheriffs of London, Shute and Pilkington, were
engaged as deeply as their predecessors in the country party; and they
took care to name a jury devoted to the same cause; a precaution quite
necessary, when it was scarcely possible to find men indifferent or
attached to neither party. As far as swearing could go, the treason was
clearly proved against Shaftesbury; or rather so clearly as to merit no
kind of credit or attention. That veteran leader of a party, inured from
his early youth to faction and intrigue, to cabals and conspiracies, was
represented as opening, without reserve, his treasonable intentions to
these obscure banditti, and throwing out such violent and outrageous
reproaches upon the king, as none but men of low education, like
themselves, could be supposed to employ. The draught of an association,
it is true, against Popery and the duke, was found in Shaftesbury’s
cabinet; and dangerous inferences might be drawn from many clauses
of that paper. But it did not appear, that it had been framed by
Shaftesbury, or so much as approved by him. And as projects of an
association had been proposed in parliament, it was very natural for
this nobleman, or his correspondents, to be thinking of some plan
which it might be proper to lay before that assembly. The grand
jury, therefore, after weighing all these circumstances, rejected the
indictment; and the people who attended the hall testified their joy by
the loudest acclamations, which were echoed throughout the whole city.
About this time, a scheme of oppression was laid in Scotland after a
manner still more flagrant, against a nobleman much less obnoxious than
Shaftesbury; and as that country was reduced to a state of almost total
subjection, the project had the good fortune to succeed.
The earl of Argyle, from his youth, had distinguished himself by his
loyalty, and his attachment to the royal family. Though his father was
head of the Covenanters, he himself refused to concur in any of
their measures; and when a commission of colonel was given him by
the convention of states, he forbore to act upon it till it should be
ratified by the king. By his respectful behavior, as well as by his
services, he made himself acceptable to Charles when that prince was in
Scotland: and even after the battle of Worcester, all the misfortunes
which attended the royal cause could not engage him to desert it. Under
Middleton, he obstinately persevered to harass and infest the victorious
English; and it was not till he received orders from that general, that
he would submit to accept of a capitulation. Such jealousy of his loyal
attachments was entertained by the commonwealth and protector, that a
pretence was soon after fallen upon to commit him to prison; and his
confinement was rigorously continued till the restoration. The king,
sensible of his services, had remitted to him his father’s forfeiture,
and created him earl of Argyle; and when a most unjust sentence was
passed upon him by the Scottish parliament, Charles had anew remitted
it. In the subsequent part of this reign, Argyle behaved himself
dutifully; and though he seemed not disposed to go all lengths with the
court, he always appeared, even in his opposition, to be a man of mild
dispositions and peaceable deportment.
A parliament was summoned at Edinburgh this summer, and the duke was
appointed commissioner. Besides granting money to the king and voting
the indefeasible right of succession, this parliament enacted a
test, which all persons possessed of offices, civil, military, or
ecclesiastical, were bound to take. In this test the king’s supremacy
was asserted, the covenant renounced, passive obedience assented to,
and all obligations disclaimed of endeavoring any alteration in civil
or ecclesiastical establishments. This was the state of the test, as
proposed by the courtiers; but the country party proposed also to
insert a clause, which could not with decency be refused, expressing
the person’s adherence to the Protestant religion. The whole was of an
enormous length, considered as an oath; and what was worse, a confession
of faith was there ratified, which had been imposed a little after the
reformation, and which contained many articles altogether forgotten by
the parliament and nation. Among others, the doctrine of resistance
was inculcated; so that the test, being voted in a hurry, was found
on examination to be a medley of contradiction and absurdity. Several
persons, the most attached to the crown, scrupled to take it: the
bishops and many of the clergy remonstrated: the earl of Queensberry
refused to swear, except he might be allowed to add an explanation:
and even the privy council thought it necessary to publish, for general
satisfaction, a solution of some difficulties attending the test.
Though the courtiers could not reject the clause of adhering to the
Protestant religion, they proposed, as a necessary mark of respect, that
all princes of the blood should be exempted from taking the oath. This
exception was zealously opposed by Argyle; who observed, that the sole
danger to be dreaded for the Protestant religion must proceed from the
perversion of the royal family. By insisting on such topics, he drew on
himself the secret indignation of the duke, of which be soon felt the
fatal consequences.
When Argyle took the test as a privy counsellor, he subjoined, in the
duke’s presence, an explanation, which he had beforehand communicated to
that prince, and which he believed to have been approved by him. It
was in these words “I have considered the test, and am very desirous
of giving obedience as far as I can. I am confident that the parliament
never intended to impose contradictory oaths: therefore I think no man
can explain it but for himself. Accordingly, I take it as far as it is
consistent with itself and the Protestant religion. And I do declare,
that I mean not to bind myself, in my station, and in a lawful way, from
wishing and endeavoring any alteration which I think to the advantage
of church or state, and not repugnant to the Protestant religion and my
loyalty: and this I understand as a part of my oath.” The duke, as was
natural, heard these words with great tranquillity: no one took the
least offence: Argyle was admitted to sit that day in council: and it
was impossible to imagine, that a capital offence had been committed,
where occasion seemed not to have been given so much as for a frown or
reprimand.
Argyle was much surprised, a few days after, to find that a warrant
was issued for committing him to prison; that he was indicted for high
treason, leasing-making, and perjury; and that from these innocent words
an accusation was extracted, by which he was to forfeit honors, life,
and fortune. It is needless to enter into particulars where the iniquity
of the whole is so apparent. Though the sword of justice was displayed,
even her semblance was not put on; and the forms alone of law were
preserved, in order to sanctify, or rather aggravate, the oppression.
Of five judges, three did not scruple to find the guilt of treason and
leasing-making to have been incurred by the prisoner: a jury of fifteen
noblemen gave verdict against him: and the king, being consulted,
ordered the sentence to be pronounced, but the execution of it to be
suspended till further orders.
It was pretended by the duke and his creatures, that Argyle’s life and
fortune were not in any danger, and that the sole reason for pushing the
trial to such extremities against him was, in order to make him renounce
some hereditary jurisdictions, which gave his family a dangerous
authority in the highlands, and obstructed the course of public justice.
But allowing the end to be justifiable, the means were infamous;
and such as were incompatible, not only with a free, but a civilized
government. Argyle had therefore no reason to trust any longer to the
justice or mercy of such enemies: he made his escape from prison; and
till he should find a ship for Holland he concealed himself during some
time in London. The king heard of his lurking-place, but would not allow
him to be arrested.[*] All the parts, however, of his sentence, as far
as the government in Scotland had power, were rigorously executed; his
estate confiscated, his arms reversed and torn.
* Burnet, vol. i. p. 522.
It would seem, that the genuine passion for liberty was at this time
totally extinguished in Scotland: there was only preserved a spirit of
mutiny and sedition, encouraged by a mistaken zeal for religion.
Cameron and Cargil, two furious preachers, went a step beyond all their
brethren: they publicly excommunicated the king for his tyranny and
his breach of the covenant, and they renounced all allegiance to him.
Cameron was killed by the troops in an action at Airs Moss: Cargil was
taken and hanged. Many of their followers were tried and convicted.
Their lives were offered them if they would say, “God save the king:”
but they would only agree to pray for his repentance. This obstinacy was
much insisted on as an apology for the rigors of the administration:
but if duly considered, it will rather afford reason for a contrary
inference. Such unhappy delusion is an object rather of commiseration
than of anger: and it is almost impossible that men could have been
carried to such a degree of frenzy, unless provoked by a long train of
violence and oppression.
{1682.} As the king was master in England, and no longer dreaded the
clamors of the country party, he permitted the duke to pay him a visit;
and was soon after prevailed on to allow of his return to England, and
of his bearing a part in the administration. The duke went to Scotland,
in order to bring up his family, and settle the government of that
country; and he chose to take his passage by sea. The ship struck on
a sand-bank, and was lost: the duke escaped in the barge; and it is
pretended that, while many persons of rank and quality were drowned,
and among the rest Hyde, his brother-in-law, he was very careful to save
several of his dogs and priests; for these two species of favorites are
coupled together by some writers. It has likewise been asserted, that
the barge might safely have held more persons, and that some who swam
to it were thrust off, and even their hands cut, in order to disengage
them. But every action of every eminent person, during this period is so
liable to be misinterpreted and misrepresented by faction, that we ought
to be very cautious in passing judgment on too slight evidence. It
is remarkable, that the sailors on board the ship, though they felt
themselves sinking, and saw inevitable death before their eyes, yet, as
soon as they observed the duke to be in safety, gave a loud shout, in
testimony of their joy and satisfaction.
The duke, during his abode in Scotland, had behaved with great civility
towards the gentry and nobility; and by his courtly demeanor had much
won upon their affections: but his treatment of the enthusiasts was
still somewhat rigorous; and in many instances he appeared to be a man
of a severe, if not an unrelenting temper. It is even asserted, that
he sometimes assisted at the torture of criminals, and looked on with
tranquillity, as if he were considering some curious experiment.[*] He
left the authority in the hands of the earl of Aberdeen, chancellor, and
the earl of Queensberry, treasurer: a very arbitrary spirit appeared in
their administration.
* Burnet, vol. i. p. 583. Wodrow, vol. ii. p. 169. This last
author, who is much the better authority, mentions only one
instance, that of Spreul, which seems to have been an
extraordinary one.
A gentleman of the name of Weir was tried, because he had kept company
with one who had been in rebellion; though that person had never been
marked out by process or proclamation. The inferences upon which Weir
was condemned, (for a prosecution by the government and a condemnation
were in Scotland the same thing,) hung upon each other after the
following manner. No man, it was supposed, could have been in a
rebellion without being exposed to suspicion in the neighborhood: if
the neighborhood had suspected him, it was to be presumed that each
individual had likewise heard of the grounds of suspicion: every man was
bound to declare to the government his suspicion against every man,
and to avoid the company of traitors: to fail in this duty was to
participate in the treason: the conclusion, on the whole, was, You have
conversed with a rebel; therefore you are yourself a rebel. A reprieve
was with some difficulty procured for Weir; but it was seriously
determined to make use of the precedent. Courts of judicature were
erected in the southern and western counties, and a strict inquisition
carried on against this new species of crime. The term of three years
was appointed for the continuance of these courts; after which an
indemnity was promised. Whoever would take the test, was instantly
entitled to the benefit of this indemnity. The Presbyterians, alarmed
with such tyranny, from which no man could deem himself safe, began
to think of leaving the country; and some of their agents were sent
to England, in order to treat with the proprietors of Carolina for a
settlement in that colony. Any condition seemed preferable to the living
in their native country, which, by the prevalence of persecution and
violence, was become as insecure to them as a den of robbers.
Above two thousand persons were outlawed on pretence of their conversing
or having intercourse with rebels,[*] and they were continually
hunted in their retreat by soldiers, spies, informers, and oppressive
magistrates. It was usual to put insnaring questions to people living
peaceably in their own houses; such as, “Will you renounce the covenant?
Do you esteem the rising at Bothwel to be rebellion? Was the killing
of the archbishop of St. Andrews murder?” And when the poor deluded
creatures refused to answer, capital punishments were inflicted on
them.[**] Even women were brought to the gibbet for this pretended
crime. A number of fugitives, rendered frantic by oppression, had
published a seditious declaration, renouncing allegiance to Charles
Stuart, whom they called, as they, for their parts, had indeed some
reason to esteem him, a tyrant. This incident afforded the privy council
a pretence for an unusual kind of oppression. Soldiers were dispersed
over the country, and power was given to all commission officers, even
the lowest, to oblige every one they met with to abjure the declaration;
and, upon refusal, instantly, without further questions, to shoot the
delinquent.[***] It were endless, as well as shocking, to enumerate all
the instances of persecution, or, in other words, of absurd tyranny,
which at that time prevailed in Scotland. One of them, however, is so
singular, that I cannot forbear relating it.
Three women were seized;[****] and the customary oath was tendered
to them, by which they were to abjure the seditious declaration above
mentioned.
* Wodrow vol. ii. appendix, 94.
** Wodrow, vol. ii. passim.
*** Wodrow p. 434.
**** Wodrow, p. 505.
They all refused, and were condemned to a capital punishment by
drowning. One of them was an elderly woman: the other two were young;
one eighteen years of age, the other only thirteen. Even these violent
persecutors were ashamed to put the youngest to death: but the other two
were conducted to the place of execution, and were tied to stakes within
the sea mark at low water; a contrivance which rendered their death
lingering and dreadful. The elderly woman was placed farthest in, and
by the rising of the waters was first suffocated. The younger, partly
terrified with the view of her companion’s death, partly subdued by the
entreaty of her friends, was prevailed with to say, “God save the king.”
Immediately the spectators called out, that she had submitted; and she
was loosened from the stake. Major Winram, the officer who guarded
the execution, again required her to sign the abjuration; and upon her
refusal, he ordered her instantly to be plunged in the water, where she
was suffocated.
The severity of the administration in Scotland is in part to be ascribed
to the duke’s temper, to whom the king had consigned over the government
of that country, and who gave such attention to affairs as to allow
nothing of moment to escape him. Even the government of England, from
the same cause, began to be somewhat infected with the same severity.
The duke’s credit was great at court. Though neither so much beloved nor
esteemed as the king, he was more dreaded; and thence an attendance more
exact, as well as a submission more obsequious, was paid to him. The
saying of Waller was remarked, that Charles, in spite to the parliament,
who had determined that the duke should not succeed him, was resolved
that he should reign even in his lifetime.
The king, however, who loved to maintain a balance in his councils,
still supported Halifax, whom he created a marquis, and made privy
seal; though ever in opposition to the duke. This man, who possessed
the finest genius and most extensive capacity of all employed in public
affairs during the present reign, affected a species of neutrality
between the parties and was esteemed the head of that small body known
by the denomination of “trimmers.” This conduct, which is more natural
to men of integrity than of ambition, could not, however, procure him
the former character; and he was always, with reason, regarded as
an intriguer rather than a patriot. Sunderland, who had promoted the
exclusion bill, and who had been displaced on that account, was again,
with the duke’s consent, brought into the administration. The extreme
duplicity, at least variableness, of this man’s conduct, through the
whole course of his life, made it be suspected, that it was by the
king’s direction he had mixed with the country party. Hyde, created earl
of Rochester, was first commissioner of the treasury, and was entirely
in the duke’s interests.
The king himself was obliged to act as the head of a party; a
disagreeable situation for a prince, and always the source of much
injustice and oppression. He knew how obnoxious the dissenters were to
the church; and he resolved, contrary to the maxims of toleration, which
he had hitherto supported in England, to gratify his friends by the
persecution of his enemies. The laws against conventicles were now
rigorously executed; an expedient which, the king knew, would diminish
neither the numbers nor influence of the nonconformists; and which is
therefore to be deemed more the result of passion than of policy.
Scarcely any persecution serves the intended purpose but such as amounts
to a total extermination.
Though the king’s authority made everyday great advances, it still met
with considerable obstacles, chiefly from the city, which was entirely
in the hands of the malecontents. The juries, in particular, named by
the sheriffs, were not likely to be impartial judges between the crown
and the people; and after the experiments already made in the case of
Shaftesbury, and that of College, treason, it was apprehended, might
there be committed with impunity. There could not, therefore, be a more
important service to the court than to put affairs upon a different
footing. Sir John Moore, the mayor, was gained by Secretary Jenkins,
and encouraged to insist upon the customary privilege of his office, of
naming one of the sheriffs. Accordingly, when the time of election came,
he drank to North, a Levant merchant, who accepted of that expensive
office. The country party said, that, being lately returned from Turkey,
he was, on account of his recent experience, better qualified to serve
the purposes of the court. A poll was opened for the election of another
sheriff; and here began the contest. The majority of the common hall,
headed by the two sheriffs of the former year, refused to acknowledge
the mayor’s right of appointing one sheriff, but insisted that both must
be elected by the livery. Papillon and Dubois were the persons whom the
country party agreed to elect: Box was pointed out by the courtiers.
The poll was opened; but as the mayor would not allow the election
to proceed for two vacancies, the sheriffs and he separated, and
each carried on the poll apart. The country party, who voted with the
sheriffs for Papillon and Dubois, were much more numerous than those who
voted with the mayor for Box: but as the mayor insisted chat his
poll was the only legal one, he declared Box to be duly elected. All
difficulties, however, were not surmounted. Box, apprehensive of the
consequences which might attend so dubious an election, fined off; and
the mayor found it necessary to proceed to a new choice. When the matter
was proposed to the common hall, a loud cry was raised, “No election! No
election!” The two sheriffs already elected, Papillon and Dubois,
were insisted on as the only legal magistrates. But as the mayor still
maintained, that Box alone had been legally chosen, and that it was
now requisite to supply his place, he opened books anew; and during the
tumult and confusion of the citizens, a few of the mayor’s partisans
elected Rich, unknown to and unheeded by the rest of the livery. North
and Rich were accordingly sworn in sheriffs for the ensuing year; but
it was necessary to send a guard of the train bands to protect them
in entering upon their office. A new mayor of the court party was
soon after chosen, by means, as is pretended, still more violent and
irregular.
Thus the country party were dislodged from their stronghold in the
city; where, ever since the commencement of factions in the English
government, they had, without interruption, almost without molestation,
maintained a superiority. It had been happy, had the partialities,
hitherto objected to juries, been corrected, without giving place to
partialities of an opposite kind: but in the present distracted state
of the nation, an equitable neutrality was almost impossible to be
attained. The court and church party, who were now named on juries, made
justice subservient to their factious views; and the king had a prospect
of obtaining full revenge on his enemies. It was not long before the
effects of these alterations were seen. When it was first reported that
the duke intended to leave Scotland, Pilkington, at that time sheriff, a
very violent man, had broken out in these terms: “He has already burned
the city; and he is now coming to cut all our throats!” For these
scandalous expressions, the duke sued Pilkington; and enormous damages,
to the amount of one hundred thousand pounds, were decreed him. By the
law of England, ratified in the Great Charter, no fine or damages ought
to extend to the total ruin of a criminal. Sir Patience Ward, formerly
mayor, who gave evidence for Pilkington, was sued for perjury, and
condemned to the pillory; a severe sentence, and sufficient to deter all
witnesses from appearing in favor of those who were prosecuted by the
court.
{1683.} But though the crown had obtained so great a victory in the
city, it was not quite decisive; and the contest might be renewed every
year at the election of magistrates. An important project, therefore,
was formed, not only to make the king master of the city, but by that
precedent to gain him uncontrolled influence in all the corporations of
England, and thereby give the greatest wound to the legal constitution,
which the most powerful and most arbitrary monarchs had ever yet been
able to inflict. A writ of quo warranto was issued against the city;
that is, an inquiry into the validity of its charter. It was pretended,
that the city had forfeited all its privileges, and ought to be declared
no longer a corporation, on account of two offences which the court of
aldermen and common council had committed. After the great fire in
1666, all the markets had been rebuilt, and had been fitted up with many
conveniencies; and, in order to defray the expense, the magistrates had
imposed a small toll on goods brought to market: in the year 1679, they
had addressed the king against the prorogation of parliament, and had
employed the following terms: “Your petitioners are greatly surprised at
the late prorogation, whereby the prosecution of the public justice of
the kingdom, and the making of necessary provisions for the
preservation of your majesty and your Protestant subjects, have received
interruption.” These words were pretended to contain a scandalous
reflection on the king and his measures. The cause of the city was
defended against the attorney and solicitor-generals by Treby and
Pollexfen.
These last pleaded, that, since the foundation of the monarchy, no
corporation had ever yet been exposed to forfeiture, and the thing
itself implied an absurdity: that a corporation, as such, was incapable
of all crime or offence; and none were answerable for any iniquity but
the persons themselves who committed it: that the members, in choosing
magistrates, had intrusted them with legal powers only; and where the
magistrates exceeded these powers, their acts were void, but could never
involve the body itself in any criminal imputation: that such had
ever been the practice of England, except at the reformation, when the
monasteries were abolished; but this was an extraordinary case; and it
was even thought necessary to ratify afterwards the whole transaction
by act of parliament: that corporate bodies, framed for public good, and
calculated for perpetual duration, ought not to be annihilated for the
temporary faults of their members, who might themselves, without hurting
the community, be questioned for their offences: that even a private
estate, if entailed, could not be forfeited to the crown on account of
treason committed by the tenant for life; but, upon his demise, went to
the next in remainder: that the offences objected to the city, far from
deserving so severe a punishment, were not ever worthy of the smallest
reprehension: that all corporations were invested with the power of
making by-laws; and the smallest borough in England had ever been
allowed to carry the exercise of this power further than London had done
in the instance complained of: that the city having, at its own expense,
repaired the markets, which were built too on its own estate, might
as lawfully claim a small recompense from such as brought commodities
thither, as a man might require rent for a house of which he was
possessed: that those who disliked the condition might abstain from the
market; and whoever paid, had done it voluntarily: that it was an avowed
right of the subjects to petition; nor had the city in their address
abused this privilege, that the king himself had often declared, the
parliament often it is evident, could not be fully prosecuted but in
a parliamentary manner: that the impeachment of the Popish lords was
certainly obstructed by the frequent prorogations; as was also the
enacting of necessary laws, and providing for the defence of the
nation: that the loyalty of the city, no less than their regard to
self-preservation, might prompt them to frame the petition; since it was
acknowledged, that the king’s life was every moment exposed to the
most imminent danger from the Popish conspiracy: that the city had not
accused the king of obstructing justice, much less of having any such
intention; since it was allowed, that evil counsellors were alone
answerable for all the pernicious consequences of any measure: and that
it was unaccountable, that two public deeds, which had not, during so
long a time, subjected to any, even the smallest penalty, the persons
guilty of them, should now be punished so severely upon the corporation,
which always was, and always must be innocent.
It is evident, that those who would apologize for the measures of
the court, must, in this case, found their arguments, not on law, but
reasons of state. The judges, therefore, who condemned the city, are
inexcusable; since the sole object of their determinations must ever be
the pure principles of justice and equity. But the office of judge was
at that time held during pleasure; and it was impossible that any cause,
where the court bent its force, could ever be carried against it. After
sentence was pronounced, the city applied in an humble manner to the
king; and he agreed to restore their charter, but in return they were
obliged to submit to the following regulations that no mayor, sheriff,
recorder, common serjeant, town clerk, or coroner, should be admitted
to the exercise of his office without his majesty’s approbation: that
if the king disapprove twice of the mayor or sheriffs elected, he may
by commission appoint these magistrates: that the mayor and court of
aldermen may, with his majesty’s leave, displace any magistrate: and
that no alderman, in case of a vacancy, shall be elected without consent
of the court of aldermen, who, if they disapprove twice of the choice,
may fill the vacancy.
All the corporations in England, having the example of London before
their eyes, saw how vain it would prove to contend with the court, and
were, most of them, successively induced to surrender their charters
into the king’s hands. Considerable sums were exacted for restoring the
charters; and all offices of power and profit were left at the disposal
of the crown. It seems strange that the independent royalists, who
never meant to make the crown absolute, should yet be so elated with the
victory obtained over their adversaries, as to approve of a precedent
which left no national privileges in security, but enabled the king,
under like pretences, and by means of like instruments, to recall anew
all those charters which at present he was pleased to grant. And every
friend to liberty must allow, that the nation, whose constitution was
thus broken in the shock of faction, had a right, by every prudent
expedient, to recover that security of which it was so unhappily
bereaved.
While so great a faction adhered to the crown, it is apparent that
resistance, however justifiable, could never be prudent; and all wise
men saw no expedient but peaceably to submit to the present grievances.
There was, however, a party of malecontents, so turbulent in their
disposition, that, even before this last iniquity, which laid the whole
constitution at the mercy of the king, they had meditated plans of
resistance; at a time when it could be as little justifiable as prudent.
In the spring of 1681,[*] a little before the Oxford parliament, the
king was seized with a fit of sickness at Windsor, which gave great
alarm to the public.
* Lord Grey’s Secret History of the Rye-house Plot. This is
the most full and authentic account of all these
transactions; but is in the main confirmed by Bishop Sprat,
and even Burnet, as well as by the trials and dying
confessions of the conspirators; so that nothing can be more
unaccountable than that any one should pretend that this
conspiracy was an imposture, like the Popish plot.
Monmouth’s declaration, published in the next reign,
confesses a consult for extraordinary remedies.
The duke of Monmouth, Lord Russel, Lord Grey, instigated by the restless
Shaftesbury, had agreed, in case the king’s sickness should prove
mortal, to rise in arms, and to oppose the succession of the duke.
Charles recovered; but these dangerous projects were not laid aside. The
same conspirators, together with Essex and Salisbury were determined to
continue the Oxford parliament, after the king, as was daily expected,
should dissolve it; and they engaged some leaders among the commons in
the same desperate measure. They went so far as to detain several lords
in the house, under pretence of signing a protest against rejecting
Fitzharris’s impeachment; but hearing that the commons had broken up
in great consternation, they were likewise obliged at last to separate.
Shaftesbury’s imprisonment and trial put an end for some time to these
machinations; and it was not till the new sheriffs were imposed on the
city that they were revived. The leaders of the country party began then
to apprehend themselves in imminent danger; and they were well pleased
to find that the citizens were struck with the same terror, and were
thence inclined to undertake the most perilous enterprises. Besides
the city, the gentry and nobility in several counties of England were
solicited to rise in arms. Monmouth engaged the earl of Macclesfield,
Lord Brandon, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, and other gentlemen in Cheshire; Lord
Russel fixed a correspondence with Sir William Courtney, Sir Francis
Rowles, Sir Francis Drake, who promised to raise the west; and Trenchard
in particular, who had interest in the disaffected town of Taunton,
assured him of considerable assistance from that neighborhood.
Shaftesbury and his emissary Ferguson, an Independent clergyman and a
restless plotter, managed the correspondence in the city, upon which the
confederates chiefly relied. The whole train was ready to take fire;
but was prevented by the caution of Lord Russel, who induced Monmouth
to delay the enterprise. Shaftesbury, in the mean time, was so much
affected with the sense of his danger, that he had left his house, and
secretly lurked in the city; meditating all those desperate schemes
which disappointed revenge and ambition could inspire. He exclaimed
loudly against delay, and represented to his confederates, that having
gone so far, and intrusted the secret into so many hands, there was
no safety for them but in a bold and desperate prosecution of
their purpose. The projects were therefore renewed: meetings of the
conspirators were appointed in different houses, particularly in
Shephard’s, an eminent wine-merchant in the city: the plan of an
insurrection was laid in London, Cheshire, Devonshire, and Bristol: the
several places of rendezvous in the city were concerted; and all the
operations fixed: the state of the guards was even viewed by Monmouth
and Armstrong, and an attack on them pronounced practicable: a
declaration to justify the enterprise to the public was read and
agreed to: and every circumstance seemed now to render an insurrection
unavoidable; when a new delay was procured by Trenchard, who declared
that the rising in the west could not for some weeks be in sufficient
forwardness.
Shaftesbury was enraged at these perpetual cautions and delays in an
enterprise which, he thought, nothing but courage and celerity could
render effectual: he threatened to commence the insurrection with his
friends in the city alone; and he boasted, that he had ten thousand
brisk boys, as he called them, who, on a motion of his finger, were
ready to fly to arms. Monmouth, Russel, and the other
conspirators, were during some time in apprehensions lest despair should
push him into some dangerous measure; when they heard that, after a
long combat between fear and rage, he had at last abandoned all hopes of
success, and had retired into Holland. He lived in a private manner
at Amsterdam; and for greater security desired to be admitted into the
magistracy of that city: but his former violent counsels against the
Dutch commonwealth were remembered; and all applications from him were
rejected. He died soon after, and his end gave neither sorrow to his
friends nor joy to his enemies. His furious temper, notwithstanding his
capacity, had done great injury to the cause in which he was engaged.
The violences and iniquities which he suggested and encouraged, were
greater than even faction itself could endure; and men could not forbear
sometimes recollecting, that the same person who had become so zealous
a patriot, was once a most prostitute courtier. It is remarkable, that
this man, whose principles and conduct were in all other respects so
exceptionable, proved an excellent chancellor; and that all his decrees,
while he possessed that high office, were equally remarkable for
justness and for integrity: so difficult is it to find in history a
character either wholly bad or perfectly good; though the prejudices of
party make writers run easily into the extremes both of panegyric and of
satire.
After Shaftesbury’s departure, the conspirators found some difficulty
in renewing the correspondence with the city malecontents, who had
been accustomed to depend solely on that nobleman. Their common hopes,
however, as well as common fears, made them at last have recourse to
each other; and a regular project of an insurrection was again formed.
A council of six was erected, consisting of Monmouth, Russel, Essex,
Howard, Algernon Sidney, and John Hambden, grandson of the great
parliamentary leader. These men entered into an agreement with Argyle
and the Scottish malecontents; who engaged, that, upon the payment of
ten thousand pounds for the purchase of arms in Holland, they would
bring the Covenanters into the field. Insurrections likewise were anew
projected in Cheshire and the west, as well as in the city; and some
meetings of the leaders were held, in order to reduce these projects
into form. The conspirators differed extremely in their views. Sidney
was passionate for a commonwealth. Essex had embraced the same project.
But Monmouth had entertained hopes of acquiring the crown for
himself. Russel, as well as Hambden, was much attached to the ancient
constitution, and intended only the exclusion of the duke and the
redress of grievances. Lord Howard was a man of no principle, and was
ready to embrace any party which his immediate interest should recommend
to him. But notwithstanding this difference of characters and of views,
their common hatred of the duke and the present administration united
them in one party; and the dangerous experiment of an insurrection was
fully resolved on.
While these schemes were concerting among the leaders, there was
an inferior order of conspirators, who held frequent meetings, and,
together with the insurrection, carried on projects quite unknown to
Monmouth and the cabal of six. Among these men were
Colonel Rumsey, an old republican officer, who had distinguished
himself in Portugal, and had been recommended to the king by Mareschal
Schomberg; Lieutenant-Colonel Walcot, likewise a republican officer;
Goodenough, under-sheriff of London, a zealous and noted party-man;
West, Tyley, Norton, Ayloffe, lawyers; Ferguson, Rouse, Hone, Keiling,
Holloway, Bourne, Lee, Rumbald. Most of these last were merchants or
tradesmen; and the only persons of this confederacy who had access to
the leaders of the party, were Rumsey and Ferguson. When these men
met together, they indulged themselves in the most desperate and most
criminal discourse; they frequently mentioned the assassination of the
king and the duke, to which they had given the familiar appellation of
lopping: they even went so far as to have thought of a scheme for that
purpose. Rumbald, who was a maltster, possessed a farm, called the
Ryehouse, which lay on the road to Newmarket, whither the king commonly
went once a year, for the diversion of the races. A plan of this farm
had been laid before some of the conspirators by Rumbald, who showed
them how easy it would be, by overturning a cart, to stop at that place
the king’s coach; while they might fire upon him from the hedges, and
be enabled afterwards, through by-lanes and across the fields, to make
their escape. But though the plausibility of this scheme gave great
pleasure to the conspirators, no concerted design was as yet laid, nor
any men, horses, or arms provided: the whole was little more than loose
discourse, the overflowings of their zeal and rancor. The house in which
the king lived at Newmarket, took fire accidentally; and he was
obliged to leave that place eight days sooner than he intended. To this
circumstance his safety was afterwards ascribed, when the conspiracy
was detected; and the court party could not sufficiently admire the wise
dispensations of Providence. It is, indeed, certain, that as the king
had thus unexpectedly left Newmarket, he was worse attended than
usual; and Rumbald informed his confederates with regret what a fine
opportunity was thus unfortunately lost.
Among the conspirators I have mentioned Keiling, a salter in London.
This man had been engaged in a bold measure, of arresting the mayor
of London, at the suit of Papillon and Dubois, the outed sheriffs; and
being liable to prosecution for that action, he thought it safest to
purchase a pardon by revealing the conspiracy, in which he was
deeply concerned. He brought to Secretary Jenkins intelligence of the
assassination plot; but as he was a single evidence, the secretary, whom
many false plots had probably rendered incredulous, scrupled to issue
warrants for the commitment of so great a number of persons. Keiling,
therefore, in order to fortify his testimony, engaged his brother in
treasonable discourse with Goodenough, one of the conspirators; and
Jenkins began now to give more attention to the intelligence. The
conspirators had got some hint of the danger in which they were
involved, and all of them concealed themselves. One person alone, of the
name of Barber, an instrument-maker, was seized; and as his confession
concurred in many particulars with Keiling’s information, the affair
seemed to be put out of all question; and a more diligent search was
every where made after the conspirators.
West, the lawyer, and Colonel Rumsey, finding the perils to which they
were exposed in endeavoring to escape, resolved to save their own lives
at the expense of their companions; and they surrendered themselves
with an intention of becoming evidence. West could do little more than
confirm the testimony of Keiling with regard to the assassination plot;
but Rumsey, besides giving additional confirmation of the same design,
was at last, though with much difficulty, led to reveal the meetings at
Shephard’s. Shephard was immediately apprehended, and had not courage to
maintain fidelity to his confederates. Upon his information, orders were
issued for arresting the great men engaged in the conspiracy. Monmouth
absconded: Russel was sent to the Tower: Grey was arrested, but escaped
from the messenger: Howard was taken, while he concealed himself in
a chimney; and being a man of profligate morals, as well as indigent
circumstances, he scrupled not, in hopes of a pardon and a reward, to
reveal the whole conspiracy. Essex, Sidney, and Hambden were immediately
apprehended upon his evidence. Every day some of the conspirators were
detected in their lurking-places, and thrown into prison.
Lieutenant-Colonel Walcot was first brought to his trial, This man,
who was once noted for bravery, had been so far overcome by the love
of life, that he had written to Secretary Jenkins, and had offered upon
promise of pardon to turn evidence: but no sooner had he taken this
mean step, than he felt more generous sentiments arise in him; and he
endeavored, though in vain, to conceal himself. The witnesses against
him were Rumsey, West, Shephard, together with Bourne, a brewer. His own
letter to the secretary was produced, and rendered the testimony of the
witnesses unquestionable. Hone and Rouse were also condemned. These two
men, as well as Walcot, acknowledged at their execution the justice of
the sentence; and from their trial and confession it is sufficiently
apparent, that the plan of an insurrection had been regularly formed,
and that even the assassination had been often talked of, and not
without the approbation of many of the conspirators.
The condemnation of these criminals was probably intended as a
preparative to the trial of Lord Russel, and served to impress the
public with a thorough belief of the conspiracy, as well as a horror
against it. The witnesses produced against the noble prisoner were
Rumsey, Shephard, and Lord Howard. Rumsey swore, that he himself had
been introduced to the cabal at Shephard’s, where Russel was present;
and had delivered them a message from Shaftesbury, urging them to hasten
the intended insurrection; but had received for answer, that it
was found necessary to delay the design, and that Shaftesbury must
therefore, for some time, rest contented. This answer, he said, was
delivered by Ferguson; but was assented to by the prisoner. He added,
that some discourse had been entered into about taking a survey of the
guards; and he thought that Monmouth, Grey, and Armstrong undertook to
view them. Shephard deposed, that his house had beforehand been bespoken
by Ferguson for the secret meeting of the conspirators, and that he had
been careful to keep all his servants from approaching them, and had
served them himself. Their discourse, he said, ran chiefly upon the
means of surprising the guards; and it was agreed, that Monmouth and his
two friends should take a survey of them. The report which they brought
next meeting was, that the guards were remiss, and that the design was
practicable: but he did not affirm that any resolution was taken of
executing it. The prisoner, he thought, was present at both these
meetings; but he was sure that at least he was present at one of them.
A declaration, he added, had been read by Ferguson in Russel’s presence:
the reasons of the intended insurrection were there set forth, and all
the public grievances fully displayed.
Lord Howard had been one of the cabal of six, established after
Shaftesbury’s flight; and two meetings had been held by the
conspirators, one at Hambden’s, another at Russel’s. Howard deposed,
that, at the first meeting, it was agreed to begin the insurrection in
the country before the city; the places were fixed, the proper quantity
and kind of arms agreed on, and the whole plan of operations concerted:
that at the second meeting, the conversation chiefly turned upon their
correspondence with Argyle and the discontented Scots; and that the
principal management of that affair was intrusted to Sidney, who had
sent one Aaron Smith into Scotland with proper instructions. He added,
that in these deliberations no question was put, or votes collected;
but there was no contradiction; and, as he took it, all of them, and the
prisoner among the rest, gave their consent. Rumsey and Shephard were
very unwilling witnesses against Lord Russel; and it appears from Grey’s
Secret History,[*] that, if they had pleased, they could have given a
more explicit testimony against him.
* Page 43.
This reluctance, together with the difficulty in recollecting
circumstances of a conversation which had passed above eight months
before, and which the persons had not at that time any intention to
reveal, may beget some slight objection to their evidence. But, on
the whole, it was undoubtedly proved, that the insurrection had been
deliberated on by the prisoner, and fully resolved; the surprisal of the
guards deliberated on, but not fully resolved; and that an assassination
had never once been mentioned nor imagined by him. So far the matter
of fact seems certain: but still, with regard to law, there remained a
difficulty, and that of an important nature.
The English laws of treason, both in the manner of defining that crime,
and in the proof required, are the mildest and most indulgent, and
consequently the most equitable, that are any where to be found. The two
chief species of treason contained in the statute of Edward III. are the
compassing and intending of the king’s death, and the actually levying
of war against him; and by the law of Mary, the crime must be proved by
the concurring testimony of two witnesses, to some overt act, tending to
these purposes. But the lawyers, partly desirous of paying court to the
sovereign, partly convinced of ill consequences which might attend such
narrow limitations, had introduced a greater latitude both in the proof
and definition of the crime. It was not required that the two witnesses
should testify the same precise overt act: it was sufficient that they
both testified some overt act of the same treason; and though this
evasion may seem a subtilty, it had long prevailed in the courts of
judicature, and had at last been solemnly fixed by parliament at the
trial of Lord Stafford. The lawyers had used the same freedom with the
law of Edward III. They had observed that, by that statute, if a man
should enter into a conspiracy for a rebellion, should even fix a
correspondence with foreign powers for that purpose, should provide arms
and money, yet, if he were detected, and no rebellion ensued, he could
not be tried for treason. To prevent this inconvenience, which it
had been better to remedy by a new law, they had commonly laid their
indictment for intending the death of the king and had produced the
intention of rebellion as a proof of that other intention. But though
this form of indictment and trial was very frequent, and many criminals
had received sentence upon it, it was still considered as somewhat
irregular, and was plainly confounding by a sophism two species of
treason, which the statute had accurately distinguished. What made this
refinement still more exceptionable, was, that a law had passed soon
after the restoration, in which the consulting or the intending of a
rebellion was, during Charles’s lifetime, declared treason; and it was
required, that the prosecution should be commenced within six months
after the crime was committed. But notwithstanding this statute, the
lawyers had persevered, as they still do persevere, in the old form of
indictment; and both Sir Harry Vane and Oliver Plunket, titular
primate of Ireland, had been tried by it. Such was the general horror
entertained against the old republicans and the Popish conspirators,
that no one had murmured against this interpretation of the statute; and
the lawyers thought that they might follow the precedent, even in the
case of the popular and beloved Lord Russel. Russel’s crime fell plainly
within the statute of Charles II.; but the facts sworn to by Rumsey and
Shephard were beyond the six months required by law, and to the other
facts Howard was a single witness. To make the indictment, therefore,
more extensive, the intention of murdering the king was comprehended
in it; and for proof of this intention the conspiracy for raising a
rebellion was assigned; and, what seemed to bring the matter still
nearer, the design of attacking the king’s guards.
Russel perceived this irregularity, and desired to have the point argued
by counsel: the chief justice told him, that this favor could not be
granted, unless he previously confessed the facts charged upon him. The
artificial confounding of the two species of treason, though a practice
supported by many precedents, is the chief, but not the only hardship
of which Russel had reason to complain on his trial. His defence was
feeble: and he contented himself with protesting, that he never had
entertained any design against the life of the king: his veracity would
not allow him to deny the conspiracy for an insurrection. The jury were
men of fair and reputable characters, but zealous royalists: after a
short deliberation, they brought in the prisoner guilty.
Applications were made to the king for a pardon: even money, to the
amount of one hundred thousand pounds, was offered to the duchess of
Portsmouth by the old earl of Bedford, father to Russel. The king was
inexorable. He had been extremely harassed with the violence of the
country party; and he had observed, that the prisoner, besides his
secret designs, had always been carried to the highest extremity of
opposition in parliament. Russel had even adopted a sentiment similar to
what we meet with in a letter of the younger Brutus. Had his father,
he said, advised the king to reject the exclusion bill, he would be the
first to move for a parliamentary impeachment against him. When such
determined resolution was observed, his popularity, his humanity, his
justice, his very virtues, became so many crimes, and were used as
arguments against sparing him. Charles, therefore, would go no further
than remitting the more ignominious part of the sentence which the law
requires to be pronounced against traitors. “Lord Russel,” said he,
“shall find that I am possessed of that prerogative which, in the case
of Lord Stafford, he thought proper to deny me.” As the fury of the
country party had rendered it impossible for the king, without the
imminent danger of his crown, to pardon so many Catholics, whom he
firmly believed innocent, and even affectionate and loyal to him, he
probably thought that, since the edge of the law was now ready to fall
upon that party themselves, they could not reasonably expect that he
would interpose to save them.
Russel’s consort, a woman of virtue, daughter and heir of the good earl
of Southampton, threw herself at the king’s feet and pleaded with many
tears the merits and loyalty of her father, as an atonement for those
errors into which honest, however mistaken, principles had seduced her
husband. These supplications were the last instance of female weakness
(if they deserve the name) which she betrayed. Finding all applications
vain, she collected courage, and not only fortified herself against the
fatal blow, but endeavored by her example to strengthen the resolution
of her unfortunate lord. With a tender and decent composure they took
leave of each other on the day of his execution. “The bitterness of
death is now past,” said he, when he turned from her. Lord Cavendish had
lived in the closest intimacy with Russel, and deserted not his friend
in the present calamity. He offered to manage his escape, by changing
clothes with him, and remaining at al hazards in his place. Russel
refused to save his own life by an expedient which might expose his
friend to so many hardships When the duke of Monmouth by message offered
to surrender himself, if Russel thought that this measure would anywise
contribute to his safety, “It will be no advantage to me,” he said, “to
have my friends die with me.” Some of his expressions discover, not only
composure, but good humor, in this melancholy extremity. The day before
his execution, he was seized with a bleeding at the nose. “I shall not
now let blood to divert this distemper,” said he to Dr. Burnet, who
attended him; “that will be done to-morrow.” A little before the
sheriffs conducted him to the scaffold, he wound up his watch: “Now I
have done,” said he, “with time, and hence forth must think solely of
eternity.”
The scaffold was erected in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, a place distant from
the Tower; and it was probably intended, by conducting Russel through so
many streets, to show the mutinous city their beloved leader, once the
object of all their confidence, now exposed to the utmost rigors of the
law. As he was the most popular among his own party, so was he ever the
least obnoxious to the opposite faction; and his melancholy fate united
every heart, sensible of humanity, in a tender compassion for him.
Without the least change of countenance, he laid his head on the block;
and at two strokes, it was severed from his body.
In the speech which he delivered to the sheriffs, he was very anxious to
clear his memory from any imputation of ever intending the king’s death,
or any alteration in the government: he could not explicitly confess the
projected insurrection without hurting his friends, who might still be
called in question for it; but he did not purge himself of that design,
which, in the present condition of the nation, he regarded as no crime.
By many passages in his speech, he seems to the last to have lain under
the influence of party zeal; a passion which, being nourished by a
social temper, and clothing itself under the appearance of principle, it
is almost impossible for a virtuous man, who has acted in public life,
ever thoroughly to eradicate. He professed his entire belief in the
Popish plot: and he said that, though he had often heard the seizure of
the guards mentioned, he had ever disapproved of that attempt. To which
he added, that the massacring of so many innocent men in cool blood
was so like a Popish practice, that he could not but abhor it. Upon the
whole, the integrity and virtuous intentions, rather than the capacity,
of this unfortunate nobleman, seem to have been the shining parts of his
character.
Algernon Sidney was next brought to his trial. This gallant person, son
of the earl of Leicester, had entered deeply into the war against the
late king; and though nowise tainted with enthusiasm, he had so far
shared in all the counsels of the Independent republican party, as to
have been named on the high court of justice which tried and condemned
that monarch: he thought not proper, however, to take his seat among the
judges. He ever opposed Cromwell’s usurpation with zeal and courage; and
after making all efforts against the restoration, he resolved to take no
benefit of the general indemnity, but chose voluntary banishment, rather
than submit to a government and family which he abhorred. As long as
the republican party had any existence, he was active in every scheme,
however unpromising, which tended to promote their cause; but at length,
in 1677, finding it necessary for his private affairs to return to
England, he had applied for the king’s pardon, and had obtained it. When
the factions arising from the Popish plot began to run high, Sidney,
full of those ideas of liberty which he had imbibed from the great
examples of antiquity, joined the popular party; and was even willing to
seek a second time, through all the horrors of civil war, for his adored
republic.
From this imperfect sketch of the character and conduct of this singular
personage, it may easily be conceived how obnoxious he was become to the
court and ministry: what alone renders them blamable was, the illegal
method which they took for effecting their purpose against him. On
Sidney’s trial, they produced a great number of witnesses, who proved
the reality of a plot in general; and when the prisoner exclaimed, that
all these evidences said nothing of him, he was answered, that this
method of proceeding, however irregular, had been practised in the
prosecutions of the Popish conspirators; a topic more fit to condemn one
party than to justify the other. The only witness who deposed against
Sidney was Lord Howard; but as the law required two witnesses, a strange
expedient was fallen on to supply this deficiency. In ransacking the
prisoner’s closet, some discourses on government were found; in which he
had maintained principles, favorable indeed to liberty, but such as the
best and most dutiful subjects in all ages have been known to embrace;
the original contract, the source of power from a consent of the people,
the lawfulness of resisting tyrants, the preference of liberty to
the government of a single person. These papers were asserted to be
equivalent to a second witness, and even to many witnesses. The prisoner
replied, that there was no other reason for ascribing those papers to
him as the author, besides a similitude of hand; a proof which was never
admitted in criminal prosecutions: that allowing him to be the author,
he had composed them solely for his private amusement, and had never
published them to the world, or even communicated them to any single
person: that, when examined, they appeared by the color of the ink
to have been written many years before, and were in vain produced as
evidence of a present conspiracy against the government: and that where
the law positively requires two witnesses, one witness attended with
the most convincing circumstances, could never suffice; much less, when
supported by a circumstance so weak and precarious. All these arguments,
though urged by the prisoner with great courage and pregnancy of reason,
had no influence. The violent and inhuman Jefferies was now chief
justice; and by his direction a partial jury was easily prevailed on to
give verdict against Sidney. His execution followed a few days after: he
complained, and with reason, of the iniquity of the sentence; but he had
too much greatness of mind to deny those conspiracies with Monmouth and
Russel, in which he had been engaged. He rather gloried, that he now
suffered for that “good old cause,” in which, from his earliest youth,
he said he had enlisted himself.
The execution of Sidney is regarded as one of the greatest blemishes of
the present reign. The evidence against him, it must be confessed, was
not legal; and the jury who condemned him were, for that reason, very
blamable. But that, after sentence passed by a court of judicature, the
king should interpose and pardon a man who, though otherwise possessed
of merit, was undoubtedly guilty, who had ever been a most inflexible
and most inveterate enemy to the royal family, and who lately had even
abused the king’s clemency, might be an act of heroic generosity, but
can never be regarded as a necessary and indispensable duty.
Howard was also the sole evidence against Hambden; and his testimony was
not supported by any material circumstance. The crown lawyers therefore
found it in vain to try the prisoner for treason: they laid the
indictment only for a misdemeanor, and obtained sentence against him.
The fine imposed was exorbitant; no less than forty thousand pounds.
Holloway, a merchant of Bristol, one of the conspirators, had fled to
the West Indies, and was now brought over. He had been outlawed; but the
year allowed him for surrendering himself was not expired. A trial was
therefore offered him but as he had at first confessed his being engaged
in a conspiracy for an insurrection, and even allowed that he had heard
some discourse of an assassination, though he had not approved of it, he
thought it more expedient to throw himself on the king’s mercy. He was
executed, persisting in the same confession.
Sir Thomas Armstrong, who had been seized in Holland, and sent over by
Chidley, the king’s minister, was precisely in the same situation with
Holloway: but the same favor, or rather justice, was refused him. The
lawyers pretended, that unless he had voluntarily surrendered himself
before the expiration of the time assigned, he could not claim the
privilege of a trial; not considering that the seizure of his person
ought in equity to be supposed the accident which prevented him. The
king bore a great enmity against this gentleman, by whom he believed the
duke of Monmouth to have been seduced from his duty; he also asserted,
that Armstrong had once promised Cromwell to assassinate him; though
it must be confessed, that the prisoner justified himself from this
imputation by very strong arguments. These were the reasons of that
injustice which was now done him. It was apprehended that sufficient
evidence of his guilt could not be produced; and that even the partial
juries which were now returned, and which allowed themselves to be
entirely directed by Jefferies and other violent judges, would not give
sentence against him.
On the day that Russel was tried, Essex, a man eminent both for virtues
and abilities, was found in the Tower with his throat cut. The coroner’s
inquest brought in their verdict, self-murder; yet because two children
ten years old (one of whom, too, departed from his evidence) had
affirmed that they heard a great noise from his window, and that they
saw a hand throw out a bloody razor, these circumstances were laid hold
of, and the murder was ascribed to the king and the duke, who happened
that morning to pay a visit to the Tower. Essex was subject to fits
of deep melancholy, and had been seized with one immediately upon his
commitment: he was accustomed to maintain the lawfulness of suicide: and
his countess upon a strict inquiry, which was committed to the care of
Dr. Burnet, found no reason to confirm the suspicion: yet could not
all these circumstances, joined to many others, entirely remove the
imputation. It is no wonder, that faction is so productive of vices of
all kinds; for, besides that it inflames all the passions, it tends much
to remove those great restraints, horror and shame; when men find
that no iniquity can lose them the applause of their own party, and no
innocence secure them against the calumnies of the opposite.
But though there is no reason to think that Essex had been murdered by
any orders from court, it must be acknowledged that an unjustifiable
use in Russel’s trial was made of that incident. The king’s counsel
mentioned it in their pleadings as a strong proof of the conspiracy; and
it is said to have had great weight with the jury. It was insisted on in
Sidney’s trial for the same purpose.
Some memorable causes, tried about this time, though they have no
relation to the Rye-house conspiracy, show the temper of the bench and
of the juries. Oates was convicted of having called the duke a Popish
traitor; was condemned in damages to the amount of one hundred thousand
pounds; and was adjudged to remain in prison till he should make
payment. A like sentence was passed upon Dutton-Colt, for a like offence
Sir Samuel Barnardiston was fined ten thousand pounds, because, in some
private letters which had been intercepted, he had reflected on the
government. This gentleman was obnoxious, because he had been foreman
of that jury which rejected the bill against Shaftesbury. A pretence
was therefore fallen upon for punishing him; though such a precedent
may justly be deemed a very unusual act of severity, and sufficient to
destroy all confidence in private friendship and correspondence.
There is another remarkable trial, which shows the disposition of the
courts of judicature, and which, though it passed in the ensuing
year, it may not be improper to relate in this place. One Rosewel,
a Presbyterian preacher, was accused by three women of having spoken
treasonable words in a sermon. They swore to two or three periods, and
agreed so exactly together, that there was not the smallest variation in
their depositions. Rosewel, on the other hand, made a very good defence.
He proved that the witnesses were lewd and infamous persons. He proved
that, even during Cromwell’s usurpation, he had always been a royalist;
that he prayed constantly for the king in his family; and that in his
sermons he often inculcated the obligations of loyalty. And as to the
sermon of which he was accused, several witnesses who heard it, and some
who wrote it in shorthand, deposed that he had used no such expressions
as those which were imputed to him. He offered his own notes as a
further proof. The women could not show by any circumstance or witness
that they were at his meeting. And the expressions to which they deposed
were so gross, that no man in his senses could be supposed to employ
them before a mixed audience. It was also urged, that it appeared next
to impossible for three women to remember so long a period upon one
single hearing, and to remember it so exactly, as to agree to a tittle
in their depositions with regard to it. The prisoner offered to put the
whole upon this issue: he would pronounce, with his usual tone of voice,
a period as long as that to which they had sworn; and then let them
try to repeat it, if they could. What was more unaccountable, they had
forgotten even the text of his sermon; nor did they remember any single
passage but the words to which they gave evidence. After so strong a
defence, the solicitor-general thought not proper to make any reply:
even Jefferies went no further than some general declamations against
conventicles and Presbyterians: yet so violent were party prejudices,
that the jury gave a verdict against the prisoner; which, however,
appeared so palpably unjust, that it was not carried into execution.
The duke of Monmouth had absconded on the first discovery of the
conspiracy; and the court could get no intelligence of him. At length,
Halifax, who began to apprehend the too great prevalence of the royal
party, and who thought that Monmouth’s interest would prove the best
counterpoise to the duke’s, discovered his retreat, and prevailed on
him to write two letters to the king, full of the tenderest and
most submissive expressions. The king’s fondness was revived; and he
permitted Monmouth to come to court. He even endeavored to mediate a
reconciliation between his son and his brother; and having promised
Monmouth, that his testimony should never be employed against any of
his friends, he engaged him to give a full account of the plot. But,
in order to put the country party to silence, he called next day an
extraordinary council, and informed them, that Monmouth had showed great
penitence for the share which he had had in the late conspiracy, and
had expressed his resolutions never more to engage in such criminal
enterprises. He went so far as to give orders, that a paragraph to the
like purpose should be inserted in the gazette. Monmouth kept silence
till he had obtained his pardon in form: but finding that, by taking
this step, he was entirely disgraced with his party, and that, even
though he should not be produced in court as an evidence, his testimony,
being so publicly known might have weight with juries on any future
trial, he resolved at all hazards to retrieve his honor. His emissaries,
therefore received orders to deny that he had ever made any such
confession as that which was imputed to him; and the party exclaimed
that the whole was an imposture of the court. The king, provoked at this
conduct, banished Monmouth his presence, and afterwards ordered him to
depart the kingdom.
The court was aware, that the malecontents in England had held a
correspondence with those of Scotland; and that Baillie of Jerviswood,
a man of merit and learning, with two gentlemen of the name of Campbell,
had come to London, under pretence of negotiating the settlement of the
Scottish Presbyterians in Carolina, but really with a view of concerting
measures with the English conspirators. Baillie was sent prisoner to
Edinburgh; but as no evidence appeared against him, the council required
him to swear, that he would answer all questions which should be
propounded to him. He refused to submit to so iniquitous a condition;
and a fine of six thousand pounds was imposed upon him. At length two
persons, Spence and Carstares, being put to the torture, gave evidence
which involved the earl of Tarras and some others, who, in order to save
themselves, were reduced to accuse Baillie. He was brought to trial; and
being in so languishing a condition from the treatment which he had met
with in prison, that it was feared he would not survive that night,
he was ordered to be executed the very afternoon on which he received
sentence.
The severities exercised during this part of the present reign, were
much contrary to the usual tenor of the king’s conduct; and though those
who studied his character more narrowly, have pronounced, that towards
great offences he was rigid and inexorable, the nation were more
inclined to ascribe every unjust or hard measure to the prevalence of
the duke, into whose hands the king had, from indolence, not from
any opinion of his brother’s superior capacity, resigned the reins of
government. The crown, indeed, gained great advantage from the detection
of the conspiracy, and lost none by the rigorous execution of the
conspirators: the horror entertained against the assassination plot,
which was generally confounded with the project for an insurrection,
rendered the whole party unpopular and reconciled the nation to the
measures of the court. The most loyal addresses came from all parts;
and the doctrine of submission to the civil magistrate, and even of an
unlimited passive obedience, became the reigning principle of the
times. The university of Oxford passed a solemn decree, condemning some
doctrines which they termed republican, but which indeed are, most of
them, the only tenets on which liberty and a limited constitution can be
founded. The faction of the exclusionists, lately so numerous, powerful,
and zealous, were at the king’s feet; and were as much fallen in their
spirit as in their credit with the nation. Nothing that had the least
appearance of opposition to the court could be hearkened to by the
public.[*]
* In the month of November this year died Prince Rupert, in
the sixty-third year of his age. He had left his own country
so early, that he had become an entire Englishman; and was
even suspected, in his latter days, of a bias to the country
party. He was for that reason much neglected at court. The
duke of Lauderdale died also this year.
{1684.} The king endeavored to increase his present popularity by every
art; and knowing that the suspicion of Popery was of all others the most
dangerous, he judged it proper to marry his niece, the Lady Anne, to
Prince George, brother to the king of Denmark. All the credit, however,
and persuasion of Halifax could not engage him to call a parliament, or
trust the nation with the election of a new representative. Though his
revenues were extremely burdened, he rather chose to struggle with the
present difficulties, than try an experiment which, by raising afresh
so many malignant humors, might prove dangerous to his repose. The duke
likewise zealously opposed this proposal, and even engaged the king in
measures which could have no tendency, but to render any accommodation
with a parliament altogether impracticable. Williams, who had been
speaker during the two last parliaments, was prosecuted for warrants
issued by him in obedience to orders of the house: a breach of privilege
which it seemed not likely any future house of commons would leave
unquestioned. Danby and the Popish lords, who had so long been confined
in the Tower, and who saw no prospect of a trial in parliament, applied
by petition, and were admitted to bail; a measure just in itself, but
deemed a great encroachment on the privileges of that assembly. The
duke, contrary to law, was restored to the office of high admiral
without taking the test.
Had the least grain of jealousy or emulation been mixed in the king’s
character; had he been actuated by that concern for his people’s or
even for his own honor, which his high station demanded; he would have
hazarded many domestic inconveniencies rather than allow France to
domineer in so haughty a manner as that which at present she assumed in
every negotiation. The peace of Nimeguen, imposed by the Dutch on their
unwilling allies, had disjointed the whole confederacy; and all the
powers engaged in it had disbanded their supernumerary troops, which
they found it difficult to subsist. Lewis alone still maintained a
powerful army, and by his preparations rendered himself every day more
formidable. He now acted as if he were the sole sovereign in Europe,
and as if all other princes were soon to become his vassals. Courts or
chambers were erected in Metz and Brisac, for reuniting such territories
as had ever been members of any part of his new conquests. They made
inquiry into titles buried in the most remote antiquity. They cited the
neighboring princes to appear before them, and issued decrees, expelling
them the contested territories. The important town of Strasbourg, an
ancient and a free state, was seized by Lewis: Alost was demanded of the
Spaniards, on a frivolous and even ridiculous pretence; and upon their
refusal to yield it, Luxembourg was blockaded, and soon after taken.[*]
Genoa had been bombarded, because the Genoese had stipulated to build
some galleys for the Spaniards; and, in order to avoid more severe
treatment, that republic was obliged to yield to the most mortifying
conditions. The empire was insulted in its head and principal members;
and used no other expedient for redress, than impotent complaints and
remonstrances.
* It appears from Sir John Dalrymple’s Appendix, that the
king received from France a million of livres for his
connivance at the seizure of Luxembourg, besides his
ordinary pension.
Spain was so enraged at the insolent treatment which she met with, that,
without considering her present weak condition she declared war against
her haughty enemy: she hoped that the other powers of Europe, sensible
of the common danger, would fly to her assistance. The prince of Orange,
whose ruling passions were love of war and animosity against Prance,
seconded every where the applications of the Spaniards. In the year
1681, he made a journey to England, in order to engage the king into
closer measures with the confederates. He also proposed to the states to
make an augmentation of their forces; but several of the provinces,
and even the town of Amsterdam, had been gained by the French, and the
proposal was rejected. The prince’s enemies derived the most plausible
reasons of their opposition from the situation of England, and the known
and avowed attachments of the English monarch.
No sooner had Charles dismissed his parliament, and embraced the
resolution of governing by prerogative alone, than he dropped his new
alliance with Spain, and returned to his former dangerous connections
with Lewis. This prince had even offered to make him arbiter of his
differences with Spain; and the latter power, sensible of Charles’s
partiality, had refused to submit to such a disadvantageous proposal.
Whether any money was now remitted to England, we do not certainly know;
but we may fairly presume, that the king’s necessities were in some
degree relieved by France.[*] And though Charles had reason to apprehend
the utmost danger from the great, and still increasing naval power of
that kingdom, joined to the weak condition of the English fleet, no
consideration was able to rouse him from his present lethargy.
* The following passage is an extract from M. Barillon’s
letters kept in the Dépôt des Affaires étrangères at
Versailles. It was lately communicated to the author while
in France. “Convention verbale arrêtée le 1 Avril 1681.
Charles 2 s’engage à ne rien omettre pour pouvoir faire
connoitre à sa majesté qu’elle avoit raison de prendre
confiance en lui; a se dégager peu-à-peu de l’alliance avec
l’Espagne, et à se mettre en état de ne point ètre contraint
par son parlement de faire quelque chose d’opposé aux
nouveaux engagemens qu’il prenoit. En conséquence, le roi
promet un subside de deux millions la première des trois
années de cet engagement, et 500,000 écus les deux autres se
contentant de la parole de sa majesté Britannique, d’agir à
l’égard de sa majesté conformement aux obligations qu’il lui
avoit. Le Sr. Hyde demanda que le roi s’engagea à ne point
attaquer les pays bas et même Strasbourg, térnoignant que le
roi son maìtre ne pournoit s’empêcher de secourir les pais
bas, quand même son parlement ne seroit point assemblé. M.
Barillon lui répondit en termes généraux par ordre du roi,
que sa majesté n’avoit point intention de rompre la paix, et
qu’il n’engageroit pas sa majesté Britannique en choses
contraires à ses véritables intérêts.”
It is here we are to fix the point of the highest exaltation which
the power of Lewis, or that of any European prince since the age of
Charlemagne, had ever attained. The monarch most capable of opposing his
progress was entirely engaged in his interests; and the Turks, invited
by the malecontents of Hungary, were preparing to invade the emperor,
and to disable that prince from making head against the progress of
the French power. Lewis may even be accused of oversight, in not making
sufficient advantage of such favorable opportunities, which he was never
afterwards able to recall. But that monarch, though more governed by
motives of ambition than by those of justice or moderation, was still
more actuated by the suggestions of vanity. He contented himself with
insulting and domineering over all the princes and free states of
Europe; and he thereby provoked their resentment, without subduing
their power. While every one who approached his person, and behaved with
submission to his authority, was treated with the highest politeness,
all the neighboring potentates had successively felt the effects of his
haughty, imperious disposition. And by indulging his poets, orators,
and courtiers in their flatteries, and in their prognostications of
universal empire, he conveyed faster, than by the prospect of his power
alone, the apprehension of general conquest and subjection.
{1685.} The French greatness never, during his whole reign, inspired
Charles with any apprehensions; and Clifford, it is said, one of his
most favored ministers, went so far as to affirm, that it were better
for the king to be viceroy under a great and generous monarch, than
a slave to five hundred of his own insolent subjects. The ambition,
therefore, and uncontrolled power of Lewis were no diminution of
Charles’s happiness; and in other respects his condition seemed at
present more eligible than it had ever been since his restoration. A
mighty faction, which had shaken his throne and menaced his family,
was totally subdued; and by their precipitate indiscretion had exposed
themselves both to the rigor of the laws and to public hatred. He
had recovered his former popularity in the nation; and, what probably
pleased him more than having a compliant parliament, he was enabled to
govern altogether without one. But it is certain that the king, amidst
all these promising circumstances, was not happy or satisfied. Whether
he found himself exposed to difficulties for want of money, or dreaded
a recoil of the popular humor from the present arbitrary measures, is
uncertain. Perhaps the violent, imprudent temper of the duke, by pushing
Charles upon dangerous attempts, gave him apprehension and uneasiness.
He was over-heard one day to say, in opposing some of the duke’s hasty
counsels, “Brother, I am too old to go again to my travels: you may, if
you choose it.” Whatever was the cause of the king’s dissatisfaction, it
seems probable that he was meditating some change of measures, and had
formed a new plan of administration. He was determined, it is
thought, to send the duke to Scotland, to recall Monmouth, to summon a
parliament, to dismiss all his unpopular ministers, and to throw himself
entirely on the good will and affections of his subjects.[*]
* King James’s Memoirs confirm this rumor, as also D’Avaux’s
Negotiations, 14 Dec. 1684.
Amidst these truly wise and virtuous designs, he was seized with a
sudden fit, which resembled an apoplexy; and though he was recovered
from it by bleeding, he languished only for a few days, and then
expired, in the fifty-fifth year of his age, and twenty-fifth of his
reign. He was so happy in a good constitution of body, and had ever been
so remarkably careful of his health, that his death struck as great a
surprise into his subjects as if he had been in the flower of his
youth. And their great concern for him, owing to their affection for his
person, as well as their dread of his successor, very naturally, when
joined to the critical time of his death, begat the suspicion of poison.
All circumstances, however, considered, this suspicion must be allowed
to vanish; like many others, of which all histories are full.
During the few days of the king’s illness, clergymen of the church of
England attended him; but he discovered a total indifference towards
their devotions and exhortations. Catholic priests were brought, and he
received the sacrament from them, accompanied with the other rites of
the Romish church. Two papers were found in his cabinet, written with
his own hand, and containing arguments in favor of that communion. The
duke had the imprudence immediately to publish these papers, and thereby
both confirmed all the reproaches of those who had been the greatest
enemies to his brother’s measures, and afforded to the world a specimen
of his own bigotry.
If we survey the character of Charles II. in the different lights which
it will admit of, it will appear various, and give rise to different and
even opposite sentiments. When considered as a companion, he appears
the most amiable and engaging of men; and indeed, in this view, his
deportment must be allowed altogether unexceptionable. His love
of raillery was so tempered with good breeding, that it was never
offensive; his propensity to satire was so checked with discretion, that
his friends never dreaded their becoming the object of it: his wit, to
use the expression of one who knew him well, and who was himself a good
judge,[*] could not be said so much to be very refined or elevated,
qualities apt to beget jealousy and apprehension in company, as to be
a plain, gaining, well-bred, recommending kind of wit. And though,
perhaps, he talked more than strict rules of behavior might permit, men
were so pleased with the affable communicative deportment of the monarch
that they always went away contented both with him and with themselves.
* Marquis of Halifax.
This, indeed, is the most shining part of the king’s character; and
he seems to have been sensible of it; for he was fond of dropping the
formality of state, and of relapsing every moment into the companion.
In the duties of private life, his conduct, though not free from
exception, was, in the main, laudable. He was an easy, generous lover, a
civil, obliging husband, a friendly brother, an indulgent father, and a
good-natured master.[* ]The voluntary friendships, however, which this
prince contracted, nay, even his sense of gratitude, were feeble; and
he never attached himself to any of his ministers or courtiers with a
sincere affection. He believed them to have no motive in serving him but
self-interest; and he was still ready, in his turn, to sacrifice them to
present ease or convenience.
* Duke of Buckingham.
With a detail of his private character we must set bounds to our
panegyric on Charles. The other parts of his conduct may admit of some
apology, but can deserve small applause. He was indeed so much fitted
for private life, preferably to public, that he even possessed order,
frugality, and economy in the former; was profuse, thoughtless, and
negligent in the latter. When we consider him as a sovereign, his
character, though not altogether destitute of virtue, was in the main
dangerous to his people, and dishonorable to himself. Negligent of the
interests of the nation, careless of its glory, averse to its religion,
jealous of its liberty, lavish of its treasure, sparing only of its
blood, he exposed it by his measures, though he ever appeared but in
sport, to the danger of a furious civil war, and even to the ruin and
ignominy of a foreign conquest. Yet may all these enormities, if fairly
and candidly examined, be imputed, in a great measure, to the indolence
of his temper; a fault which, however unfortunate in a monarch, it is
impossible for us to regard with great severity.
It has been remarked of Charles, that he never said a foolish thing nor
ever did a wise one; a censure which, though too far carried, seems to
have some foundation in his character and deportment. When the king
was informed of this saying, he observed that the matter was easily
accounted for; for that his discourse was his own, his actions were the
ministry’s.
If we reflect on the appetite for power inherent in human nature,
and add to it the king’s education in foreign countries and among the
cavaliers, a party which would naturally exaggerate the late usurpations
of popular assemblies upon the rights of monarchy, it is not surprising
that civil liberty should not find in him a very zealous patron.
Harassed with domestic faction, weary of calumnies and complaints,
oppressed with debts, straitened in his revenue, he sought, though with
feeble efforts, for a form of government more simple in its structure
and more easy in its management. But his attachment to France, after all
the pains which we have taken by inquiry and conjecture to fathom
it, contains still something, it must be confessed, mysterious and
inexplicable. The hopes of rendering himself absolute by Lewis’s
assistance seem so chimerical, that they could scarcely be retained with
such obstinacy by a prince of Charles’s penetration: and as to pecuniary
subsidies, he surely spent much greater sums in one season, during the
second Dutch war, than were remitted him from France during the whole
course of his reign. I am apt, therefore, to imagine, that Charles was
in this particular guided chiefly by inclination, and by a prepossession
in favor of the French nation. He considered that people as gay,
sprightly, polite, elegant, courteous, devoted to their prince, and
attached to the Catholic faith; and for these reasons he cordially loved
them. The opposite character of the Dutch had rendered them the objects
of his aversion; and even the uncourtly humors of the English made him
very indifferent towards them. Our notions of interest are much warped
by our affections, and it is not altogether without example, that a man
may be guided by national prejudices, who has ever been little biased by
private and personal friendship.
The character of this prince has been elaborately drawn by two great
masters, perfectly well acquainted with him, the duke of Buckingham and
the marquis of Halifax; not to mention several elegant strokes given
by Sir William Temple. Dr Welwood, likewise, and Bishop Burnet have
employed their pencil on the same subject; but the former is somewhat
partial in his favor, as the latter is by far too harsh and malignant.
Instead of finding an exact parallel between Charles II. and the emperor
Tiberius, as asserted by that prelate, it would be more just to remark
a full contrast and opposition. The emperor seems as much to have
surpassed the king in abilities, as he falls short of him in virtue.
Provident, wise, active, jealous, malignant, dark, sullen, unsociable,
reserved, cruel, unrelenting, unforgiving these are the lights under
which the Roman tyrant has been transmitted to us. And the only
circumstance in which it can justly be pretended he was similar to
Charles, is his love of women, a passion which is too general to form
any striking resemblance, and which that detestable and detested monster
shared also with unnatural appetites.