Charles I. And Cromwell.
Captivity, Trial, And Death Of The King.
While the Presbyterians were discussing and voting, Cromwell and
his friends were acting. On the 4th of June, news arrived in
London that on the preceding day the king had been taken away
from Holmby by a detachment of seven hundred men, and that the
army held him in its power.
It was a cornet named Joyce, of the regiment of the guards of
Fairfax, who had performed the feat. Arriving secretly with his
detachment of cavalry, he at first introduced himself alone into
the castle, then he returned at midnight with his soldiers,
demanding to speak with the king. Colonel Greaves and the
commissioners of Parliament residing with his Majesty refused;
they desired to close the iron portcullises, but the new comers
dismounted and chatted with the garrison. Colonel Greaves's men
declared that they would not be separated from the rest of the
army. At midday Joyce was master of the castle. He retired after
having stationed sentinels in various parts. In the evening he
caused the king to be awakened in order to speak to him. "I will
go with you, Mr. Joyce," said Charles, after a rather long
conference, "if your soldiers confirm what you have promised."
{158}
On the morrow, at six o'clock in the morning, Joyce's troopers
were grouped in battle-array in the courtyard. "Mr. Joyce," said
the king, appearing upon the steps, "by what authority do you
intend to take me from here?" "Sire, by the authority of the
army, to prevent the designs of its enemies, who would once more
plunge the kingdom in blood." "That is not a legal authority. I
know no other in England but mine, and after mine that of
Parliament. Have you a commission written by Sir Thomas Fairfax?"
"I have the orders of the army, and the general is included in
the army." "That is not a reply; where is your commission?"
"There it is, Sire." "Where?" "There, behind me," and he pointed
to his soldiers. "Never," said the king, smiling, "have I yet
seen such a commission. It is written, I admit, in fair
characters, legible without spelling; but know that, to take me
away, you will have to use force, if you do not promise me that
nothing will be required of me which may wound my conscience and
honor." "It is not our manner," said Joyce, "to constrain the
conscience of any one, still less that of our king." "Now,
gentlemen, whither will you conduct me?" "To Oxford, Sire, if you
please." "No, the air is not good." "To Cambridge?" "No, I prefer
Newmarket; it is an air that has always suited me." "As you will,
Sire." And they departed, notwithstanding a last protest from the
commissioners of Parliament.
When the news of the capture of the king reached headquarters, it
threw Fairfax into extreme agitation. "I do not like this," he
said to Ireton; "who gave such orders?" "I ordered," said Ireton,
"that the king should be secured in Holmby, but not that he
should be made to depart thence." "It was quite necessary," said
Cromwell, who had arrived from London, "otherwise the king would
have been taken and brought back to Parliament."
{159}
Charles received the staff of the army at Childersley, near
Cambridge. The majority, Fairfax taking the initiative, kissed
his hand with respect. Cromwell and Ireton held aloof. Fairfax
protested to the king that he was a stranger to the project of
his removal. "I do not believe you," said the king, "unless you
hang Joyce." Joyce was sent for. "I have told the king," he said,
"that I had no commission from the general. I acted by order of
the army. Let it be assembled again; if three-fourths do not
approve of the act, I consent to be hanged at the head of the
regiment." Joyce was not hanged. "Sir," said the king to Fairfax
on leaving him, "I have as good interest in the army as you." And
continuing to complain of the violence which he had suffered, but
satisfied in his heart at changing his prison and seeing discord
break out among his enemies, he established himself at Newmarket
under the care of Colonel Whalley.
Cromwell returned to London. He found the House of Commons a prey
to the most violent agitation. Every one imputed to him the
audacious stroke of seizing upon the king. He passionately
resented the suspicions, taking God, the angels, and men to
witness that, before that day, Joyce was as much a stranger to
him as the light of the sun to the child in the womb of its
mother. All these protestations did not convince the
Presbyterians. Hollis and Grimstone sought everywhere for proofs
against Cromwell, being determined to demand his arrest. Two
officers came to see Grimstone. "Lately," they said to him, "at a
meeting of officers it was discussed whether it would not be
advisable to purge the army. 'I am sure of the army,' the
lieutenant-general said; 'but there is another body which it is
more urgent to purge, that is the House of Commons, and the army
alone can do it.'"
{160}
Grimstone took them to Westminster; they repeated their speech
before the House. Cromwell rose, then fell upon his knees,
bursting into tears, with a vehemence of speech, sobs, and
gestures which overcame with emotion and surprise all present;
praying the Lord to wreak upon his head all His vengeance if any
man in all the kingdom was more faithful than he to the House.
Then, rising, he spoke for two hours, being humble and audacious,
prolix and impassioned, with so much success that, when he sat
down, the paramount influence had passed over to his friends, and
that, "if he had wished," Grimstone himself said, thirty years
afterwards, "the House would have sent us to the Tower, the
officers and myself, as calumniators." On that very evening
Cromwell secretly quitted London, and, repairing to the army
assembled at Triploe Heath, near Cambridge, he openly placed
himself at the head of the Independents and soldiers.
A few days after his arrival the army was marching towards
London, and consternation reigned in the Houses which had
received the "humble remonstrance" of the soldiers. It was no
longer a question of the exposition of their own grievances, it
was the haughty expression of their demands regarding the general
reform of the state. They demanded, besides, the expulsion of
eleven members of the Commons, including Hollis, Stapleton,
Maynard, the enemies, they said, of the army. They advanced,
complaining as they went. They were already at St. Alban's, when
the Common Council of the city wrote to Fairfax to demand that
the army should remain forty miles from London. It was too late,
the general replied; they wanted a month's pay. The Houses
granted the pay, persisting that the army should go away. The
troops continued their march.
{161}
Parliament meanwhile redoubled its concessions. All the
reproaches which were addressed, all the requests which were made
met with a friendly reception. Remedies were granted for the
grievances complained of; the king was invited to reside at
Richmond under the sole custody of Parliament. They did all they
could to escape the necessity of mutilating their body, by
expelling the eleven members designated by the army; but, on the
26th of June, the headquarters were at Uxbridge. The shops were
closed, and people spoke openly of the obstinacy and selfishness
of the eleven members. At length they offered to retire. Their
devotion was accepted with such satisfaction that, on the very
day of their retirement, the Commons voted that they approved of
the army in everything, and would provide for its maintenance
while commissioners should settle, in co-operation with others
from the soldiers, the affairs of the kingdom. Fairfax consented
to withdraw a few miles.
The king was informed that it was no longer desired that he
should go to Richmond. "Since my Houses ask me to go to
Richmond," he said, "if any one claim to prevent me therefrom it
will have to be by force and by seizing the bridle of my horse;
and if there be a man who dares attempt it, it will not be my
fault if it be his last act." He was informed that the Houses
themselves opposed his departure, and that they had yielded in
everything to the army. He smiled disdainfully, happy at seeing
his first adversaries thus humiliated, and he followed
unresistingly the movements of the army.
{162}
He was carefully guarded, but he enjoyed a liberty which the
commissioners of Parliament had not allowed him till recently. He
had chaplains, a certain number of his friends were admitted into
his presence, he was even permitted to see his children, the
Dukes of York and Gloucester, with the Princess Elizabeth, and he
was enabled to keep them with him for two days. Some few of the
leaders of the army, Cromwell and Ireton especially, asked each
other whether the favor of the king, restored by their hands,
would not be the best guarantee for their party, and for
themselves the surest means of obtaining fortune and power.
The king resolutely forebore from any negotiation with the army,
but he was not ignorant of the relations which, with the approval
of the queen, his valet-de-chambre, Ashburnham, and the former
royalist governor of Exeter, Sir John Berkeley, maintained with
Cromwell. The manœuvres of the latter, among the army, were not
without effect: the general council of officers was preparing
proposals to remit to the king. Charles appeared cold and not
very eager when Berkeley joyfully brought the project entrusted
to him by Ireton. Never had anything so moderate been asked of a
vanquished monarch. It was required that he should surrender for
ten years the nominations to the great offices and the command of
the soldiery. The political reforms were numerous, but he was not
asked to abolish the Episcopal Church, or to ruin with fines the
faithful servants who had fought for him, and the exceptions to
the armistice numbered only seven. The king appeared so haughty
that Berkeley was confounded. "If they really wished to conclude
with me," he said, "they would propose things which I might
accept." Then, abruptly breaking up the interview, he said, "You
will soon see them only too happy themselves to accept conditions
more equitable."
{163}
Berkeley retired, endeavoring to guess the secret of so much
confidence, when he learned that a riot had broken out in the
city. Westminster was besieged by bands of citizens and
apprentices, loudly demanding the return of the king. A petition,
consisting of a pledge to do everything in order that the king
might return to London with honor and liberty, was instantly
covered with a mass of signatures. Everywhere the officers of the
army, but recently remodelled by the Independents, united
themselves with the people. The Presbyterians, defeated both in
military operations and in the Houses, felt themselves supported
by the popular movement, and resumed the control of the
trainbands of London, which had been taken from them. The House
of Commons, finding its doors forced open by a furious mob, voted
the return of the king. Parliament was besieged both by the
people and the army.
The king and his confidants triumphed, for insurrection had
broken out according to their wish and at their instigation. They
were suspected among the army, and the haughtiness displayed by
Ashburnham, who had arrived three days after his master,
redoubled the ill-humor of the representatives of the soldiers,
with whom he forbore negotiating. "I have always lived in good
company," he said to Berkeley; "I can have nothing in common with
those fellows. We must secure the officers, and, through them, we
shall have the whole army." The officers themselves began to
distrust the double-dealing which Charles was carrying on.
{164}
"Sire," Ireton said to him, "do you claim to constitute yourself
arbitrator between us and Parliament? It is we who wish to be the
arbitrators between Parliament and you." They, however,
officially presented their proposals to him. The king listened to
them in silence, with an ironical smile, then he rejected them
nearly all in few words, and as Ireton was beginning to support
them with warmth, Charles abruptly interrupted him: "You cannot
be without me (he said); you will fall to ruin if I do not
sustain you." The officers looked in astonishment at Berkeley;
the latter approached the king. "Sire," he said to him in a
whisper, "your Majesty speaks as if you had some secret strength
and power which I do not know of. Since your Majesty hath
concealed it from me, I wish you had concealed it from these men
too." The king endeavored to mitigate his words, but the majority
of the officers had already adopted their course. It was said
everywhere among the army, that there was no possibility of
placing reliance on the king. Charles confidently awaited
intelligence from London.
News was brought to headquarters by messengers of distinction.
More than sixty members of the two Houses, with Lord Manchester
and Speaker Lenthall at their head, arrived unexpectedly in the
army, coming, they said, to seek the security and liberty which
were denied to them by the fury of the populace. For a week
Cromwell and his friends had been laboring, through the medium of
Vane and St. John, to bring about this division among Parliament.
They affected, however, to partake of the general surprise.
Parliament, the real Parliament, with its legal chiefs and
faithful members, was henceforth united with the army and under
its protection. Joy shone on every countenance: the Lord was
loudly praised.
{165}
Berkeley was not satisfied. He hastened to bring to the king news
so fatal to the success of his negotiations; and urged him to
write to the chiefs of the army a letter which should cause a
better reception of their proposals to be hoped for. At this
price, Cromwell and Ireton still answered for the inclinations of
the army. But the king also had news from London. The members of
Parliament remaining in the capital were more numerous than those
who had quitted it. They had elected a new speaker; they had
given orders to form new regiments; the city was full of ardor,
and was preparing to defend itself. The king was formally invited
to return to London. The vote proclaimed in the streets might
reach him at any moment. "I will wait," said Charles to Berkeley.
"There will be yet time to write that letter."
The king waited, then wrote; but it was too late. Every day more
members of Parliament proceeded to join their colleagues at
headquarters. Popular exasperation gave way to fear and
uneasiness; compromises were spoken of. Cromwell caused the king
to be pressed; he continued to hesitate still. Ashburnham and
Berkeley arrived at length at headquarters, the bearers of the
letter so often demanded. The submission of the city had preceded
them, and the alliance of the king was no longer of any value to
the conquerors. Two days afterwards, on the 6th of August, the
army, bringing back the fugitive members in triumph, entered
London without one single excess characterizing their march, and
Fairfax took possession of the Tower, of which the Houses had
nominated him governor. All the acts passed by Parliament in the
absence of the members who had taken refuge in the army, were
declared null in law, for the troops were encamped around
Westminster. Everywhere the army triumphed. Parliament was now a
docile and humbled instrument in its hands.
{166}
It was in the very midst of the army that fresh difficulties were
about to arise. Intoxicated with their triumph, the obscure
enthusiasts, fanatics of religion or liberty, thought that they
had become masters, and aspired to alter not only the State, but
society itself, and the face of the world. Possessed of a blind
but pure ambition, intractable to any one who appeared to them
weak or interested, they constituted in turn the strength and
terror of the different parties who were all successively
compelled to make use of and deceive them.
Cromwell had formerly found among them a few of his most useful
agents, but they began to distrust him. The Lord had delivered
into the hands of His servants all their enemies. Meanwhile, they
continued to live upon good terms with the "delinquents," even
with the greatest of all, who had been permitted to establish
himself at Hampton Court, where he was served with idolatrous
pomp. His most dangerous councillors were allowed to approach
him, and the generals themselves saw them frequently. Rumors were
in circulation at the meetings of the soldiers, and Lilburne,
still indomitable even in the prison in which the Upper House had
caused him to be incarcerated on account of his pamphlets, wrote
to Cromwell, "If you despise my warnings as you have hitherto
done, know that I will set forth against you all that I have of
strength and influence, in order to produce changes in your
fortune, which will be very little to your liking."
{167}
Cromwell did not remain insensible to all these tokens. He begged
the king that he would place their relations under more reserve.
"As I am an honest man," he said, "I have said enough to convince
his Majesty of the sincerity of my intentions, otherwise nothing
will suffice." But with an increase of prudence, the relations of
Cromwell with the king did not become less active. The great and
firm mind of the general doubted the success of the republicans;
the desires of the enthusiasts appeared to him chimerical, and
his genius was irritated by disorder. Charles lavished promises,
more personal now than political or general. To Ireton was
offered the command of Ireland, to Cromwell the command of the
armies, the Order of the Garter, and the title of Earl of Essex.
Silence was not maintained throughout as to these negotiations,
and rumors of them reached the army, every day more resentful and
defiant. Two great Scottish noblemen, Lord Lauderdale and Lord
Lanark, arrived at Hampton Court, to urge the king once more to
unite himself finally with the Presbyterians and the Scotch, who
alone were sincere in the desire of saving him. This, for the
duplicity natural to Charles, was a new power. Everything was
made known in the council of the agitators. The soldiers
separated themselves from their leaders. A few officers and
members of the Commons placed themselves at their head. It was
announced that a Scotch army was about to march to the aid of the
king; the English cavaliers were preparing an insurrection.
Cromwell became more and more perplexed. All his skill did not
suffice to divine the schemes of the king. He saw the army, the
instrument upon which he had counted, upon the point of slipping
from his grasp. The day had come for adopting a final course of
action.
{168}
It was the king himself who caused the scale to incline towards
his ruin. Cromwell had been informed by one of the spies whom he
kept at Hampton Court, that a confidential letter from the king
to the queen was to be forwarded concealed in a saddle which a
man who was not in the secret would carry upon his head. At the
time indicated, Cromwell and Ireton, clad like simple troopers,
were at the Blue Boar Inn, in Holborn, awaiting the messenger. He
appeared; both issued forth sword in hand, seized the saddle,
broke open the sides, took therefrom the letter, then returned
the saddle to the messenger, saying to him in a good-humored tone
that he was a worthy fellow, and that he might proceed on his
way.
The letter was indeed confidential. Charles had written to the
queen that the two factions were courting him equally, and that
he thought of treating rather with the Scotch Presbyterians than
with the army. "Besides," he said, "rest entirely easy as to
whatever concessions I shall make them, for I shall know in due
time how to deal with the rogues, who, instead of a silken
garter, shall be fitted with a hempen cord." The two generals
eyed each other, and, with all their distrust thus confirmed,
they immediately departed on their return to their quarters at
Windsor, henceforth without uncertainty regarding their designs
towards the king and his belongings.
{169}
It was time that their policy should cease to be embarrassed and
undecided. The wrath of the enthusiasts was bursting forth. On
the 9th of October, five regiments of cavalry, among which
figured that of Cromwell himself, caused to be drawn up by fresh
agitators, under the name of "Situation of the Army," a long
declaration of their principles and demands, which was presented
to the general. On the 1st of November, a second pamphlet,
entitled "Agreement of the People," was addressed to the whole
nation in the name of the sixteen regiments. In each paper the
soldiers accused the officers of treason and the Houses of
extortion. The most senseless and most anarchical theories were
mingled with a few noble ideas. No more royalty and no more Upper
House; the House of Commons alone to be elected for two years.
Such was the abstract of the popular demands which threw the
leaders into agitation and uneasiness. The two Houses voted
prosecutions against the authors of the pamphlets, but at the
same time decided that the king was obliged to accept all that
Parliament proposed. The committee of officers was compelled to
promise the agitators that the question of the preservation of
the royal office should be freely discussed at a general meeting
of the army, which would then be able collectively to display its
sentiments.
When the day fixed upon arrived (November the 6th), all
discussion was prohibited. The officers and agitators received
orders to return to their regiments. Three partial meetings were
appointed in the cantonments of the principal corps. Meanwhile
the council of officers was to suspend its sittings, to allow the
general and Parliament to act alone. Cromwell had decided on his
course. He had determined not to be separated from the army, or
to allow it to be destroyed by disunion and want of discipline.
The soldiers desired to have no more to do with the king. That
man alone could dispose of their obedience and their power, who
would accept their common will and make himself its executor.
Cromwell was resolved to be that man.
{170}
Thenceforth the situation of the king underwent a sudden change.
The friends who surrounded him received orders to depart. His
most trustworthy servants, Ashburnham and Berkeley, were
withdrawn from him. The guards were doubled around them, and from
all parts arrived sinister warnings of abduction and
assassination.
Charles was oppressed by a growing anxiety. His susceptible and
ardent, though grave imagination, was shaken. Projects of flight
began to spring up in his mind; but where was he to take refuge?
The Scotch commissioners caused an offer to be made him to
facilitate his escape, but the Scots had already delivered him up
once to Parliament. Mention was made of the island of Jersey. It
was far off, and the king would not quit English soil. Cromwell
meanwhile, by all kinds of means, caused it to be insinuated that
flight was a necessity. The Isle of Wight was proposed, the
governor of which, Colonel Hammond, was the nephew of the
chaplain of the king. This proposal pleased Charles, but he
continued to hesitate, notwithstanding the anonymous letters
which warned him that the danger was urgent. A nocturnal council
of the agitators had resolved to get rid of him. At length, on
the 11th of November, at nine o'clock in the evening, the king
left the palace by a secret staircase, with one single
valet-de-chambre, and, crossing the park, reached the forest,
where Ashburnham and Berkeley, who had been hurriedly warned,
awaited him.
{171}
The night was dark, and the fugitives lost their way. Not till
daybreak did they arrive at the little town of Sutton in
Hampshire, where a relay had been got ready. When they reached
Southampton, opposite the Isle of Wight, Ashburnham and Berkeley
embarked, to go and sound the governor. The king retired to the
neighboring castle of Titchfield, inhabited by the mother of Lord
Southampton. The two messengers met the governor on horseback
upon the road. They informed him of the motive of their coming.
Hammond turned pale; the reins of his horse slipped from his
grasp. "Gentlemen," he said, "you have undone me by bringing the
king into this island, if you have brought him. If he is not here
yet, I implore you do not let him come. ..." A long conversation
began; the governor at length appeared to give way. "The king,"
he said, "shall have no cause to complain of me. I will perform
whatever can be expected from a man of honor and honesty. Let us
go to him together." They arrived at Titchfield. Ashburnham
ascended alone to the king. After his account, "Ah! John, John,"
exclaimed Charles, "you have undone me by bringing the governor
here. Do you not see that I can no longer stir?" Ashburnham
protested the good intentions of Hammond. The king was
disconsolate, walking hurriedly about the apartment, with an
expression of the keenest anguish. "Sire," said Ashburnham, in
his turn agitated, "the colonel is here with one man only;
nothing is so easy as to secure him." "What?" replied the king.
"Do you mean to kill him? Would you have it said that I
infamously deprived him of the life he hazarded for me? No, no;
it is too late to adopt another course.
{172}
We must resign ourselves to the will of God," And he sent for
Hammond and received him with an open and confident air. The day
began to wane; they embarked for the island. A rumor had been
spread abroad that the king was to arrive. The inhabitants set
out to meet him. It was affirmed that they were all devoted to
him. The terrors of the unhappy Charles subsided on the morrow
morning, at the contemplation of the magnificent sight which
presented itself to his gaze from the windows of Carisbrooke
Castle. "After all," he said to Ashburnham, "this governor is a
gallant man. I am here protected from agitators. I shall, I
think, only have to congratulate myself upon my resolve."
The news of the flight of the king caused great consternation at
Westminster. It was soon known that he had taken refuge in the
Isle of Wight. Colonel Hammond hastened to write to the Houses
and to the lieutenant-general, protesting his devotion and asking
for instructions. Cromwell gave notice of the event to Parliament
with a gayety which astonished the less suspicious, but of which
the most shrewd in vain sought the cause.
Two days later, he repaired with Fairfax to the first of the
three appointed _rendezvous_ of the army. This was near
Ware, in Hertfordshire. Seven of the most reasonable of the
regiments only had been convoked for that day. But, upon arriving
at the place of meeting, the generals found nine regiments
instead of seven; that of Harrison (cavalry) and that of Robert
Lilburne (infantry) had come without orders.
[Image]
Portrait Of Lord Fairfax.
{173}
Suffering from the most violent agitation, they bore, affixed to
their caps, _Liberty for England_, and from time to time
their shouts resounded in the plain, excited by those of the
officers and members of the House of Commons who had placed
themselves at the head of the fanatics. The generals advanced;
calm and grave, and caused to be read a remonstrance, reproaching
the new negotiators with their culpable conspiracies, the
soldiers with their want of discipline, and distrustfulness.
Seven regiments greeted the reading with their acclamations.
Fairfax advanced towards the regiment commanded by Harrison.
Scarcely had the horsemen heard his voice, when they tore from
their caps the _Liberty for England_, vowing to live and die
with their general. Cromwell marched straight up to the regiment
of Lilburne, which remained isolated and was uttering seditious
cries. "Take that paper from your hats," he said to the soldiers,
and as they refused, he abruptly entered the ranks and ordered
fourteen of the most mutinous to be seized. Immediately, a
council of war was formed, and three soldiers were condemned to
death. "Let lots be drawn to determine the fate of one of them,"
the council ordered, "and let him be shot upon the spot." Richard
Arnold, a fiery agitator, condemned by this means, was executed
in front of the regiment; and the thirteen other prisoners were
put in irons. Silence reigned in the plain. All the troops
returned to their quarters without a murmur. The army appeared to
be once more in the hands of its leaders.
{174}
Cromwell, however, did not abuse his victory. Scarcely recovered
from their stupor, officers, sub-officers, and private soldiers
came in a mass to declare to the lieutenant-general that no
severity could turn them aside from their designs; that they were
determined to rid themselves of the king and to establish a
republic; and that they would divide the army rather than abandon
their undertaking. Cromwell did not feel inclined to reduce them
to this extremity. Without giving them a positive answer, he
allowed it to be understood that he also was dissatisfied with
the king, that he might have permitted himself to be dazzled for
a moment by worldly glories, but that he had recognized his
error. He dwelt at the same time upon the necessity for
discipline in the army. The agitators confessed their
transgressions like their general. While the Houses were voting
their thanks to Fairfax and Cromwell for the firmness with which
they had quelled the insurrection, a great gathering and a solemn
banquet, at which were present, in common, officers, agitators,
and preachers, sealed that reconciliation, the price of which was
the destruction of the king.
Meanwhile, Charles, informed of the result of the rendezvous at
Ware, had hastened to despatch Berkeley to the generals, to
remind them of their promises. On arriving, Berkeley felt some
uneasiness. The trial of the king was spoken of. He was, however,
introduced to the council of the officers; and he delivered his
letters. "We are the army of Parliament," said Fairfax, in a
severe tone. "We have nothing to reply to the proposals of his
Majesty. It is for him to decide." Berkeley, in astonishment,
eyed Cromwell and Ireton; they remained impassive. The letters of
the king intended for them were handed them; no answer was given.
"I will do my best to continue to serve the king," was the only
message sent, "but let him not expect me to undo myself for love
of him." Trustworthy advices counselled the king to fly to the
Continent if possible.
{175}
A vessel sent by the queen was cruising about, it was said, in
the vicinity of the island, but a fresh intrigue revived the
king's hopes. Parliament voted four propositions or bills. If the
king should accept them, he was to be admitted to negotiate in
person with the Houses. These bills were a justification of the
war which had brought Charles to imprisonment. On his part, they
involved a veritable abdication. He was determined not to accept
them, but he did not say so, for the proposals of Parliament
would be of use to him, he thought, in the secret relations which
he had renewed with the Scotch commissioners. "We must wait," he
said to Berkeley, on his return; "I wish to conclude with the
Scotch before quitting the kingdom. If they were to see me out of
the hands of the army, they would be much more exacting."
A few days subsequently. Lords Lauderdale, Lowden, and Lanark,
having arrived at Carisbrooke at the same time as the
commissioners of Parliament, the treaty with Scotland was
concluded, signed, and buried in a garden. The king, about to fly
from the Isle of Wight, in order to take refuge upon the borders
of Scotland, definitively refused the proposals of Parliament,
demanding to negotiate in person without being pledged to accept
anything. The commissioners made no effort to induce him to alter
his mind; they departed, and a few hours after their departure,
as the king was conferring with his confidants upon the means of
escape for the following night, the gates of the castle were
closed, the guards were doubled, and the servants of the king
received orders to quit the island. The wrath and reproaches of
the king were powerless to move Hammond. All hope of flight was
at an end.
{176}
In Parliament, Ireton bluntly proposed to settle public affairs
without the king. "The king," he said, "has denied safety and
protection to his people; it is for us to settle the kingdom
without him." The Presbyterians rose against the measure. "Mr.
Speaker," said Cromwell, "the king is a man of great parts, but
so false that no one can trust him. While he protests his love of
peace, he is engaged in secret treaties with the Scotch
commissioners to embroil the nation into a new war. The time has
arrived for Parliament to govern and defend the kingdom by its
own power and resolution. The men who have defended Parliament
from so many dangers with the expense of their blood, will defend
it herein with fidelity and courage against all opposition. Teach
them not by neglecting your own and the kingdom's safety to think
themselves betrayed, lest despair teach them to seek their safety
by some other means than adhering to you who will not stick to
yourselves: and how destructive such a resolution in them will be
to you all I tremble to say, and I leave you to judge!" He
resumed his seat, with his hand upon his sword. The motion was
voted without further opposition. After some hesitation, it
passed on the 15th of January, 1648, in the House of Lords.
Warwick and Manchester alone protested against the measure.
Violent indignation burst forth in all parts of the kingdom; a
multitude of voices, up to this time uncertain, now united to
those of the cavaliers in cursing this detestable treason. Never
had so many rumors of royalist plots, never had so many or such
violent pamphlets threatened Westminster. The Presbyterians,
vanquished in Parliament as well as in the army, raised their
heads again at these tokens of public wrath.
{177}
Cromwell, always prudent and sensible, endeavored to unite
himself with this party, urging them at least to postpone their
quarrels and to face in concert the new perils which it was easy
to foresee. They would agree to nothing. Cromwell encountered the
same resistance among the republican party which had manifested
itself in the House. Ludlow, Vane, Hutchinson, Sydney, Haselrig
loudly declared themselves opposed to the continuance of the
monarchy, which was condemned, they said, by the Bible. Ardent in
their fanaticism, they troubled themselves little about the
external dangers which menaced their cause. Hamilton was in the
ascendant in Scotland. The Parliament at Edinburgh voted the
raising of an army of forty thousand men for the defence of the
country, it was said; while in the north of England, in the west,
in Wales, and even as far as the counties of Kent and Essex, the
cavaliers openly set up the royal standard, boldly recruiting for
the king, with the support, in various places, of almost the
entire population. The Presbyterians took advantage of the breeze
which was blowing, and obtained a vote of the House of Commons,
on the 28th of April, 1641, that they would not change the form
of government by a king, lords, and commons. Notwithstanding the
vote which prohibited any address to the king, every member was
to be at liberty to propose what the interest of the country
should appear to him to require. A few days later, Cromwell,
weary of inaction and the perplexity of affairs, suspected by
some for his attempts to bring about an arrangement, by others
for the hastiness of his measures, resolved to fight the
insurgents in the west and to seize once more by the sword the
ascendancy which was slipping from him. He had scarcely set out
for Wales when the insurrection burst forth in all parts, and
Fairfax and Lambert were also taking the field, the former to
defend the environs of London, the latter to march towards the
north.
{178}
The Scotch were hastening, being forewarned by the heedless ardor
of the cavaliers. Hamilton had only been able to gather together
fourteen thousand men when he crossed the border on the 8th of
July. The news of the invasion caused great commotion at
Westminster. Fairfax promptly reduced the insurgents of the
south, but they took refuge in Colchester, and the general was
detained before the town by their courageous resistance. Cromwell
in the same manner besieged Pembroke Castle, the bulwark of the
royalists in the west. Lambert had great difficulty in holding in
check the cavaliers of Langdale and Musgrave in the north; he
could not struggle alone against so many enemies. Alarm was
taken; it was resolved to press forward the new negotiations
opened up with the king. This time, the Commons abandoned the
three bills, the condition of which they had wished to make the
preliminary of any negotiation. Meanwhile, the committee of war,
sitting at Derby House, where the Independents prevailed, sent
money and reinforcements to Lambert, urging Cromwell to join him,
secretly writing him to fear nothing, to act with vigor, and to
count upon his friends, whatever distrust he might formerly have
encountered from them.
{179}
Cromwell waited neither for orders nor promises. Being well
informed of the movements of the Scotch army, he had written a
month before to Lambert to fall back as soon as it should appear
necessary, and to avoid any engagement until he should be able to
join him. "Send me some shoes for my poor tired soldiers," he
wrote to the committee of Derby House; "they have a long march to
make." Pembroke Castle capitulated, and Cromwell set out for the
north with extraordinary rapidity. On the 7th of August,
Langdale, who marched with the English cavaliers in front of the
Scotch army, caused the Duke of Hamilton to be advised of the
approach of Cromwell. Everything indicated upon his part an
intention of beginning the attack. "Impossible," replied the
duke; "he has not had time to be here. If Cromwell be near, of a
certainty it is with a small army; he will be very careful not to
attack us;" and he transferred his headquarters to Preston. But
the cavaliers of Langdale were already fighting with the enemy;
reinforcements were asked for; the duke promised them, but did
not send them. After a desperate resistance, Langdale was
compelled to fly, and Cromwell marched direct towards Hamilton,
whom he defeated without difficulty. Three battles and three
successive defeats soon cooled the ardor of the Scotch. A
tumultuous despair took possession of the army; the infantry
surrendered in its entirety. Hamilton, at the head of the
cavalry, altered his course and proceeded towards the north-east,
endeavoring to reach Scotland. He was pursued; his troops
mutinied; he surrendered, accepting the conditions imposed by
Lambert. After a campaign of five days, Cromwell in his turn
entered Scotland, determined to wrest from the royalist
Presbyterians all means of action and salvation. Scarcely had he
arrived when an insurrection took place in his favor, against the
influence of the vanquished Hamilton.
{180}
Argyle and his friends, borne back into power, received Cromwell
in Edinburgh with the greatest honors. He left there Lambert and
two regiments to protect their government; then he set out for
London, where the great game was being played. The negotiations
with the king had begun; fifteen commissioners of Parliament had
set out to treat with Charles in the Isle of Wight.
The king disputed the ground step by step; he was urged to accept
everything by those who assured him that the treaty being once
concluded, Satan himself could not dissolve it. "Consider if you
call this a treaty," said Charles, "whether it be not like the
fray in the comedy, where the man comes out and says, 'There has
been a fray and no fray;' and being asked how that could be,
'Why,' says he, 'there hath been three blows given, and I had
them all.' Look, therefore, whether this be not a parallel case.
Observe whether I have not granted absolutely most of your
propositions, and with great moderation limited only some few of
them: nay, consider whether you have made me any one concession."
The concessions of the king were more apparent than real. He
wrote to Ormond, "Obey my wife's orders, not mine, until I shall
let you know I am free from all restraint; nor trouble yourself
about my concessions as to Ireland; they will lead to nothing;"
and to Sir William Hopkins, after consigning to the Houses for
twenty years the command of the forces, "But for the hope of an
early escape never would I have yielded in such a way. My
captivity at present would break my heart, for I have done what
my escape alone can justify."
{181}
The day had in fact arrived when escape alone could save the
king. Cromwell was approaching London, and already the energy of
the resolutions made his influence felt. Charles was informed
that troops were landing in the island, and that he would be
carried off during the night. The guards were numerous; sentinels
were stationed in all parts. Meanwhile, Colonel Cook, an officer
devoted to the king, possessed the watchword. He proposed to pass
Charles with him; the friends of the king pressed him. His
sensitive dignity took alarm. "No," he said; "they have given me
their word; I have given them mine; I will not betray it." "But,
Sire, I presume that by 'they' and 'their' your Majesty means
Parliament; but all is changed; it is the army that desires to
cast your Majesty in prison." "No matter, I will not betray my
word. Good night. I am going to sleep as long as I can." "Sire, I
fear that it will not be long." "As it pleases God." It was one
o'clock in the morning. The king sought his couch. In the early
morning he was carried off by a detachment of cavalry under the
orders of Lieutenant-general Cobbett and transported to Hurst
Castle, in an apartment so dark that at midday torches were
required to light it. "They could not name a worse," said the
unhappy prisoner when he was informed of his destination.
At this news anger and terror agitated Parliament. It was
proposed to vote that the replies of the king were suitable for a
basis of peace. The discussion lasted for a long time, and was
passionate and ardent; the royal cause was defended by Prynne,
who had, twelve years before, sustained the severest contest
against the tyranny of Laud and the court. "I am accused of
apostasy, Mr. Speaker," he said. "Here are all the favors that I
have ever received from his Majesty or his party.
{182}
They caused my ears to be cut off in the most barbarous fashion;
they placed me three times in the pillory; they caused my works
to be burnt before my eyes, and by the hand of the executioner;
they inflicted upon me two fines each of five thousand pounds
sterling ...;" and continuing with agitated eloquence the picture
of his grievances, he dwelt nevertheless upon the evils which
threatened the nation if it should not be reconciled with the
king; "notwithstanding (he said) the threats of the army and
whatever may happen, _fiat justitia et ruat cœluin_, let us
do our duty and leave the event to God." The House accepted the
resolution by a hundred and forty votes against a hundred and
four. Once more the Independents were defeated.
They had arrived at the point at which lawful defeats of right
are met by force. The republican statesmen, Ludlow and
Hutchinson, allied themselves with the army. Fairfax was left
ignorant of all that was passing. On the 6th of December, the
infantry regiment of Colonel Pride, and the cavalry regiment of
Colonel Rich, occupied the courtyard and avenues of the palace of
Westminster. As the members arrived, Pride, standing at the
entrance, was examining a list which he held in his hand. "You
shall not enter," he said to those whose names were inscribed
upon his document, and he even ordered those who were most
obnoxious to be seized. It was found necessary to drag Prynne to
the foot of the staircase. Two members only, among those who were
designated, contrived to enter the Hall; these were Mr. Stephens
and Colonel Birch. They were induced to come out by false
pretexts, and were arrested like the others.
{183}
The House in vain endeavored to resist; the sergeant-at-arms,
whom it sent, was unable to reach the captive members whose
exclusion the army caused to be solemnly demanded. The prisoners
asked to see Colonel Pride. "I have not time," said the rough
soldier, "I have something else to do." More politely put off by
Fairfax, they saw him no more. On the 7th, forty more members
suffered the fate of their predecessors. When the House,
mutilated and subjugated, at length voted that it would take into
consideration the proposals of the army, the twenty-eight members
who had protested against this act of suicide retired of their
own accord. Voluntarily or under coercion a hundred and
forty-three members of the House of Commons had ceased to sit
upon its benches. The army and the republicans at length found
themselves in full possession of power. Cromwell proceeded to
resume his seat at Westminster. "God be my witness," he repeated
everywhere, "that I had not been acquainted with this design; yet
since it is done I am glad of it, and will endeavor to maintain
it." He established himself at Whitehall, in the very apartments
of the king.
On the 17th of December, in the middle of the night, Charles was
awakened by the noise of the drawbridge, and a troop of horsemen
were heard entering the courtyard of the castle. Before daybreak,
he sent his groom of the chamber, Herbert, to ascertain who had
arrived. "It is Major Harrison, Sire," the faithful servant
announced. The king appeared agitated; he had tears in his eyes.
"Your pardon. Sire," said Herbert; "I am dismayed at perceiving
your Majesty so much troubled and concerned at this news."
{184}
"I am not afraid," replied Charles; "but do not you know that
this is the same who intended to assassinate me, as by letter I
was informed during the late treaty? I would not be surprised;
this is a place fit for such a purpose. Go again and make further
inquiry into his business," Herbert returned to say that Harrison
was commissioned to take the king to Windsor. "With all my
heart!" said Charles, joyfully; "they are becoming more
tractable. Windsor is a spot where I have always found pleasure.
I shall there be compensated for what I have suffered here." A
few days later, the king arrived in Windsor, delighted to return
to one of his palaces, to occupy his usual apartment there, with
the customary ceremonies. He almost forgot that he was a
prisoner.
On the same day, at the same moment, the Commons voted that the
king should be impeached, and entrusted a committee to prepare
the charge. The rigid and enthusiastic republicans desired a
public and solemn trial, which would prove their power and
proclaim their right. No one had been more ardent than Cromwell
in bringing about this step; but he never forgot his prudent
measures. "Should any one have voluntarily proposed," he said,
"to bring the king to punishment, I should have regarded him as
the greatest traitor; but since Providence and necessity have
cast us upon it, I will pray to God for a blessing on your
counsels, though I am not prepared to give you any advice on this
important occasion." It was voted that the king had rendered
himself guilty of high treason by waging war with Parliament. A
High Court, composed of a hundred and fifty commissioners, was
immediately constituted to try him. All the important men of the
party were to form part of it, save St. John and Vane, who
formally declared that they disapproved of the act and would take
no part in it.
{185}
The House of Lords protested. Some feeling of pride appeared to
revive in its bosom. "There is no Parliament without the king,"
maintained Lord Manchester. "The king cannot be a traitor towards
Parliament." The order was rejected. The Commons declared that
the people being, after God, the origin of all just power, the
Commons of England, representing the people, are alone the
supreme authority. The High Court, reduced to a hundred and
thirty-eight members, received from the Commons orders to
assemble without delay, to settle the preparations for the trial.
It met in fact for this object from the 8th to the 19th of
January, under the presidency of John Bradshaw, a cousin of
Milton and an esteemed lawyer, grave and gentle in his character,
but of a narrow and harsh mind, a sincere and ambitious fanatic.
Already division sprang up in the very midst of the court; on no
occasion did more than fifty-eight members attend the preparatory
sittings. Fairfax attended the first time and then appeared there
no more. Others presented themselves to proclaim their
opposition. Algernon Sidney, the son of Lord Leicester, feared
the aversion which such an act would inspire in the people
towards the Commonwealth. "No one will stir," exclaimed Cromwell,
annoyed by such forebodings. "I tell you that we will cut his
head off with the crown upon it." "Do as you please," replied
Sidney; "I cannot prevent you; but, of a surety, I will have no
hand in this matter," and he went out, to return no more. The
king was summoned to appear, on the 20th of January, before the
court, at Westminster Hall. On the 17th, as if the condemnation
had already been pronounced, a committee was entrusted to take an
exact inventory of the furniture in all the royal palaces,
henceforth to be the property of Parliament.
{186}
The king lived at Windsor in a strange security, more merry than
his servants had seen him for a long while. "I have three cards
to play," he said, "and the worst may enable me to regain all." A
significant sign, however, troubled his repose. Hitherto he had
been served upon bended knees, with all the forms used at court.
Suddenly, upon an order coming from headquarters, the ceremony
disappeared, and the canopy which surmounted the royal chair was
taken away. Charles was keenly affected at this. "Is there
anything more contemptible than a despised prince?" he said; and
he desired henceforth to take his meals in his apartment, in
order to escape the contrast between the present and the past, in
this same Windsor Castle.
On the 19th of January, the king was transferred to London, and
lodged in St. James's palace. "God is everywhere," he said, when
attendants came to prepare him for departure, "and everywhere the
same in power and goodness." Nevertheless he was visibly
affected.
On the morrow, the 20th, towards noon, it was announced to the
high court that the king, borne in a close sedan-chair between
two rows of soldiers, was about to arrive. Cromwell hastened to
the window, pale, but nevertheless very animated. "He is come! he
is come!" he said, "and now we are doing that great work that the
whole nation will be full of; therefore I desire you let us
resolve here what answer we shall give the king when he comes
before us: for the first question he will ask us will be by what
authority and commission we do try him."
{187}
No one spoke. "In the name of the Commons and Parliament
assembled, and of all the good people of England," said Henry
Martyn. The doors opened; the mob rushed into the Hall.
"Sergeant," said Bradshaw, "let the prisoner be brought in."
The king appeared under the custody of Colonel Hacker and
thirty-two officers. He advanced, cast a long and severe look
upon the tribunal, and sat down, without removing his hat, upon
the chair prepared for him at the bar; then, rising, he looked
behind him at the guard placed upon the left, and the crowd of
spectators on the right of the hall; he resumed his seat, looked
again at the judges, and waited.
Bradshaw immediately arose. "Charles Stuart, King of England," he
said, "the Commons of England, assembled in Parliament, being
deeply sensible of the calamities that have been brought upon
this nation which are fixed upon you as the principal author of
them, have resolved to make inquisition for blood. You are about
to hear the charges which weigh upon you."
The solicitor-general. Coke, immediately read the indictment,
which, imputing to the king all the evils arising at first from
his tyranny, afterwards from the war, demanded that justice
should be done to him as a tyrant, a traitor, and a murderer. The
king remained calm, casting quiet glances upon his judges. For a
moment he rose again, turned his back to the tribunal to look
behind him, then sat down again, with an air of mingled
indifference and curiosity. At the words, "Charles Stuart,
tyrant, traitor, and murderer," he smiled, albeit he still
preserved silence.
"Sir," said Bradshaw, "you have heard your charge read; the court
expects your answer."
{188}
The King.--"I would know by what power I am called hither. I was,
not long ago, in the Isle of Wight, in treaty with both Houses of
Parliament, with as much public faith as is possible to be had.
We were upon a conclusion of the treaty. I would know by what
authority, I mean lawful, for there are many unlawful authorities
in the world, as of thieves and robbers by the highways; but I
would, I say, know by what authority I was brought from thence
and carried from place to place, and I know not what. When I know
by what lawful authority, I shall answer."
Bradshaw.--"The court requires you, in the name of the people of
England, of which you are elected king, to answer them."
The King.--"I deny that England was ever an elective kingdom. It
has been for these thousand years an hereditary one. Therefore
tell me by what authority I am called hither. I will stand as
much for the privileges of the House of Commons rightly
understood as any man here. I see no House of Lords here that may
constitute a Parliament; and the king too should have been. Is
this the bringing the king to his Parliament?"
Bradshaw became impatient. The court was adjourned to the
following Monday. On retiring the king touched with his staff the
sword resting upon the table. "I do not fear that," he said. As
he descended the staircase, a few voices were heard crying
"Justice! justice!" but a much greater number exclaimed, "God
save the king! God save your Majesty!"
The same scene was enacted at the second sitting. "We are not
sitting here to reply to your questions," said Bradshaw to the
king. "Plead to the charge, guilty or not guilty."
{189}
The King.--"Show me that jurisdiction where reason is not to be
heard."
Bradshaw.--"Sir, we show it to you here--the Commons of England.
Sergeant, take away the prisoner."
The king turned abruptly towards the people. "Remember," said he,
"that the King of England is condemned without being suffered to
give his reasons for the liberty and freedom of the subject." An
almost general cry arose of "God save the king!"
The same cry resounded incessantly around Westminster, stifling
the voices demanding "Justice, execution!" One day, as the king
was passing by, coming from the sitting, a soldier exclaimed,
"God bless you, sir!" An officer struck him with his cane. "Sir,"
said the king, who was being brought forth, "the punishment
exceeds the offence." The proceedings of Queen Henrietta-Maria,
of the Prince of Wales, of the commissioners of Scotland,
maintained the public indignation and sympathy, which were every
day manifested more clearly in favor of Charles. Announcement was
made of the early arrival of an embassy extraordinary from the
States-general of Holland to intervene in favor of the king. This
was the signal for the catastrophe.
On the 24th and 25th of January, the Court heard the depositions
of thirty-two witnesses. On the latter day, at the close of the
sitting, and almost without discussion, the condemnation of the
king as a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public enemy, was
voted. Scott, Martyn, Harrison, Ireton, and three others were
entrusted to draw up the sentence, which was adopted on the
morrow with closed doors.
{190}
On the 27th, at midday, as the sitting was being opened by a call
of the House, the name of Fairfax was uttered. "He has too much
wit to be here," said the voice of a woman from the end of a
gallery. After a moment's silence and hesitation the proceedings
were resumed; sixty-seven members were present. When the king
entered the Hall, a violent cry was raised among the soldiers of
"Execution, justice, execution!" The crowd, in consternation,
remained silent.
"Sir," said the king to Bradshaw before seating himself, "I shall
desire a word; and I hope I shall give no occasion of
interruption."
Bradshaw.--"Sir, you may answer in your time. Hear the court
first."
The King.--"Sir, I desire ... It will be in order to what the
court, I believe, the court will say. Sir, a hasty judgment is
not so soon recalled."
Bradshaw.--"Sir, you shall be heard before the judgment be
given." The king sat down.
"Gentlemen," said Bradshaw, "it is well known that the prisoner
here at the bar has been brought before the court in the name of
the people of England. ..."
"Not half the people!" exclaimed the same voice which had
answered to the name of Fairfax. "Where are the people and their
consents? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor!" The whole assembly
shuddered; all looks were turned towards the gallery. "Fire upon
her, soldiers!" exclaimed Axtell. Lady Fairfax was recognized.
{191}
The tumult increased. The king endeavored to speak. "I desire,"
he said, when Bradshaw had ended his speech, "that I may have a
conference with a committee of Lords and Commons, upon a proposal
which is of far more consequence to the peace of the kingdom and
the liberty of my subjects than to my own preservation."
A violent agitation spread throughout the court and the assembly.
Friends and enemies alike endeavored to guess what the king might
have to propose in this conference with the two Houses. Many
persons thought that he desired to abdicate in favor of his son.
The embarrassment of the court was extreme; the soldiers loudly
complained, lighting their pipes and blowing the smoke into the
face of the king. The latter desired to speak; the cries of
"Justice, execution!" redoubled around him. Agitated and beside
himself, he at length exclaimed, "Hear me! hear me!" The
agitation reached the members of the tribunal. One of them,
Colonel Downs, was restrained with great difficulty by his two
neighbors. "Have we hearts of stone?" he said; "are we men?" "You
will undo us all," he was told. "It matters not," replied Downs,
"were I to die for it I must do it." At these words Cromwell, who
sat below him, turned around abruptly. "Are you in your senses,
colonel?" he said. "Can you not be silent?" "No," replied Downs,
"I cannot;" and immediately rising, "My Lord," he said to the
President, "my conscience is not sufficiently clear to allow me
to deny the request of the prisoner. I demand that the court
shall retire to deliberate upon it." "Since one of the members
desires it," Bradshaw gravely replied, "the court must retire,"
and they all proceeded to the adjacent hall.
{192}
Alone in the presence of all his colleagues, Downs was soon
overcome. The court resumed the sitting. Bradshaw declared to the
king that it rejected his proposal. "I will add nothing, sir,"
replied the king, visibly overwhelmed; "I would only desire that
what I have said may be recorded." And he listened to the
judgment in silence, with a serious gravity which only belied
itself towards the end. He appeared agitated, and endeavored to
speak. The whole court rose to give its assent to the sentence.
"Sir," said the king abruptly, "will you hear me, a word?"
Bradshaw.--"Sir, you are not to be heard after the sentence."
The King.--"No, sir?"
Bradshaw.--"No, sir, by your favor. Guard, withdraw your
prisoner."
The King.--"I may speak after the sentence. By your favor, sir, I
may speak after the sentence. ... By your favor ... hold ... The
sentence, sir ... I say, sir ... that ... I am not permitted to
speak; expect what justice other people will have."
At this moment some soldiers surrounded him, and dragged him
violently to the spot where his close chair awaited him. On
descending the staircase he was insulted; lighted pipes were
thrown under his feet; tobacco smoke was blown in his face. The
same threatening cry still resounded in his ears, "Justice!
execution!" With these exclamations, however, the people at times
mingled their own: "God save your Majesty! God deliver your
Majesty from the hands of your enemies!" As long as he was not
shut up in his chair the bearers remained bareheaded,
notwithstanding the threats and even the blows of Axtell.
Whitehall being reached, the king regained his composure; he
shrugged his shoulders at the cries of the soldiers. "Poor men,"
he said, on getting out of his chair, "for a little money they
would do as much against their commanders."
{193}
Having entered his apartment, "Herbert," said the king to his
faithful servant, "my nephew, the Prince Elector, will endeavor
to visit me, and some other lords that love me, which I would
take in good part, but my time is short and precious, I am
desirous to improve it the best I may in preparation. I hope they
will not take it ill that none have access unto me but my
children. The best office they can now do is to pray for me;" and
he sent for the Bishop of London, Juxon. As the latter, upon
approaching him, gave way to his grief, "Let us leave that, my
lord," said Charles, "we have no time to spare. Let us think of
our great affair. I must resign myself to meet my God. We will
not talk of those rogues in whose hands I am. They thirst for my
blood, and they will have it, and God's will be done. I thank God
I heartily forgive them, and I will talk of them no more!" He
remained all day closeted with the Bishop, receiving none of
those who presented themselves to see him.
On the morrow, the 29th, his children were brought to him. The
Princess Elizabeth, who was twelve years of age, burst into tears
at the sight of her father. The Duke of Gloucester, who was but
eight years old, cried on looking at his sister. The king took
them, upon his knees, and shared a few jewels between them. He
consoled his daughter, appointing some pious reading for her. He
enjoined her to tell her brothers that he had pardoned his
enemies; and to say to her mother that, to the last moment, he
would love her as on the first day.
{194}
Then, turning towards the little duke, "Sweetheart," he said to
him, "Now they will cut off thy father's head." The child looked
fixedly at him with a very serious air. "Mark, child, what I say!
They will cut off my head, and perhaps make thee king; but thou
must not be king as long as thy brothers Charles and James are
alive; for they will cut off thy brothers' heads when they can
catch them, and thy head too they will cut off at last.
Therefore, I charge thee, do not be made a king by them." "I will
be torn in pieces first," replied the child, greatly disturbed.
The king embraced him with delight, put him down, kissed his
daughter, and blessed them both; then suddenly rising, "Have them
taken away," he said to Juxon. The children went away in tears.
Charles took them back into his arms, and blessed them once more;
then, tearing himself from their caresses, he fell upon his knees
and resumed his prayers with the Bishop and Herbert, the only
witnesses of these sad farewells.
While the king was thus tasting the bitterness of death, his
judges met to sign the warrant for the execution. Great
difficulty was experienced in assembling the commissioners.
Nearly all were agitated and affected. Their signatures were
scarcely legible. Cromwell alone, gay, clamorous, and bold,
besmeared with ink the face of Martyn, who was seated beside him,
and held the hand of Colonel Ingoldsby to compel him to sign. The
ambassadors of the States-general of Holland, who had arrived
five days previously, and had been received by the Houses, saw
the preparations for the execution commence before Whitehall, and
when, on the morrow, they issued forth after a visit to General
Fairfax, who had promised them to cause a respite to be
solicited, they beheld the cavalry, which was clearing all the
avenues of Whitehall, and among the mob which overflowed into the
adjacent street they heard it repeated that all was ready, and
that the king would not delay long.
[Image]
King Charles' Children.
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The king had risen early.[Footnote 1]
[Footnote 1: The day of the death of Charles I. is celebrated
on the 30th of January, because England had not yet adopted
the Gregorian Calendar. The 30th of January, 1648,
corresponds with the 9th of February, 1649.]
[Transcriber's note: From Wikipedia article "Gregorian
calendar"; "In common usage, 1 January was regarded as New
Year's Day and celebrated as such, but from the 12th century
until 1751 the legal year in England began on 25 March (Lady
Day). So, for example, the Parliamentary record lists the
execution of Charles I. on 30 January as occurring in 1648
(as the year did not end until 24 March), although later
histories adjust the start of the year to 1 January and
record the execution as occurring in 1649.]
"I have a great work to do," he said to Herbert, and he began his
toilet. The hands of the faithful servant trembled in arranging
his hair. "Take, I pray you, the same pains as usual," said the
king; "although my head is not to remain long upon my shoulders,
I would be as trim to-day as a bridegroom. Let me have a shirt on
more than ordinary," he added, "the season is so sharp as
probably may make me shake, which some observers will imagine
proceeds from fear." The bishop had arrived and opened the
Gospel. He began the 27th chapter of St. Matthew, the narrative
of the passion of Our Lord. The king asked him, "if he had made
choice of that chapter, being so applicable to his present
condition?" "It is the proper lesson for the day," said the
bishop, touched by the coincidence. The king was at prayers; it
was ten o'clock. A light knock was heard at the door: it was
Colonel Hacker. He said in a low tone of voice, and almost
tremblingly, "It is time to go to Whitehall; your Majesty will
have there some further time to rest." "I will come presently,"
said Charles, and, after a moment's meditation, he descended with
the bishop, traversing the Park between the two lines of soldiers
drawn up along his passage, with a serene aspect, a bright
countenance, a firm step, walking even faster than the troop and
marvelling at their slowness. Arriving at Whitehall, he refused
the services of the Independent ministers who desired to pray
with him. "No," said Charles; "they have too often prayed against
me and without any reason to pray with me during my agony. If
they wish to pray for me, I shall be grateful to them."
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He received the communion from the hands of the bishop, and,
rising again, with alacrity, "Now," he said, "let those rogues
come. I have forgiven them from the bottom of my heart. I am
ready for all that is about to befall me." He would eat nothing;
Juxon insisted. "Your Majesty has fasted for a long time. It is
cold, perhaps upon the scaffold, some weakness ..." "You are
right," said the king. He ate a piece of bread and drank a glass
of wine. It was one o'clock; Hacker knocked at the door. Juxon
and Herbert fell upon their knees; it was the king who raised
them. He traversed the banqueting-hall; behind the line of
soldiers, a crowd of men and women, pale, motionless, praying for
the king as he passed. The soldiers did not use him roughly. At
the extremity of the hall, an opening made on the day previous
led to the scaffold, level with it and hung with black. Two men
stood near the axe, each in a sailor's attire and masked. The
king arrived, with head erect, endeavoring to catch the eye of
the people, to speak to them; but the troops alone covered the
spot. None could approach, and it was to Juxon and the colonel of
the guard, Tomlinson, that Charles addressed the little speech
which he had prepared. It was calm and grave even to coldness,
while maintaining that he had always been in the right in his
conduct as king. While he spoke, some one touched the axe.
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He turned abruptly around: "Do not hurt the axe that it may hurt
me," he said. His speech was ended; the most profound silence
reigned in the open space. The king himself arranged his hair
under a silken cap; then, turning towards the bishop, "I have a
good cause and a gracious God on my side." "Yes, Sire, there is
but one stage more; this stage is turbulent and troublesome. It
is a short one, but you may consider it will soon carry you a
very great way. It will carry you from earth to heaven." The king
replied, "I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown,
where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world." He had
taken off his collar of St. George and consigned it to the
bishop, saying to him, "Remember." Then he looked at the block.
"Be careful that it is set fast," he said to the executioner. "It
is fast, Sire." "I will offer up a short prayer, and when I put
my hands out this way (stretching them out), then." He collected
his thoughts, said a few words in a low tone of voice, raised his
eyes to heaven and knelt down, placing his head upon the block.
The executioner touched his hair to rearrange it under his cap.
The king thought he was about to strike. "Stay for the sign," he
said. "Yes I will, and until it please your Majesty." A moment
after the king stretched out his hands, and his head fell at the
first blow. "This is the head of a traitor," exclaimed the
executioner, showing it to the people; but a prolonged shudder
alone answered him, and the cavalry, advancing slowly through the
crowd, had great difficulty in dispersing the people, who had
rushed to the foot of the scaffold to steep their handkerchiefs
in the blood of the martyred king.
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The coffin remained exposed for seven days at Whitehall. Cromwell
caused it to be opened, and, taking the head in his hands, as
though to assure himself that it was really separated from the
trunk, "It appeared sound," he said, "and well made for a long
life."
On the 8th of February, a few faithful servants accompanied the
remains of their master to the tomb. It was at Windsor, in St.
George's Chapel, where the body of Henry VIII. reposed, that
Charles I. was to be buried. The sky was cloudless; but suddenly,
as the coffin crossed the courtyard of the castle, a heavy fall
of snow took place, and the pall of black velvet was completely
covered with it. The servants of the king saw therein the
heavenly sign of the innocence of their unhappy master. Juxon
prepared to officiate according to the rites of the Anglican
Church. Hacker opposed this. "The liturgy decreed by Parliament
is obligatory for the king as for all," he said. Juxon submitted,
and the coffin was lowered into the vault without any religious
ceremony. Those who were present prayed in their hearts.
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