Chapter XXXI.

James II. And The Revolution (1685-1688).

England never loved James II.: she dreaded his religion and that

unfeeling character of which he had so many times given proof.

The shrewd and liberal politicians had made great efforts to

exclude him from the throne; he was nevertheless proclaimed

without tumult and accepted peaceably by the nation. The great

revolution which was to be accomplished under his reign, and

which was to make England forever a free country, had not yet

begun, nor was there any presentiment of its approach.

This drama was to unfold itself slowly, and to display in its

progress successively the tyranny of the king and the resistance

of the nation. At the outset, James II. profited by the absolute

victory obtained by Charles II. in the last years of his reign.

It was an epoch of tranquillity and of good appearances, false at

the foundation, notwithstanding the royal protestations and the

assurances of confidence lavished on the new monarch. Already, in

the month of November, 1685, many disquieting acts and fatal

prognostics began to alarm the friends of liberty; and from this

time we may date the commencement of that progressive tyranny

which was to develop conspiracies and at the same time arouse

lively opposition and legal resistance throughout the country,

both within and without Parliament.

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James II.

{397}

In the third period of the reign of James II. from July, 1687, to

December, 1688, the nation and the king had evidently broken all

ties: the one aspired without reserve to the absolute triumph of

his will, the other defended proudly its attacked liberties. The

contest ended only with the overthrow of James II. and his flight

from England. It is necessary to follow step by step the episodes

of this great conflict--a conflict unavoidable from the nature of

the monarch who had just taken possession of the crown. To the

far-seeing eye, the accession of James II. was the sure pledge of

tyranny.

The mass of the nation was contented; the disquiet of political

plots had counterbalanced the indignation caused by the Papist

conspiracies, and public sentiment rallied around the throne; the

great national calamities which signalized some years of the

reign of Charles II.--war, pestilence, and fire--did not return

to scourge the people. No hardy innovator among the literary or

philosophical writers threw among the public such brands of

agitation and of discord as Lilburne had scattered in spite of

Cromwell or the Long Parliament. Milton died in 1674, having been

solely occupied since the Restoration with his great poem,

_Paradise Lost_, that masterpiece of religious and

philosophical poetry alone worthy of saluting Dante in his

sublime pilgrimage into the invisible world. The political

pamphlets which had but recently served his cause and which had

placed Milton in the front rank of English prose writers were

eclipsed, if not forgotten, by the brilliancy of that poetical

genius which had kept almost entirely silent during the ardent

contests for liberty. Cowley and Butler were also dead; Otway and

Waller mingled politics with their poetry.

{398}

Hobbes opened the door to a dangerous school of philosophy,

against which Bunyan, a poor laborer and strolling preacher,

defended his country without knowing it, by writing in the depths

of his prison the "_Pilgrim's Progress_," that strange and

profound book destined to take the first rank after the Bible in

the popular libraries of England. Dryden alone occupied a

brilliant position: his verse and prose were elegant, powerful,

rich, and energetic; but personally he was often corrupt, without

principle and without respect for himself or for his fame, as his

pretended conversion to Catholicism subsequently proved. Minds

were contemplative without being active: the revolution and the

Republic had not been propitious to literary development; while

the Restoration had profited by the leisure of Milton, it did not

at first realize his value; it was during a period of

intellectual calm as well as of political quiet that James II.

ascended the throne. The treaty of Ratisbon gave Europe hope for

some relaxation of the ambition of Louis XIV. The Emperor and

Spain had accepted his new conquests, "recognizing" said the

Marquis de la Fare, "that the empire of the French was a

necessary evil to the other nations." After so many and such

cruel blows, a moment of calm seemed to rest upon the world.

James II. was destined ere long to trouble this repose. It seemed

when he ascended the throne that his only desire was to render

his people happy. "They have spread abroad the report that I have

a desire for arbitrary power," said he, February 6th, in the

council which had assembled a few hours after the death of

Charles II., "but it is not the only calumny that they have

invented against me. I will do my utmost to maintain the

government of the State and the Church as I find it to-day.

{399}

I know that the principles of the Church of England are favorable

to monarchy, and that its members have proved themselves true and

loyal subjects; I shall therefore defend and sustain it. I know

also that the laws of England are sufficient to elevate a monarch

as high as I should desire. I have often risked my life to defend

this nation; I shall use the utmost of my power to preserve its

rights and liberties."

This declaration was received with applause. Already the

courtiers of Charles II. seemed to have lost the royal favor.

James II., though as debauched as his brother, did not affect his

license of conduct. "The appearance of the court changed

immediately," wrote Evelyn; "the aspect is more grave and moral,

the new king likes neither buffoons nor scoffers." Parliament was

convoked for the 15th of May.

The elections assured to the Tories an overwhelming majority.

"There are not more than forty members of the House of Commons

that I have not chosen myself," said the king. At the opening of

the session he repeated the promises he had already made before

the council; a word only betrayed the absolute temper of the new

monarch; in demanding that they accord him a fixed revenue for

life, as they had done to the king, his brother, he added, "They

may say to you that the best means of securing the frequent

assembling of Parliament will be to allow me means only according

to your will, and as you may think suitable; speaking today from

the throne, I respond, once for all, to this argument. This will

be a bad plan to adopt with me; the best means of securing

frequent assemblings is to treat me well."

{400}

Parliament voted the subsidies demanded. Already James II. had

performed an act of absolute power in continuing to collect the

custom duties, but recently accorded by the Houses to Charles II.

for life. Even the Whigs did not protest; they trusted to the

sincerity of the king. "We have for the protection of our church

the promise of a king," said a zealous preacher, "and of a king

who never belied his word." So soon were forgotten the perfidy

and faithlessness of the House of Stuart, of which James II. was

soon to show himself a worthy son.

Already some disquieting symptoms began to alarm the far-seeing

politicians. The king had thrown open the doors of his private

chapel, establishing thus at the outset his right of hearing mass

publicly. When Holy Week arrived and the services multiplied,

James required the most considerable personages of his household

to assist him in the ceremonies of his worship. Lord Godolphin,

who was a member of the queen's household, and accustomed to

accompanying her to the chapel, made no resistance. Lord

Rochester, although corrupt and arrogant, had nevertheless been

educated by his father, Lord Clarendon, to show a profound

respect for the Anglican Church; he refused to follow the king to

mass and obtained permission to retire to the country during

Easter. The Dukes of Ormond and Halifax remained in the

ante-chamber. The Duke of Norfolk, recently appointed to carry

the sword of the crown before the king, stopped at the door of

the chapel. "Your father would have gone farther, my lord," said

James. "Yours, who valued mine much, would not have come so far.

Sire," responded the duke. The religious pomps of the coronation,

celebrated after the Protestant ritual, did not suffice to

reassure their minds. Some remarked that the crown was too large

for the head of the king, and was also badly placed upon his

head. The supports of the dais gave way. Superstition, united to

forebodings of evil, began to awaken in the public the first

germs of an increasing restlessness.

{401}

It was nevertheless with a true though confused sincerity that

king James had promised religious liberty to his people. In his

desire to protect the English Church and to allow freedom to the

persecuted Dissenters, James II. had first in view the relief of

the Catholics, so long and so cruelly oppressed. This was

precisely what the Church and the Nonconformists equally feared.

One of the first acts of the king was to open the doors of the

prisons to all those who were detained by questions of

conscience. Scarcely had Parliament assembled when a bill was

presented begging of the crown the rigid enforcement of the laws

against all Dissenters, whoever they might be. James opposed this

measure, which would impose persecution on the Catholics; the

motion was modified. "The House trusts to the oft-repeated

promises of his Majesty to sustain and defend the religion of the

Church of England as established by law, which is more dear to us

than life." The king made no reply to this address; the

persecution of the Scotch Puritans was the only favor that he

granted.

The Scotch Parliament surpassed the English in submission and

zeal. The resources of the hereditary kingdom of the Stuarts were

limited; to the small subsidies which they were able to grant,

the Scotch Parliament added a decree which they believed would

satisfy King James: any preacher in a private meeting, any

preacher or auditor in a public assembly was to be from this fact

alone liable to the penalty of death.

{402}

Persecution was redoubled. Graham of Claverhouse overran the

country at the head of his dragoons, dispersing assemblies and

seizing, even in their homes, suspected persons. A poor carter of

the county of Lanark was shot down in the presence of his wife,

who clasped her terrified children in her arms. The fervent

prayers of the victim already troubled and alarmed Claverhouse.

"The day will come when you will have to render an account of

this to God and to men," cried the unhappy widow. "I will know

well how to account for my actions to men," replied the madman,

"and as for God, I challenge him."

Men and women died with equal courage. A young girl was fastened

to a post in the sea and left for the rising tide to engulf.

"Abjure, abjure!" they cried to her. "Leave me in peace,"

responded she; "I belong to Jesus Christ." The waves swept over

her.

The rigors exercised against the Scotch Presbyterians were not,

however, prejudicial to the king's cause. In England the idea of

liberty of conscience sometimes struck the persecuted. James

himself had been impressed by it when he suffered the penalties

imposed upon those of the Catholic faith. Having acquired power,

he soon forgot the sublime principle, and his people likewise

ignored it. The composition of his council, the want of favor

that he manifested towards certain popular men, the confidence

that he placed in others disliked by the people, occupied the

public mind more seriously than the sufferings of a few

Covenanters revolted from the Episcopal yoke.

{403}

On ascending the throne, James II. had openly announced his

intention of maintaining near his person all the councillors of

his brother; only a small number, however, were his friends. They

soon perceived this. Sunderland and Godolphin had lately voted

for the bill of exclusion that Halifax had defeated by the force

of his eloquence. These two ministers nevertheless were less

suspected by James than the brilliant chief of the Trimmers.

Irrevocably enrolled against the Papacy and tyranny, Halifax was

received by the king with flattering words. "I remember but a

single day in your life, my lord," said James; "it is that on

which you spoke against the Exclusion Bill." He said at the same

time to Barillon: "I know him; I cannot trust him. He shall not

employ his hand in public affairs."

Halifax soon succeeded, as president of the council, Lord

Rochester, who was placed at the head of the finances. The latter

alone shared with the Judge, Jeffreys, the confidence of the

king. His eldest brother, Lord Clarendon, replaced in Ireland the

old Duke of Ormond, a veteran of devotion to monarchy, honored by

all, too sincere in his Protestantism, too independent of

character, to please the government and serve the views of King

James. When he learned of his disgrace, the old servitor of

Charles I. gathered around him at a banquet all the officers of

the garrison at Dublin. He drank the health of the king, raising

with a firm hand his glass filled to the very brim. "I have not

spilled a single drop, gentlemen; my heart is as firm as my hand,

still they accuse me at court of having fallen into my dotage.

Long live King James!" His return to London resembled a triumph;

a crowd of gentlemen claimed the honor of escorting him.

{404}

Although disturbed by the religious and political tendencies of

its king, the English nation regarded with pleasure the proud and

independent attitude that he seemed to assume towards France and

Louis XIV. England had never pardoned Charles II. the sale of

Dunkirk, the treaty of Dover, nor any of the disgraceful bargains

so often negotiated between the two monarchs. A few days after

the accession of King James, Barillon received from his court a

sum of five hundred thousand pounds, destined to be immediately

delivered to the new sovereign. James II. was grateful, and at

first modest and flattering in his language towards the

ambassador of France. He excused himself for having convoked

Parliament without the advice of Louis XIV. "I know that I am

able to do nothing without the protection of the king, and that

it would be a wrong to my brother not to remain always faithful

to France. I will take care that Parliament does not meddle with

foreign affairs. If I see them disposed to act ill, I will send

them about their business." As testimony of his devotion, James

broke the engagements that bound him to Spain for the protection

of the Low Countries. Lord Churchill, the young favorite of the

new king, destined to become known throughout the entire world

under the name of the Duke of Marlborough, was charged with a

solemn embassy to carry to Louis XIV. the homage of the King of

England. "My attachment will endure as long as my life," were the

words used by James II. to the Grand Monarch. He was ignorant as

yet of all the claims to his devotion that Louis XIV. was to

acquire.

{405}

Parliament had scarcely assembled when King James already changed

a little his tone towards France; he had found among his people

more docility and generosity than he had expected; his revenues

were assured to him during his life; he raised his head, assumed

boldly the equality due his rank, and resolved, he said, to

maintain with a firm hand the equilibrium of Europe. When the

Marshal of Lorge came to London to repay the visit of the embassy

of Lord Churchill, James received him, seated and covered, as his

envoy had been received at Versailles. "Our brother the King of

England speaks rather loftily," said Louis XIV. smiling, "but he

nevertheless loves well the guineas." A few months only elapsed

before James II. asked for new subsidies. The resources furnished

him by Parliament were no longer sufficient for his expenses. He

was in the face of an insurrection, and believed himself obliged

henceforth to maintain a standing army--a constant object of

terror in England. The Duke of Argyll and the Duke of Monmouth

lived as exiles in Holland, that refuge for all men driven from

their country on account of their political or religious

opinions. The Duke of Argyll had been there already four years;

the Duke of Monmouth only a few months. They were surrounded by a

certain number of the proscribed of all parties. Their origin and

conditions were diverse--men of law, as Ayloffe and Wade,

compromised in the Whig conspiracies; old Cromwellians like

Rumboldt; gentlemen of the court, as Lord Grey of Wark;

ecclesiastics and pamphleteers, as Ferguson. On the death of King

Charles, the ambitious projects of Monmouth were reawakened. The

restless spirits among the exiles conceived the idea of creating

an insurrection in England, and securing the aid of Monmouth by

dazzling him with the prospect of a crown.

{406}

He had already quitted The Hague; always prudent and circumspect,

William of Orange had given a refuge at his court to the

well-beloved son of Charles II. When James II. ascended the

throne he requested him to withdraw. The conspirators found him

at Brussels. He had retired there with Lady Wentworth, to whom he

was passionately attached, and it was with great difficulty that

they induced him to place himself at the head of the

insurrection. He had little confidence in the enterprise, and

from the beginning had but faint hopes of its success. At the

same time it was determined to make an attempt upon Scotland.

Argyll counted upon the fidelity of his clan; he knew that the

Campbells would sacrifice themselves, to the last man, in his

name and for his cause; he also believed himself assured of the

rising of the persecuted Presbyterians. The two conspiracies, at

first distinct and almost hostile, finally united. They resolved

to make a descent upon the west coast of Scotland. This movement,

headed by Argyll, was to be supported by a descent on England

under the leadership of Monmouth. Ayloffe and Rumboldt

accompanied the Scottish expedition. Fletcher of Saltoun,

republican and aristocrat, eloquent and learned, was to follow

the fortunes of Monmouth. The young chief became encouraged.

Ambitious hopes were awakened in his breast. He received letters

from England urging him to action. "The Earl of Richmond had but

a handful of men when he landed in England two hundred years

ago," wrote Wildman, one of the most dangerous instigators of

this plot; "yet a few days later, after the battle of Bosworth,

he was proclaimed king as Henry VII."

{407}

"True," responded Fletcher of Saltoun, "but Richmond had the

support of the barons and their retainers, while Richard III. had

not at his disposal a single regiment of regular troops." On May

2, 1685, Argyll set sail with a fleet of three small vessels.

King James, informed of the preparations, demanded of the States

of Holland that measures should be taken to prevent the departure

of the expedition. The city of Amsterdam was hostile to the House

of Nassau, and her magistrates took pleasure in thwarting the

plans and wishes of the Prince of Orange, who was very desirous

at this time to maintain amicable relations with his

father-in-law. The Scotch expedition was consequently able to

depart without molestation. On the 6th, Argyll touched at the

Orkney Islands.

The duke was nominally at the head of the expedition, but in

reality the control of the same was in the hands of a commission,

charged to watch and direct it actions. While they were wasting

their valuable time in discussions and quarrels. King James, with

prudent activity, occupied the country adjacent to the territory

of Argyll. He roused the peasantry by his appeals, but the gentry

were either absent or secretly favorable to the invaders;

eighteen hundred men only united themselves to Tarbet. The "fiery

cross" had overrun the country. A manifesto, prepared by James

Stewart, a Scotch lawyer, recalled the grievances of the nation

against King James. It was in the name of the persecuted

Presbyterian Church, so dear to its followers, that the Scotch

were called upon to revolt. Against his better judgment, Argyll

was obliged to divide his little army; he remained in the

Highlands with Rumboldt, while Sir Patrick Hume and Cochrane,

more jealous of their chief than ardent for combat, directed a

small expedition towards the Lowlands. Their expectation was that

the entire people would rise at their approach.

{408}

The conspirators and their friends were deceived concerning the

temper of the persecuted Covenanters; they had no more confidence

in the religious faith of Argyll than in the Papacy of James;

persecuted, hunted, massacred, they hoped only for a miraculous

deliverance; they neither desired nor expected any other; "the

sword of the Lord and of Gideon" appeared alone worthy to save

the Church; they did not recognize these invaders as a holy army

come to their relief. The enthusiasts who had defended their

assemblies with the sword failed to join the army of Cochrane; in

vain the two detachments rejoined the Duke of Argyll at Bute;

disorder only increased, and each day some new defection

diminished the forces of the insurgents. The castle of Ealan

Ghineg, which contained all the provisions and supplies, was

delivered without a blow to the royal troops; their boats having

been captured, a panic seized the insurgents--the most ardent

refused to march on Glasgow, as Argyll desired. A strong

detachment of red-coats appearing on the horizon, both leaders

and followers sought safety in flight. Hume fled to the

Continent; Cochrane was arrested and sent to London; the Duke of

Argyll, after wandering many days about the country, was finally

surrounded by a few straggling militiamen; he endeavored to

defend himself; when captured and bound he disclosed his name to

his countrymen; tears filled their eyes on beholding the

misfortunes of their celebrated chief; but the love of gain soon

caused them to stifle the feelings of compassion, and they led

Argyll to Renfrew.

{409}

The duke was condemned in advance; an unjust sentence of death

had been for a long time hanging over his head. "I know nothing

about Scotch law," said Halifax; "but I am well assured that here

we would not hang a dog on such evidence as they have employed to

condemn the Duke of Argyll." As the prisoner entered the Castle

of Edinburgh, after having passed through the city on foot and

with head uncovered, he received the announcement of his speedy

death; he was threatened at the same time with torture. They

wished at any price to extort from him information concerning his

countrymen; as to who were accomplices or abettors of the

insurrection.

Although indifferent as a military commander, and ill qualified

for a politician, Argyll was firm in prison, bravely confronting

death, solely occupied regarding the evils that he had brought

upon his clan. Disdainful of suffering, piously absorbed in the

thought of soon appearing before his Maker, Argyll inspired with

respect all who approached him. "God has softened their hearts,"

he said; "I did not expect so much kindness." He was not

subjected to the torture. "I have implicated no one," wrote the

duke, the morning of his execution (June 30th), "God, in his

mercy, has marvellously sustained me." He walked to the scaffold,

whence he wrote to his wife, "My heart, God is unchangeable; He

hath always been good and gracious to me; and no place alters

Him. Forgive me all my faults; and now comfort thyself in Him, in

whom only true comfort is to be found. The Lord be with thee,

bless and comfort thee, my dearest, adieu!"

{410}

Rumboldt died several days before his chief. Seized like him by a

band of troops, he fought so valiantly that there scarcely

remained a breath of life in his body. Supported under the gibbet

by two men, he raised his dying voice that he might be heard by

the people: "I die faithful to that which I have believed all my

life," cried he. "I have always detested Papacy and tyranny; I

have always been a friend to limited monarchy, but I have never

believed that Providence sent a handful of men into the world

booted and spurred, to ride, and millions of other beings saddled

and bridled, to be ridden. I desire to bless and magnify God's

holy name that I am not here for any wrong that I have done, but

for adhering to His cause in an evil day. If each hair in my head

were a man, in this quarrel I would venture them all." The drum

of the soldiers drowned his last words. The Rye House plot was

not forgotten in the repentance of the old soldier of Cromwell.

"I have always held assassination in horror!" he said;

nevertheless it was under his roof that they conspired to

ambuscade King Charles and the Duke of York. Ayloffe opened a

vein; he was carried to London and questioned by James himself.

"You will find it to your advantage to be frank with me," said

the king; "you know that it is in my power to pardon you." "It

may be in your power, but it is not in your nature!" replied the

prisoner. Many people were punished in Scotland; a great number

of Campbells were executed without a trial. The Scotch rebels had

not yet suffered the penalties of their rebellion when England

was already agitated by the descent of Monmouth, who landed at

the port of Lyme upon the coast of Dorset.

{411}

Having escaped from Holland like Argyll, by the connivance of the

commissaries of the admiralty at Amsterdam, he had been detained

by bad weather, and it was not until the 11th of June that he

reached the soil of England. The cry was raised, "A Monmouth! a

Monmouth! The Protestant religion!" A declaration of the most

libelous character was read at the market-cross; it was the work

of Ferguson. James was accused of having burned London, having

strangled Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, having cut the throat of Essex,

and having poisoned King Charles. It was for all these crimes

that he was declared to have forfeited his right to the throne,

in the name of the menaced religion. The Duke of Monmouth, who

might have proved his legitimate birth and claim to the crown,

made no pretensions to any title except that of captain-general

of the English Protestants-in-arms against tyranny and Papacy.

The people of the west of England had not forgotten the young man

who had passed triumphantly through the towns and villages so

recently, by the acclamations of the people. The peasants flocked

in large numbers to his standard; about fifteen hundred men had

already assembled around him, when he sent, on the 14th of June,

a detachment against Bridport. The royal troops began to

assemble.

Parliament hurled declaration upon declaration against the

pretensions of Monmouth. King James profited by the alarm of the

Houses to obtain a subsidy; the members withdrew to their homes

to urge the people to remain faithful to the royal cause. The

Duke of Albemarle, son of General Monk, commanded a body of

militia in the west; Churchill and Lord Feversham advanced

against the insurgents at the head of the regular troops.

{412}

Lord Grey was easily repulsed before Bridport, and fled in a

cowardly manner. Fletcher of Saltoun, having killed his adversary

in a quarrel, was obliged on account of the public indignation to

seek refuge on board the boats of the duke, whence he fled to

Hungary, where he fought against the Turks. Nevertheless,

Monmouth advanced continually; Albemarle dared not give him

battle, so many of his troops seemed ill-disposed. The city of

Taunton opened its gates to the insurgents; the population was

wealthy, had been devoted to Parliament during the civil war, and

numbered a great many Nonconformists; the daughters of the best

families came before the duke offering him a standard and a

Bible. He received the holy volume with reverence. "I come," he

said, "to defend the truths contained in this book, and to seal

them, if it must be so, with my blood." Monmouth thus announced

himself "Defender of the Faith"--an integral part of the royal

titles. He soon went further, and on the 20th of June was

proclaimed king at Taunton, not without some repugnance on his

part, history has assured us. In order to avoid the confusion

which must inevitably arise from his name (James II.), the most

of his followers saluted him with the strange title of King

Monmouth. From village to village the proclamation was repeated,

to the great indignation of the partisans of the Princess Mary.

The great lords and country gentlemen failed to join this small

army of rebels.

{413}

The peasants and workmen of the villages were for the most part

without arms; they had begun their undertaking at the wrong end,

as the Vendéan peasants did a hundred years later. Monmouth

lacked money; he meditated a surprise upon Bristol, where he

hoped to find abundant resources; but the king's troops had

already taken possession of that city, on their return through

Wiltshire; the rebels in vain summoned Bath to open its gates.

Obliged to seek refuge at Philips-Norton, into which the Duke of

Grafton had forced an entrance, Monmouth felt his courage

abandoning him; he thought of withdrawing and seeking safety on

the Continent, in place of the glory which he had labored for in

vain. He sought the advice of his adherents: Lord Grey urged him

not to abandon the poor peasants who had risked all for him.

Monmouth gave up his contemplated flight, but was uncertain what

plan of campaign to adopt, wandering from Wells to Bridgewater,

when the royal troops, commanded by Feversham, appeared in view

of the insurgent army. Four thousand men were encamped upon the

plain of Sedgemoor; the duke observing from afar the standards of

the regiment of Dumbarton, but recently so familiar to him. "I

know those men," sadly remarked the young invader; "they will

fight; if I had but them, all would go well."

Feversham was an indifferent general; Monmouth possessed more

than ordinary military talents, but it mattered little that his

positions were well chosen and his night attack well planned; he

commanded men badly armed, inexperienced and undisciplined, and

no matter how great their courage, it was not enough to enable

them to withstand the attack of regular troops and the discharges

of artillery to which they were soon unable to respond.

{414}

Lord Grey's progress being arrested by a trench of whose

existence he was not aware, immediately turned his back to the

enemy. The peasants defended themselves heroically; the miners

from Mendip knocked down all who approached them with the

butt-end of their muskets. They were still fighting when Monmouth

took to flight, abandoning his unfortunate followers. Fifteen

hundred corpses of the rebels strewed the plain, and five hundred

prisoners were taken before the struggle terminated. Two days

later Monmouth fell into the hands of a detachment of soldiers

sent in search of him. "Now," said Barillon, with a sagacity true

but malicious, "all the zealous Protestants will rest their hopes

on the Prince of Orange."

No one hoped for mercy from the king. If Monmouth thought for a

moment that possibly his life might be spared, his interview with

James II. taught him his error. "Remember, Sire, that I am the

son of your brother," cried the unhappy young man, throwing

himself at the feet of the monarch; "it is your own blood that

you shed in shedding mine." "Your crime is too great," coldly

replied the king. The queen, it was said, was even more

hard-hearted. Showing great weakness at first, and apparently

overcome at the thought of death, piteously begging for "life,

only life, life at any price," Monmouth nevertheless recovered

his firmness in the presence of such pitiless resolution. "Very

well," said he at last, "I have nothing more to do but to die."

For an instant, the unfortunate prisoner was cowardly enough to

seek to save his life by abjuring the Protestant faith, of which

he had styled himself the "Defender." Disabused, however, of that

hope, he refused the absolution offered him by the priests of the

royal chapel.

[Image]

"Remember, Sire, I am your Brother's Son."

{415}

The Anglican bishops were not entirely satisfied with his

repentance. They wished to obtain from him a confession of that

doctrine of non-resistance which he had openly violated. The

irregularities of his private life also excited their pious

indignation. The duke at first refused to see his wife; when he

finally received her, their interview was brief and cold. "I die

penitent," repeated Monmouth; and as the bishops accompanied him

to the foot of the scaffold, "I come here not to speak, but to

die," said the young man; "pray for me." The name of the king was

mingled in the episcopal intercessions. "Will you not pray for

the king?" asked one of the clergy. Monmouth remained silent a

moment; then, as if making a great effort, finally said, "Amen."

He turned towards the executioner: "Look well to your axe," said

he, "and do not hack me as you did my Lord Russell." He placed

his head upon the block. Monmouth's appeal disconcerted the

executioner; his hand trembled; blow after blow was struck, and

yet the neck was not severed. The crowd were about to tear him in

pieces when the head of the victim finally fell. The populace

rushed up to dip their handkerchiefs in the blood of the young

duke. Frivolous and superficial, without true courage or personal

valor, he possessed that art of gaining hearts which seems

sometimes independent of all true merit. The peasants of the

western counties long worshipped Monmouth's memory; they refused

to admit that he was dead, and many times impostors passed

through the counties of Dorset and Wilts claiming to be the duke,

miraculously raised from the dead, and were honored and feted.

{416}

Men long remember those for whom they have suffered. Many

peasants of the west had perished on the field of battle, under

the standards of Monmouth; many more were to suffer severely for

their fidelity to him. Already Colonel Kirke, at the head of his

regiment from Tangier, overran the insurgent counties, and his

"Lambs," as his soldiers were called, in remembrance of the

Pascal Lamb--represented on their banner while in Africa--spread

everywhere terror and death. At each toast drunk by the officers,

a rebel prisoner was executed. The toasts were numerous, the

orgies prolonged. The love of money sometimes checked the cruelty

of "the Butcher of Taunton." Those who possessed sufficient

fortune were sometimes allowed to purchase their lives. Around

the inn where Kirke had established his quarters, they waded

ankle deep in blood. The country was depopulated; all those who

were able to gain the coast embarked for America: they fled from

the barbarity of Kirke and from the "justice" of Jeffreys.

Guilford, the Keeper of the Seals, had just died, sadly humbled

and discouraged towards the end of a life of cowardly servility.

King James promised the office to Jeffreys, on his return from

the circuit, which he had just undertaken in the western

counties--a splendid recompense for "The Bloody Assizes." The

great judge resolved to merit the reward.

Naturally cruel and basely corrupt, habitually excited by

continual intoxication, Jeffreys had consecrated to the service

of the worst passions an indomitable energy united to rare

judicial qualifications. He was never pleasing to Charles II.,

who had often employed him at the instigation of the Duke of

York. "This man," said he, "has neither learning, good sense, nor

manners, and more impudence than ten depraved women."

{417}

Under the reign of the hard and cruel James, Jeffreys abandoned

himself without reserve to his savage passions; he was not

contented with condemning, torturing, and inflicting the extreme

penalties permitted by law against his victims, but he also

delighted in taunting the accused, following them with sarcasms

and insults to the very foot of the scaffold. The odious task

with which he was charged after the insurrection of Monmouth

suited his disposition. While at London, Lord Grey, Sir John

Cochrane, and a few others purchased their lives by their

cowardly revelations. The great judge carried from village to

village his bloody tribunal and corps of executioners. Everywhere

cynical and cruel, obliging his victims to confess their guilt in

order to obtain a day's respite, and executing those on the spot

who protested their innocence, he surrounded himself with an

atmosphere of such terror that the people dared not speak in

favor of the condemned. The friends of Lady Lisle ventured,

however, to plead her cause; she was the aged widow of Lord

Lisle, a judge during the reign of Charles I., who was but lately

assassinated in Scotland, whither he had fled. She had given an

asylum to more than one Cavalier during the revolution, and "no

woman in England," she said, "mourned more bitterly the death of

the king."

{418}

Always compassionate, she had concealed a Nonconformist minister

and an advocate compromised in the Rye House plot. Both were

found in her house; she was ignorant, she declared, of what they

were accused; neither of them had been brought to trial, when

Lady Lisle was led before the tribunal of Jeffreys. The witnesses

one after the other were terrified by the violence of the judge.

The jury hesitated, recoiling before the odious sentence that was

expected of them. "What liars these Presbyterians are!" cried

Jeffreys; "show me a Presbyterian and I'll show thee a lying

knave." He threatened to lock up the jury in the hall for the

night if they did not hasten their decision. Lady Lisle was

condemned to be burned. The clemency of the king mitigated the

sentence. The pious woman walked without fear to the scaffold.

Some months later, at London, another woman, of a more humble

condition, animated by the same charitable spirit, suffered at

the stake for assistance she had given to James Burton,

compromised, like the protégés of Lady Lisle, in the plots of

1683. "My fault was one which a prince might well have forgiven,"

said Elizabeth Gaunt as they arranged the straw of her funeral

pile; "I did but relieve a poor family, and lo! I must die for

it." "The people were moved to tears," relates William Penn, the

illustrious founder of Pennsylvania, who was present at the

execution. Loud lamentations arose from the western counties.

Dorsetshire, Wiltshire, Devonshire, and Somersetshire were strewn

with corpses, bristling with gibbets, depopulated by exile,

transportation, and the sale of the condemned, some of whom,

abandoned to the avidity of courtiers, were reduced to slavery in

the West Indies. The ladies of honor of the queen shared the

fines imposed upon the young girls of Taunton, who had made a

part of the deputation sent to welcome Monmouth. Some of the

accused ventured to bring their complaints to the foot of the

throne. The sister of Benjamin and William Hewling, young men of

great promise, presented herself at Whitehall with a petition.

Lord Churchill introduced her. "I wish you well to your suit,"

said he, as they entered; "but do not flatter yourself with

hopes; this marble," and he laid his hand on the chimney-piece,

"is not harder than the king." James was inexorable. The soldiers

wept while leading the young men to the gallows.

{419}

The "campaign of Jeffreys," as the king himself called it, was at

last completed; he returned to London stained with the blood of

his victims, loaded with silent maledictions which weigh even to

this day upon his memory. "The air of Somersetshire is tainted

with death, and one cannot go a step without encountering some

horrible spectacle," wrote Bishop Ken to the king. The assizes of

London were opened, directed against the middle class, still

obstinately rebellious. Many perished; some compromised like

Cornish in the Rye House plot; others convicted for trivial

offences, like the physician Bateman, who was hanged and

quartered for having dressed the wounds of Titus Oates, that

cowardly and cruel instigator of so many crimes, who had received

his terrible punishment at the beginning of the reign of James

II. Religious persecution was added to political persecution.

Never in England were the Nonconformists pursued with such rigor.

Jeffreys received the "seals" as a reward for his zeal. Nearly

four years later, when he was confined in the Tower, trembling

under the popular indignation, Jeffreys protested that he had

never surpassed the orders of his master, but had even softened

their terror. At St. Germain, James threw upon Jeffreys the

overwhelming weight of the "Bloody Assizes." The king and the

judge are equally condemned by posterity.

{420}

The national sentiment sustained James in his struggle against

the insurgents; both Parliament and the Church had demonstrated

their loyalty; but the cruelty of his vengeance revolted their

honest hearts, and disquieted those who feared the future. An

event in France at this time exercised great influence over the

spirit of the nation. Louis XIV., led astray by the dangerous

intoxication of absolute power, seduced and deceived by

flatterers or fanatics, believed himself powerful enough to

impose his will upon the consciences of his subjects. Convinced

that nothing could resist him, and that the work of conversion

was well advanced by preliminary persecutions, he revoked the

Edict of Nantes on the 22d of October, 1685. Already a fugitive

multitude, inundating the Protestant countries, proved to Europe

the religious firmness of the reformed faith, as well as the

little value with which arbitrary sovereigns regard the most

solemn pledges accorded to their subjects. When the rumor of this

intention reached England, Barillon wrote to Louis XIV.: "That

which most vexes the English is, that they see no means of

preventing that which your Majesty has undertaken. They speak

freely in London of what is taking place in France, and many

people think, and even say, that it is in consequence of

England's not being governed by a Protestant king." And again,

some days after the Revocation: "I have spoken to the king in

regard to the language used in his court concerning your Majesty,

and of the impropriety of allowing such freedom of speech. I said

to him that I had not as yet rendered an account of these

proceedings to your Majesty, but I prayed him to repress an

insolence which ought not to be allowed."

{421}

It was not in the power of the English king to stifle this

national sentiment; he was obliged to conform to it in a certain

measure; the fugitive Protestants were received in England, and

their necessities relieved by public charity. I have said that

James II. nourished in his heart certain ideas of religious

liberty; the horror inspired in his people by the persecution

upon the Continent of those of the reformed faith, reanimated in

the heart of the king the desire to relieve his Catholic subjects

of the burdens weighing upon them. More powerful than he had yet

been, deceived by the easy victory gained over the rebels, James

resolved to push forward his triumph. The oppression exercised by

Louis XIV. against his Protestant people interfered with the

plans of James II. in favor of the liberty of the Catholics; the

King of England declared himself free from all engagements with

France. He had just concluded a defensive alliance with the

United Provinces. The policy of Halifax seemed to have great

weight in the royal councils, when, on the 20th of October, 1685,

on the eve of the opening of the session, Halifax suddenly

learned that the king had no further need of his services. James

thus gave to the growing opposition a leader most skillful and

experienced. It was in the name of principles the most dear to

England that the contest was to be waged between the prince and

his subjects. James had announced his intention of repealing the

Act of Habeas Corpus--an act obtained with great difficulty

during the preceding reign, and an object of national pride to

the Tories as well as to the Whigs. He projected an increase of

the standing army, although the troops he already maintained were

a cause of alarm to the most faithful adherents of royalty, even

among old Cavaliers who had so recently seen a Republican army

impose laws upon both Parliament and king.

{422}

Finally, in contempt of the most solemn promises made before his

people at the time of his accession to the throne, he proposed to

open the way to public offices to the Catholics. While waiting

for the repeal of the Test Act, the king had already placed a

number of Catholic officers at the head of his troops. The final

disgrace of Halifax was due to his persevering resistance. He had

formally said, "I will never vote for the abolition of the Test

Act, or the repeal of the Act of Habeas Corpus."

The Habeas Corpus Act has remained one of the guarantees of

individual liberty most justly dear to the English people. The

Test Act has been swept away, as it deserved to be, by the

progress of justice and religious tolerance: each was a part of

the English law, and the king could not violate either without

breaking his oath. The profound distrust that the principles of

the king inspired even in this Parliament, so loyal and devoted,

displayed itself on the day of the opening, when James, in his

speech from the throne, announced the additions that he had made

to the regular army, expressing at the same time his contempt for

the militia, and recalling the weakness they had shown during the

insurrection. "I know well," he added, "that you will find among

the new officers admitted into my service, men who have not taken

the test. They are for the most part personally known to me, and

have given me assurances of their fidelity. Besides, to speak

frankly, after having used them in a moment of danger, I do not

wish them to be disgraced, nor to be myself deprived of their

assistance should a new rebellion render them necessary."

{423}

This was high language: the House of Commons manifested their

disapprobation at once. It proposed the increase of the militia,

offered to the king seven hundred thousand pounds sterling in

place of the twelve hundred thousand demanded by the ministers,

and promised that the Catholic officers already in the army

should be relieved from the penalties legally imposed upon them,

since they could not be lawfully employed without the authority

of Parliament. The censure was respectful, notwithstanding its

firmness. James was irritated by it. In responding to the address

of the Commons he reproached them for their jealousy and

distrust, and said: "However you may proceed on your part, I will

be very steady in all the promises which I have made to you." "I

hope that we are all Englishmen," said John Coke, a noted Tory,

"and that we shall not be frightened from our duty by a few high

words." The House sent the audacious member to the Tower.

Nevertheless, the Lords followed the example of the Commons, and

protested against the irregular nominations in the army. On the

20th of November King James prorogued Parliament until the 10th

of February, resolved to accomplish alone and by his absolute

authority that reform which the public sentiment of his people

refused him.

"The Catholics are not now in accord," wrote Barillon to Louis

XIV.; "the ablest, and those highest in the king's confidence,

know well that this conjuncture is the most favorable that they

may hope for, and that if they allow it to pass by, it may be a

very long time ere another such opportunity returns. The Jesuits

are of this opinion, which is, without doubt, most reasonable,

but the rich and well-established Catholics fear the future, and

apprehend a reaction, which may ruin them. Those nearest the

court of Rome share this opinion."

{424}

Innocent XI. in fact had given to the Nuncio this prudent

counsel: "The safety and advantage of the Catholics depend upon a

reunion of his Majesty with his Parliament." "What a great shame

and outrage this quarrel is!" replied the Nuncio. Italian

sagacity comprehended the advantages of a constitutional policy

to the Catholics, as against the dangers which might arise from

royal favors tainted with illegality.

French artifice in the service of Louis XIV. desired an entirely

different result. The secret intrigues of Barillon and of his

coadjutor Bonrepaux tended to raise the temper of Parliament by

exciting both the religious zeal and absolute temper of the

sovereign. The advances of the court of Spain to the King of

England disquieted France. "The news from Madrid is alarming,"

wrote the king; "they menace us with an alliance between England

and the court of Austria, at the moment the king is assured that

Parliament will no longer embarrass him." "They flatter him with

the hope of holding the balance of power in Europe, and of being

regarded as the only one capable of checking the power and

designs of your Majesty," responded Barillon. The interest of

France was evidently to maintain discord between the King of

England and his Parliament. The narrow obstinacy of James II.,

the inconsiderate zeal of a small fraction of the Catholics, and

the audacious cleverness of the Jesuits, actively served the

views of Louis XIV.

{425}

"I will not make concessions; my father made concessions, and he

was beheaded," often remarked King James. The nation demanded of

the king that he remain faithful to his engagements; he regarded

the fidelity of a prince as a concession, and absolute submission

as the simple duty of the subject. One principle alone remained

to him of his education by the English Church: he admitted the

doctrine of non-resistance, and charged the bishops to

strenuously enforce the same. Already the discourse of the Bishop

of London, Compton, delivered on the 19th of November in the

House of Lords, astonished and irritated him. "The civil and

religious constitutions of the kingdom are in peril," the prelate

had the audacity to say. One resource remained to the king: the

"_dispensing power_," which gave him, he thought, the right

to suspend the action of the penal laws. He resolved to exercise

this power before the reassembling of Parliament.

The policy of the Council favored the development of arbitrary

power. Rochester succumbed beneath the double weight of his

attachment to Protestantism and of a scandalous intrigue that he

had plotted, in order to fortify his influence, by aiding the

favorite of the king, Catherine Sedley. Father Petre, a clever

Jesuit, recently admitted into the closest intimacy with the

king, had succeeded, by his pious exhortations, in bringing about

the dismissal of the favorite; he seconded at the same time the

efforts of the converted Sunderland to supplant Rochester.

Already a solemn embassy had been sent to Rome; at the same time

King James renounced all his foreign projects. "I am in no

condition to trouble myself about what passes abroad," said he to

the Spanish ambassador. "It is my resolution to let foreign

affairs take their course, to establish my authority at home, and

to do something for my religion." The revival of French influence

soon manifested itself.

{426}

A collection ordered for the benefit of the Huguenot refugees

realized a much larger sum than the king desired. "This prince

shows great aversion to them," writes Barillon, "and would gladly

have dispensed with this contribution; for he knows well that the

people most ill disposed towards himself are the most prompt and

willing to give to this cause." The funds passed through the

hands of the royal commissioners, the Chancellor at their head.

As the fugitives presented themselves to receive assistance, "It

is the good pleasure of the king," announced Jeffreys, "that no

charity be given save to those who will receive the sacrament

according to the rites of the Church of England." The Huguenots

were deeply attached to those traditional forms of that church

for which they had suffered so much. "They retired with sad

hearts," wrote Lady Russell to her chaplain, Dr. Fltzwilliam.

Some days later James caused to be burned by the hangman before

the Royal Exchange a writing of the celebrated minister Claude, a

refugee in Holland, entitled, "_The Complaints of the

Protestants, cruelly persecuted in France_." The Chancellor

had not been advised of this concession to the pride of Louis

XIV. Even he was startled, and ventured to protest. James would

not suffer the question to be discussed. "My resolution is

taken," said he; "dogs defend each other when they are attacked:

why should not kings do as much?" The effect upon the public was

very great. "Perhaps your Majesty will not judge this affair to

be as important as it appears here," wrote Barillon; "but nothing

has happened since the accession of the king which has made a

greater impression upon the public mind."

{427}

Twice already the reassembling of Parliament had been postponed.

The king was working upon the magistrates, resolved to obtain an

opinion favorable to the exercise of the "_dispensing

power_." Already several judges and the Solicitor-General had

been dismissed; the affair of Sir Edward Hales, recently

converted to Catholicism, and appointed colonel of an infantry

regiment, was decided in his favor. It was recognized that the

royal authority was sufficient to remove all obstacles. One judge

alone, of moderate reputation, named Street, dissented. The gate

was henceforth open: four Catholic lords--Powis, Bellasyse,

Arundel, and Dover--were admitted into the Privy Council.

Catholic officers, up to that time silently tolerated, now

multiplied in the army. "It is to annul the whole statute law

from the accession of Elizabeth to this day," said the

Attorney-General, Sawyer.

King James was not contented with his legal victory; he wished to

carry into the Church of England the signs of his triumph. "God

has permitted," said he to Barillon, "that all the laws which

have been made for establishing the Protestant religion and

destroying the Catholic will serve presently as a foundation for

what I purpose to do for the true religion." By virtue of the act

of supremacy, ecclesiastics believed to be secretly Catholics

were raised to the vacant bishoprics. "I wished to appoint avowed

Catholics," said James to the Nuncio Adda, "but the time is not

yet come. Parker (the new Bishop of Oxford) is with us at heart;

he will soon lead his clergy." Mass was celebrated every day in

Christ Church, under the direction of John Massey, appointed

dean.

{428}

The preachers of the English Church were prohibited from opening

any controversy. Dr. Sharp, Dean of Norwich and Rector of St.

Giles', a man of great piety and much learning, disobeyed this

injunction. The Bishop of London received an order to suspend

him. Compton hesitated, excused himself, and engaged Sharp to

keep silence.

The Court of High Commission, an ancient power, odious to the

nation, abolished by two acts of Parliament, was re-established

against the Church that it pretended to govern. This court was

presided over by the Chancellor, violent to barbarity even in the

ordinary tribunals, where he was restrained by legal forms--

henceforward unchecked in his authority over those placed

arbitrarily under his jurisdiction. The Archbishop of Canterbury

(Sancroft), appointed by the king, refused to sit; the Bishops of

Durham and Rochester were weak enough to accept their

nominations. The Earl of Rochester cowardly consented to serve,

thereby yielding his influence to the tyranny which menaced the

Church. The Bishop of London was called before the new tribunal.

He had refused to suspend Dr. Sharp; he was, in consequence,

himself suspended from his ecclesiastical functions, and the care

of his vast diocese was confided to the bishops who had consented

to judge him. The magistrates informed the king that it was

impossible to drive Compton from his palace and sequester his

revenues. "We should be obliged to decide against the crown,"

said the great Judge Herbert.

{429}

The same energy was shown through all the kingdom: everywhere

convents were established and Catholic chapels opened; the

council of the city protested against the consecration of a place

of Catholic worship in Lime street. "The men of the long robe are

of the opinion that the thing is illegal," said the Lord Mayor.

He was called before the Privy Council. "Take heed what you do,"

said the king; "obey me, and do not trouble yourself about

gentlemen of the long robe or gentlemen of the short robe." The

people threatened the Catholics; in many places the chapels were

surrounded and the worshippers insulted. The king assembled

troops on Hounslow Heath; a camp was formed there with the

intention of intimidating the capital. The inhabitants of London

repaired thither in crowds, conversing familiarly with the

soldiers. The influence of public opinion became more efficacious

than fear. The troops were gained over by the people. A preacher

named Johnson, more ardent than prudent or judicious, was

condemned to degradation and the lash for having spread abroad in

the army an appeal in defense of Protestantism. The trial and the

punishment carried public indignation to the highest pitch. The

king refused all appeals for clemency. "Mr. Johnson has the

spirit of a martyr," said James, "and it is fit that he should be

one." Some years later William III., in according pardon to an

obstinate Jacobite, said gently, "He has set his heart on being a

martyr, and I have set mine on disappointing him."

The Anglican Church had not sustained Johnson in his virulent and

almost revolutionary attacks; that Church had undertaken a

pacific campaign, boldly defining her principles, and defending

her doctrines by the pens of the most celebrated theologians of

that epoch--Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Sherlock, Prideaux--almost

all distinguished writers, experienced dialecticians, learned and

eloquent divines.

{430}

The defenders of Catholicism were less numerous; most of them had

been educated abroad, far from the "movement of ideas" in

England; their defeat was complete, and public sentiment was

satisfied with the superiority of the champions of Protestantism.

King James resolved to employ more powerful arguments for the

defense and success of his religious convictions. The Scotch

Parliament was convoked for the 12th of February, 1687; it was

there that the monarch wished first to launch the declaration of

his absolute power. The Duke of Queensberry, Lord Treasurer of

Scotland, an obstinate Protestant, had been replaced by the Earl

of Perth, a convert to Catholicism. He was related to Rochester,

whose humiliations and mortifications had finally terminated in

his complete disgrace. The attachment of the son of Clarendon to

the Church of England had triumphed over his ambition for power

and fortune; he had consented to receive the instructions of the

royal chaplains, but was unable to do his part in becoming a

Catholic. The two brothers-in-law of the king, Clarendon and

Rochester, were dismissed at the same time. Clarendon was

replaced in the government of Ireland by the violent Tyrconnel,

an ardent Catholic, Irish by race, character, and prejudice, in

order to establish the royal supremacy in Ireland. "There is work

to be done in Ireland which no Englishman will do," said King

James. Under the rule of Tyrconnel all power passed into the

hands of the Catholics. "We have become the slaves of our

servants," bitterly complained the Protestants; a great number of

the distinguished families left Ireland with Clarendon.

"Tyrconnel is foolish enough to ruin ten kingdoms," openly said

his friends.

{431}

The Parliament of Scotland, submissive by habit and tradition,

admitted without difficulty the "_dispensing power_" of the

king. James comprehended that he would not be able to abolish the

penal laws which weighed upon the Catholics, without at the same

time according effectual relief to the Nonconformists, who

groaned under their rigor. It was with regret that he found

himself so constrained: his repugnance to the Presbyterians was

very great. "I believe that in the depth of his heart the King of

England would be well content if he could leave only the Anglican

and Catholic religions established by law," wrote Barillon to

Louis XIV. The principle of religious liberty, however, was the

only protection of the Catholics; it was in its name that James

proclaimed, at Edinburgh, on the 12th of February, 1687, a

Declaration of Indulgence "by our sovereign authority, royal

prerogative and absolute power." The Catholics and the Quakers

found themselves now for the first time enjoying equal and

complete tolerance. Numerous restrictions, however, still

remained imposed upon the Presbyterians.

The temperament of the English Houses differed from that of the

Scotch Parliament; the Anglican Church, always foremost in their

minds, was directly engaged in the contest. James was prudent,

and endeavored to prepare the way for his declaration before the

opening of Parliament. One after another of the public

functionaries seated in either House, as well as a great number

of important and independent members, were invited to private

audiences with the king, where they were urged, entreated, and

pledged to sustain the measure. Many were bought. Those who

resisted were menaced.

{432}

Closeted thus successively, the members of the House of Commons

convinced James of the opposition that might be expected. On the

4th of April, 1687, the "Declaration of Indulgence" was made

public. It was, however, much more moderate in tone and in form

than that which he had sent to the Scotch Parliament. Addresses

of thanks from Independents, Quakers, Presbyterians, and

Catholics were everywhere quoted and published. "The king is

convinced that conscience ought not to be forced," said the

memorable declaration; "that persecution is fatal to the increase

of population as well as of commerce, and never attains the end

sought by the persecutors." The Dissenting ministers came forth

out of their prisons, and their places of worship were reopened.

The court made great ado over the universal joy and gratitude of

the Nonconformists.

Popular exultation was exaggerated, and confidence was less

general than gratitude. Baxter, Howe, Bunyan, Kiffin, eminent in

their different sects, having a presentiment of a snare, rose

against this abuse of the royal power. The moderate Dissenters

were more disposed to respond to the advances of the Anglican

Church, herself menaced in turn, than to lend their co-operation

to the emancipation of the Catholics. With but few exceptions,

English Protestantism presented a compact front, resolved to

repel the royal seductions, as it had royal violence. Parliament

was dissolved on the 4th of July, 1687.

{433}

On the eve of the same day, the Papal Nuncio, recently made

Archbishop _in partibus_ of _Amasia_, appeared at

Windsor with a most magnificent equipage, and was solemnly

received by the king in public audience. Innocent XI. had treated

Lord Castlemaine, the scandalous ambassador of King James, with

extreme coldness and reserve. In vain had he begged, in the name

of his master, for the authority necessary for the elevation of

Father Petre. As the envoy threatened to leave Rome, the Pope

quietly remarked, "Your excellency is your own master; I hope you

will take good care of your health upon the way." Castlemaine

departed without accomplishing his object. The prudent counsels

of the moderate Catholic party were not listened to in England;

Father Petre was admitted into the council, but a Jesuit could

not become a bishop without the consent of the Pope. Innocent XI.

obstinately refused this. Some great English lords also showed

themselves rebellious to the will of the king. When the Duke of

Somerset was appointed an escort of the Nuncio he declined to

assist at the ceremony. "I am advised that I cannot obey your

Majesty without breaking the law," said he. "I will make you fear

me as well as the law," answered the irritated king; "do you not

know that I am above the law?" "Your Majesty may be above the

law," replied Somerset, "but I am not; and while I obey the law I

fear nothing." Somerset instantly lost his offices at court and

in the army.

Other dismissals and other promotions, at this time, astonished

England. Ardent and anxious, like all innovators, to take

possession of the establishments of charity and education, the

king made an attempt to oblige the administrators of the Charter

House of London to admit invalid Catholics into their hospital.

"An Act of Parliament opposes it," responded the governor. "What

is that to the purpose?" said a courtier. "It is very much to the

purpose, I think," gravely replied the venerable Duke of Ormond;

"an Act of Parliament is, in my judgment, no light thing."

{434}

James demanded from the University of Cambridge the grade of

Master of Arts for a Benedictine monk; upon the refusal of the

authorities, the Vice-Chancellor, Pechell, was called before the

High Commission, brutally reprimanded by Jeffreys, and suspended

from his office. An analogous case, yet more violent, took place

at Oxford during an election for a president of Magdalen College.

The _fellows_ claimed their rights and their independence;

the king wished to impose his candidate upon them. "They shall

feel the whole weight of my hand," said he, angrily, to the

dignitaries of the University. The _fellows_ were deprived

of their revenues, the doors of the president's house were

forced, and the royal candidate was installed. The Catholics took

possession of that endowment, one of the richest at Oxford. The

contest with the Anglican Church was now irrevocably begun. By a

good fortune, such as it had not for many years been favored

with, this Church was henceforth enrolled among the defenders of

the rights and liberties of the English people.

The king ordered new elections, not, however, without disquietude

as to their results. The House of Lords itself appeared hostile,

and the new hopes of maternity which the queen gave, after

numerous accidents, inspired James more than ever with the desire

of finishing a work that might be perpetuated by his successor.

All the lordly tenants of the counties were ordered to

interrogate their subordinates, and to assure themselves of their

electoral intentions. The Catholics and the Dissenters were to

occupy as many as possible of the municipal offices. The king had

badly judged the pride of the great lords: one-half of the

lord-lieutenants peremptorily refused to lend themselves to the

odious service required of them. They were summarily dismissed.

The crown had some difficulty in finding successors.

{435}

No private intimation, no official warning, opened the eyes of

King James, infatuated as he was by his real power and his

imaginary rights; sincerely preoccupied with his fool-hardy

undertaking, he showed neither prudence nor sagacity. "The world

has much exaggerated the ability of his Majesty," said Bonrepaux,

who knew him well and judged him accurately; "he has less mind

than King Charles, without having more virtue."

To the Anglican Church belongs the honor of striking the first

blow in favor of the menaced liberties of England. On the 27th of

April, 1688, the king issued a new Declaration of Indulgence,

repeating and commenting upon those preceding, and announced his

intention of convoking Parliament in the month of November. On

the 4th of May he ordered that this declaration should be read in

all the churches on the 20th.

This manœuvre was clever, yet at the same time fool-hardy. The

Anglican clergy disapproved of the measure, both religiously and

politically; but the delay was brief and the means of

communication difficult, consequently uniformity of action was

deemed impossible. They considered the remoteness, the

feebleness, and the effect of non-resistance; London, however, as

usual, gave the signal for resistance; a reunion of the clergy,

together with a council of bishops, resolved not to yield to the

illegal exactions of the king. The most eminent Dissenters

supported by their counsels the courage of the prelates.

{436}

On the 18th, at Lambeth, the residence of the Archbishop of

Canterbury, a petition was signed by the primate and his

diocesans--the Bishops of St. Asaph, of Ely, of Chichester, of

Bath, of Peterborough, and of Bristol. The Bishop of London,

Compton, the leader of this movement, having been suspended, was

unable to sign. The petition, drawn up by the archbishop himself,

in a style dry, heavy, and confused, exculpated the prelates from

all intolerance as well as from all rebellion. The laws accorded

to the king only the right to _modify_ the ecclesiastical

statutes. The Declaration of Indulgence not being a legal act,

the bishops could not permit it to be read in their dioceses.

The same evening six bishops presented themselves at Whitehall:

the archbishop was ill, and besides his approach to the court had

been interdicted. The Bishop of St. Asaph desired to acquaint

Sunderland with the contents of the petition; the minister

refused to read the document, but he introduced the bishops to

the king. The secret had been rigorously kept. James expected

some objections regarding the form of the Declaration. "This is

my Lord of Canterbury's hand," said the king, opening the paper.

"Yes, Sire, his own hand," was the reply. James read the

petition, and his brow became overcast. "This is a standard of

rebellion," said he at last. The Bishop of Bristol, Sir John

Trelawney, fell upon his knees. "Rebellion!" cried he, "for God's

sake. Sire, do not say so hard a thing of us. No Trelawney can be

a rebel. Remember that my family has fought for the crown.

Remember how I served your Majesty when Monmouth was in the

West."

{437}

"We put down the last rebellion," said Lake, Bishop of

Chichester; "we shall not raise another." "I hope you will grant

us that liberty of conscience which you grant to all mankind,"

said Ken, the pious Bishop of Bath. As was his custom, James

repeated his former remark, "This is rebellion; this is a

standard of rebellion. I will have my Declaration published."

"Sire," answered Ken, "we have two duties to perform--our duty to

God, and our duty to your Majesty. We honor you, but we fear

God." "Have I deserved this?" said the king; "I who have been

such a friend to your Church? What do you do here? Go to your

dioceses and see that I am obeyed. I will keep this paper. I will

remember you that have signed it." "God's will be done," said

Ken. The bishops retired after this pious invocation. The next

morning, through indiscretion or treachery, the petition of the

bishops was everywhere published. The king remained silent. The

following Sunday only four of the clergy of London read the

Declaration. Their congregations rose and withdrew.

Everywhere the provinces followed the example of the capital; a

great number of the bishops sent in their approval of the

petition. In the dioceses where the bishops were inclined to

comply with the royal demand, the majority of the clergy

disobeyed. "I cannot reasonably expect your Honor's protection,"

wrote a poor clergyman of the diocese of the Bishop of Rochester;

"God's will be done. I must choose suffering rather than sin."

The enthusiasm of the people equalled the resolution of the

clergy. "The Anglican Church has risen in public estimation to an

incredible degree," wrote the Dutch minister to the

States-General: "the Nonconformists repeat everywhere that they

would rather endure the penal laws than separate their cause from

that of the prelates."

{438}

The king was troubled; in his blind obstinacy he had not foreseen

the resistance of the Church nor the indignation of the people.

For a moment he inclined towards conciliation. The Chancellor,

however, advised to the contrary; he counselled legal

prosecution. Summoned to appear before the Council upon the 8th

of June, the bishops, carefully instructed by the ablest lawyers,

were prudently reserved. They refused to recognize the order of

appearance before the Court of King's Bench, and intrenched

themselves behind their privileges as peers of the realm. "You

believe everybody rather than me," cried the king, angrily. The

seven bishops were sent to the Tower.

A great multitude crowded after them. "God bless your lordships,"

shouted the people on every side. The soldiers who guarded the

Traitor's Gate fell upon their knees to receive the episcopal

blessing. Their health was drunk throughout the garrison; the

coaches of the first nobles were ranged in double file outside of

the prison; a deputation of Nonconformist ministers was sent to

compliment the bishops. The king sent for these delegates to

reproach them for their ingratitude. "We have forgotten all past

quarrels," responded the Dissenters, "and we are resolved to

stand by the men who stood by the Protestant religion." On the

15th of June, at the opening of the assizes, the bishops were

admitted to bail, and at once returned to their palaces.

Twenty-one peers of the highest rank offered their guarantees;

one of the richest Dissenters claimed the honor of furnishing the

bail for Ken.

{439}

The attitude of the bishops had continued pious and modest as

well as courageous. "Honor the king and remember us in your

prayers," repeated they to the crowd assembled about them. Sir

Edward Hales, the Catholic Governor of the Tower, threatened them

with irons and the dungeon if they came into his hands again. "We

are under our king's displeasure," replied the bishops, "and most

deeply do we feel it; but a fellow-subject who threatens us does

but lose his breath." The Archbishop of Canterbury had great

difficulty in preventing the grenadiers, stationed before his

palace, from lighting bonfires in honor of his return. All

demanded his blessing.

While the bishops were yet in the Tower, upon the 10th of June,

1688, was born at the Palace of St. James, in the midst of

suspicions the most insulting, the unfortunate heir of the

Stuarts, destined to wander about the world for seventy-seven

years, a prey to every misfortune. Throughout all England the

pregnancy of the queen had been questioned, and when the Prince

of Orange despatched his ambassador, Count Zulestein, to

congratulate his father-in-law upon the birth of the Prince of

Wales, the envoy soon wrote to his master that the infant was

generally believed to be supposititious. This public conviction

accorded with the interests of William of Nassau. Soon the

prayers ordered for the little prince, in the chapel of the court

at the Hague, were suppressed. When King James angrily

remonstrated, his daughter assured him that the omission was a

mere neglect, but nevertheless the prayers were never renewed.

{440}

History has judged James II. severely; less distrustful or less

prejudiced than the English people and the Prince of Orange, it

has ceased to question the legitimacy of his son. On the 29th of

June, already at the break of day, the neighborhood of

Westminster Hall was thronged with people; the jury, chosen with

care by the agents of the crown, was assembled in the Court of

King's Bench. They awaited the arrival of the bishops, who came

accompanied by the most distinguished advocates of that day.

Thirty-nine peers of the realm were in the audience. The

discussion was long, close, and often passionate; it turned upon

the right of subjects to present a petition which had not the

character of a _libel_. Two of the judges decided in favor

of the bishops. "The Declaration of Indulgence is null according

to my judgment," said Powell; "and the dispensing power, as

lately exercised, is utterly inconsistent with all law. If these

encroachments of prerogative are allowed, there is an end of

Parliaments. The whole legislative authority would be in the

king. That issue, gentlemen, I leave to God and to your

consciences."

Night had come; the jury retired. "It is very late," wrote the

Papal Nuncio, "and the decision is not yet known. The judges and

the culprits have gone to their homes. The jury remain together.

To-morrow we shall learn the issue of this great struggle."

The consultation was violent. Those who watched upon the stairs

heard confused voices and angry ejaculations. At first nine were

for acquittal. Two of the minority soon gave away; but Arnold

remained obstinate. "Whatever I do," he said, "I am sure to be

half ruined. If I say Not guilty, I shall brew no more for the

king; and if I say Guilty, I shall brew no more for anybody else.

I am not accustomed to reasoning and debating, and my conscience

is not satisfied; I shall not acquit the bishops."

{441}

Austin, a rich country gentleman, earnestly in favor of the

prelates, replied: "If you come to that, look at me. I am the

largest and strongest of the twelve; and before I find such a

petition as this a libel, here I will stay till I am no bigger

than a tobacco pipe." It was six in the morning when Arnold

finally yielded. The court reassembled at ten. "Not guilty,"

announced Sir Roger Langley, the chief of the jury.

Lord Halifax sprang from his seat and waved his hat. At this

signal shouts of joy burst forth in the great hall; these were

repeated by the thousands filling the old palace yard.

The innumerable multitude which filled the adjacent streets sent

back the echo with thundering vehemence; men, usually stern and

cold, gave way to tears of relief and gratitude. The boats which

covered the Thames answered the cheer; the soldiers, encamped on

Hounslow Heath, had just learned the news, as the king, who had

that day visited them, was departing; behind him resounded the

acclamations of the troops. "What means that uproar?" demanded

James. "Nothing," was the answer, "the soldiers are glad that the

bishops are acquitted." "Do you call that nothing?" said James.

And then he repeated what he had muttered in French, upon

receiving the courier sent by Sunderland: "So much the worse for

them."

Notwithstanding his bigoted obstinacy and his sincere illusions,

James II. felt profoundly this defeat; he nevertheless became

more determined in his views and more desperate in his means. The

question of the government of England became a challenge between

the king and his people.

{442}

In the presence of what perils and what rivals did James II. thus

govern? Could he forget the constant menace which the situation

of his son-in-law, the Prince of Orange, presented: the veritable

chief of European Protestantism, as well as of the grand

coalition which was slowly forming itself against Louis XIV.?

Great grandson of William the Silent and of Louise of Coligny,

William of Nassau was born on the 4th of November, 1650, at the

moment when the fortunes of his family had succumbed beneath the

oppression of the republican patriciate of the Province of

Holland. Educated with great care, by John De Witt, who never had

absolute confidence in the destiny of his party, he took an

important part both in war and politics at an early age. When but

twenty-one he saved his country from ruin the most imminent. As

cold in appearance as he was ardent and resolute in reality, he

learned to govern himself before attempting to govern others,

which he did with an ease and power that caused Pope Innocent

XII. to say, "The Prince of Orange is the master of Europe."

Adored by his wife, and a few friends to whom he showed in return

a touching devotion, he received from both evidences of the

sincerest affection; his friend Bentinck cared for him during an

attack of small-pox. "Whether Bentinck slept or not while I was

ill," tenderly remarked the prince, "I know not; but this I know,

that through sixteen days and nights I never once called for

anything but that Bentinck was instantly at my side." For a long

time a misunderstanding had existed between his wife and himself.

{443}

Mary was ignorant of the exclusive rights which her birth

conferred upon her. Dr. Burnet, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury,

after wandering upon the continent, in consequence of the

distrust of King James, had taken up his residence in Holland,

and there charged himself with revealing the cause of the

Prince's indifference and estrangement. The princess sent

immediately for her husband. "I did not know till yesterday,"

said Mary, "that there was such a difference between the laws of

England and the laws of God. But I now promise you that you shall

always bear rule, and, in return, I ask only this: that, as I

shall observe the precept which enjoins wives to obey their

husbands, you will that which enjoins husbands to love their

wives." Henceforth there was perfect accord between the Prince of

Orange and his wife, and no attempts of King James were able to

gain him to his views. "You ask me," said William, "to

countenance an attack on my own religion. I cannot, with a safe

conscience, do it, and I will not; no, not for the crown of

England, nor for the empire of the world."

"My nephew's duty," said the king, "is to strengthen my hands.

But he has always taken a pleasure in crossing me." Dykvelt, the

envoy of William at London, respectfully protested: "You cannot

reasonably expect the aid of a Protestant prince against the

Protestant religion." While defending his master, the astute

Hollander silently and skillfully pursued the work for which he

had been sent to England.

{444}

Since the fall of Monmouth the diverse elements of opposition had

noiselessly gravitated towards the Prince of Orange, a leader

absent and circumspect, prudent an sagacious, well calculated to

maintain a certain accord between the antagonistic forces which

were preparing for resistance in England. In his great project,

for a league of all the European powers against the unbridled

ambition of Louis XIV., England held a prominent place.

Firmly resolved to oppose any undertaking against the power of

his father-in-law, he nevertheless possessed a mind too powerful

and too sagacious not to discern the clouds which were gathering

over the head of the imprudent and obstinate monarch who was

walking blindly to his destruction. Already, upon the return of

Dykvelt, in 1687, the ambassador brought confidential letters

from all the chiefs of the opposition--Halifax, Danby, and even

Lord Churchill, all powerful with Princess Anne, on account of

the singular and romantic friendship that the second daughter of

the king manifested towards his wife, Sarah Jennings, who was as

ambitious and adroit as himself.

"The princess has commanded me," wrote the future Duke of

Marlborough, "to assure her illustrious relatives that she is

fully resolved, by God's help, rather to lose her life than to be

guilty of apostasy. As for me, though I cannot pretend to have

lived the life of a saint, still I shall be found ready, on

occasion, to die the death of a martyr."

The trial of the bishops at the time of the birth of the Prince

of Wales had opened the eyes of the Tories, as the latter event

closed the door to their religious and political hopes. The king

began the persecution of the Anglican Church at the same time

that they lost the consoling prospect of a Protestant succession.

{445}

For the first time since the Restoration, all parties found

themselves united in the same desire, tending towards the same

end. "_Aut nunc, aut nunquam_," said William to Dykvelt when

he learnt of the acquittal of the bishops. He refused even then

to listen to Edward Russell, nephew of the Duke of Bedford, a

distinguished and daring sailor, ardently resolved to avenge the

injuries inflicted upon his house by James II. "I am not

willing," said William to Russell, "to make an attempt upon

England without more distinct assurances than those you bring me

to-day. I know that many who talk in high language about

sacrificing their lives and fortunes for their country would

hesitate when the prospect of another Bloody Circuit is brought

close to them. I want only a few signatures, but they must be

from powerful and eminent men, representing great interests."

When the invitation of the conspirators reached the Hague, it

contained, in cipher, the names of Shrewsbury, Devonshire, Danby,

Lumley, and the Bishop of London, Compton. The vice-admiral,

Herbert, disguised in the garb of a common sailor, carried the

paper to the Prince of Orange. Soon, Henry Sidney, brother of

Algernon Sidney, actively employed in the negotiations between

William and the English politicians, brought him the assurance

that Lord Sunderland himself, loaded with honors by King James, a

convert to the Catholic faith, and victorious over all rivals,

showed favorable inclinations towards the secret designs of the

prince. The moment of action approached; the political plots as

well as the military preparations could no longer remain

concealed; the internal agitation of William, impenetrable to the

vulgar eye, showed forth in all its bitterness when he wrote to

Bentinck, "My sufferings, my disquiet, are dreadful. I hardly see

my way.

{446}

Never in my life did I so much feel the need of God's guidance.

God support you and enable you to bear your part in a work on

which, as far as human beings can see, the welfare of His Church

depends."

In the face of the danger which menaced Louis XIV. as well as

King James, that vigilant monarch had not been deceived; in

England he had in vain repeated his warnings; James was bound

hand and foot to Sunderland. This minister exercised the same

influence over Barillon: both ridiculed the idea of a descent

upon England. The experienced and prudent Prince of Orange--

would he renew the foolish attempt of Monmouth? Louis XIV. sent

Bonrepaux to London authorized to offer a fleet to the queen; a

body of French troops were ready to march into Holland; the Count

of Avaux received instructions to inform the States-General that

the King of France took the English Court under his protection.

So many efforts and so much forethought went for naught before

the blind obstinacy of King James. He haughtily resented all

overtures of Louis XIV. "My good brother," said he to the Nuncio,

"has excellent qualities, but flattery and vanity have turned his

head." He assured the States-General of his amicable sentiments.

"My master is raised, alike by his power and by his spirit, above

the position which France affects to assign to him," said the

Marquis of Albeville, the ignorant and venal ambassador of King

James to the Hague; "there is some difference between a king of

England and an archbishop of Cologne."

{447}

Irritated and wounded, Louis XIV. sent his forces into Germany,

to the assistance of that Archbishop of Cologne, so despised by

James II. The arms of France were once again triumphant, but the

United Provinces had nothing to fear. The States-General adhered

to the policy of their stadtholder; on the 16th of October, 1688,

William appeared before that solemn assembly; he came to bid

farewell to the representatives of his native country. He thanked

them for the kindness which they had shown him during his lonely

childhood, and for the confidence which they had since reposed in

him. He was now leaving them, perhaps forever. If he should fall

in defence of the reformed religion and of the independence of

Europe, he commended his beloved wife to their care. All wept:

William alone, with his indomitable resolution, preserved a calm

exterior--imperturbable and cold to all appearances. To the

hereditary and characteristic device of his house, "I will

maintain," he added the significant words, "_The liberties of

England and the Protestant religion_."

The die was cast, and the contrary winds, which at one time

seemed to threaten the destruction of the expedition, were unable

to arrest, in his progress, the liberator. He set sail from

Helvoetsluys on the 19th of October, on the same day his

manifesto, which had already been forwarded to England, appeared

in Holland. The wrongs of the English nation were firmly yet

moderately portrayed in this paper, the work of the Grand

Pensionary Fagel, translated and abridged by Burnet. Attached to

England by ties of gratitude and of family, the prince did not

believe it his duty to refuse the appeals of the spiritual and

temporal peers, nor the prayers of the English of all ranks and

classes who desired to confide to him the protection of the

national liberties.

{448}

He abjured all thought of conquest. His only object was the

reunion of a free and legal Parliament, charged to decide all

national or individual questions. As soon as England was

delivered from tyranny, the soldiers of the prince would withdraw

from her soil.

The thunderbolt was about to fall upon the head of King James,

and at last his eyes were opened. A disquieting dispatch from

Albeville preceded by a few hours the arrival of the manifesto.

James feigned to be blind to the work of his son-in-law; he threw

into the fire all copies that came into his hands. In the

meantime he multiplied concessions: his haughty spirit bowed at

last before that necessity which his stubborn will had so long

refused to recognize. A solemn declaration promised the royal

protection to the Anglican Church; the Bishop of London was

reinstated. The king no longer insisted upon the admission of

Catholics into the House of Commons. He re-established in their

offices the local magistrates dismissed for their resistance to

his political views; the Court of High Commission was abolished;

the charter of the City of London was restored; the universities

regained their privileges. A strange inquiry, destined to prove

the legitimacy of the Prince of Wales, was instituted before the

Council. One concession alone was obstinately refused--the

_dispensing power_ remained intact. "God has confided it to

me for the good of His people," repeated the king. Everywhere the

Catholic officers retained their positions in the army.

{449}

James II. was accustomed to intrigues; he had often seen them

fomented and baffled. He felt, even in his palace, the breath of

treason. Sunderland was suspected, and the king demanded the

seals. The minister protested his devotion. "Do not, Sire; do not

make me the most unhappy gentleman in your dominions, by refusing

to declare that you acquit me of disloyalty," said he, in an

agitated tone. Lord Preston received the seals. Sunderland

immediately departed for the Hague. The Prince of Orange was no

longer there. On the 4th of November he was in view of the Isle

of Wight, still in fear of an attack by the royal fleet. "This is

not the time to show our bravery, nor to fight if we can avoid

it," said William to Herbert. An error of the pilot carried the

fleet too far to the west. On the 5th, towards midday, the sun

shone forth, and that "Protestant wind," so ardently prayed for

by the waiting and anxious multitudes on shore, finally sprang

up. The Holland fleet rode safely into the harbor of Torbay. The

tempest, which had raged about the ships of William in vain, had

been fatal to the movement of the fleet of James. Lord Dartmouth

was unable to put to sea to intercept the progress of the

invaders. As the storm abated, William of Orange landed upon

English soil. When he began his march towards Exeter, he was

still only surrounded by his countrymen and the English fugitives

who had joined him at the Hague. No new accessions had as yet

made their appearance. The nation hesitated, astonished and

troubled at the aurora of deliverance. The English conspirators

remained immovable.

{450}

King James had called around him the chiefs of the opposition and

the bishops. Halifax and Nottingham had not taken part in the

conspiracy; among the prelates, Compton alone had signed the

appeal to the Prince of Orange; all refused nevertheless to

declare publicly that they blamed the conduct of William. "These

are affairs of state, Sire," said gently the Archbishop of

Canterbury; "your Majesty knows what it has recently cost us to

meddle with affairs of state." James II. had alienated from

himself the Anglican Church, but recently the firmest support of

the throne; her pulpits were silent, and the voices of her

pastors no longer urged the people to the defense of the king.

"As ministers of the Church we will assist you with our prayers,"

said the bishops; "as peers of the realm we will advise you in

Parliament." "Go, my lords, I will urge you no further,"

responded James; "since you will not help me, I must trust to

myself and to my own arms."

Already that standing army, that supreme resource, so carefully

prepared for some time past by the king, seemed to waver in his

hands and almost fail his hopes and expectations. When men

hesitate a moment in a great popular movement, they go into

action with redoubled ardor on account of their first

uncertainty. The gentry of the neighboring counties and the great

lords at the head of their servants and retainers hastened to

Exeter. First, Lord Cornbury, son of Clarendon, and completely

under the influence of the Churchills, led to the prince a part

of three regiments that he commanded. "Oh, God! that a son of

mine should be a rebel," cried dolorously the son of the great

Chancellor, faithful to his master thus far through all the

vicissitudes of fortune. Princess Anne was astonished at the

consternation of her uncle. "Many people are very uneasy about

Popery," said she; "I believe that many of the army will do the

same."

{451}

Some days later Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton, at the

head of their troops, joined the Prince of Orange. King James had

advanced as far as Salisbury when he learnt of this unexpected

defection. Everywhere the people rose: the west and the north

were under arms. The unfortunate monarch, fearing that his

communication with London would be cut off, ordered a retreat.

His son-in-law, Prince George of Denmark, quitted him secretly

during the march. Gross in body and stupid in mind, he was

accustomed to respond to all news, whether grave or

insignificant, by a uniform exclamation, in French,

"Est-il-possible?" "What! is 'est-il-possible' gone too?" said

James in the morning, when he learnt of the prince's departure.

"If he was not the husband of my daughter, a good trooper would

have been a greater loss." On arriving at London the king learnt

that the Princess Anne had disappeared as well as her husband.

This blow struck him with consternation. Blind regarding his

family as well as his kingdom, he had not divined the intrigues

that were forming about him, nor the isolation that the

intolerant ardor of his religious faith created. He was

overwhelmed: "God help me!" he said; "my own children have

forsaken me."

On all sides the unhappy king felt himself surrounded by

defection. Even those who yet remained faithful to him had

changed their tone. A deputation from the House of Lords urged

him to open negotiations with the Prince of Orange and to convoke

a free Parliament. He appeared inclined to accept this salutary

advice. "It is very important," said Lord Clarendon, "that the

minds of the people should be relieved from the fear of Popery.

Even now his Majesty is raising in London a regiment into which

no Protestant is admitted."

{452}

"That is not true!" cried James. They endeavored to exact a

promise of amnesty from him. "I cannot do it," he exclaimed, "I

must make examples--Churchill above all; Churchill whom I raised

so high. He and he alone has done all this. He has corrupted my

army. He has corrupted my child. He would have put me into the

hands of the Prince of Orange but for God's special providence.

My lords, you are strangely anxious for the safety of traitors.

None of you troubles himself about my safety." He yielded

nevertheless, and charged Halifax to draw up the royal

proclamation.

Parliament was convoked for the 13th of January, 1689. The

amnesty was without reserve. Commissioners were designated to

treat with the Prince of Orange; the Governor of the Tower, Sir

Edward Hales, was dismissed, and replaced by Skelton, but

recently his prisoner.

So many concessions and so much justice on the part of the king

were only designed to blind the nation. "This negotiation," said

James to Barillon, "is a mere feint. I must send commissioners to

my nephew that I may gain time to ship off my wife and the Prince

of Wales. You know the temper of my troops. None but the Irish

will stand by me; and the Irish are not in sufficient force to

resist the enemy. A Parliament would impose on me conditions

which I could not endure. I should be forced to undo all that I

have done for the Catholics, and to break with the king of

France. As soon, therefore, as the queen and my child are safe, I

will leave England and take refuge in Ireland, in Scotland, or

with your master."

{453}

On the 9th of December, the Prince of Wales and the queen, his

mother, accompanied by three attendants, and under the protection

of the Duke of Lauzun--adventurous and bold as well in London as

in Paris--quitted secretly the palace of Whitehall, crossed the

Thames in an open boat, and hastened on to Gravesend. The next

day the fugitives arrived at Calais; an attendant of Lauzun's

carried the news of their safe arrival to King James. Lords Dover

and Dartmouth, two of the king's most trusted servants, had

peremptorily refused to assist in this escape. "I would risk my

life in defense of the throne," said the admiral, Dartmouth, "but

I will be no party to the transporting of the prince into

France." Only strangers consented to serve the king of England.

Following the announcement of the safety of the royal party came

Lord Halifax with propositions from the Prince of Orange, more

moderate and more conciliatory than were expected. The greatest

names in the kingdom had given their support to William of

Nassau: those who had not crowded to his audiences had

nevertheless united their servitors and retainers for his

service. "What is it that you want?" whispered Halifax in the ear

of Burnet, in the midst of the crowded assembly; "do you wish to

get the king into your power?" "Not at all," said Burnet; "we

would not do the least harm to his person." "And if he were to go

away?" "There is nothing so much to be wished," replied the

ecclesiastic. The observance of the courtiers interrupted the

conversation, but the despatches of Halifax showed the effects of

Burnet's advice. On the night of the 10th of December, King

James, plainly dressed, accompanied only by Sir Edward Hales,

departed secretly from Whitehall, after having thrown into the

fire all the writs for the new Parliament, which had not yet been

sent out.

{454}

In crossing the Thames he flung the Great Seal into the midst of

the stream. Disembarking at Vauxhall, where a carriage awaited

him, he took the road to Sheerness. "I thank you for your

fidelity," wrote he to Lord Feversham, "and I demand that you no

longer expose your life for me by resisting a foreign army and a

nation poisoned by contagion. I seek my safety in flying my

kingdom." When he received this letter, Feversham immediately

disbanded the army, thereby adding a new element of disorder to

the general excitement and turbulent passions that were raging in

the capital, now deprived of its legitimate head. "Call your

troop of guards together," said Rochester to the young Duke of

Northumberland. The peers in London took the power into their

hands, declaring officially their intention to rally around the

Prince of Orange, and to administer the government in his name

until his arrival. All attempts to preserve order, however, were

of no avail. During three days and nights the houses of the

Catholics, as well as their places of worship, were pillaged, the

furniture broken or burned, the plate stolen, and their persons

insulted; the rumor of an Irish invasion redoubled the fury of

the populace. No murder was committed; the Chancellor, Jeffreys,

however, was in great danger.

Carefully disguised, he attempted flight. A man but recently

brought before him recognized that terrible glance of the eye

which had once frozen his blood. He gave the alarm, and the

Chancellor was instantly seized by a mob. Two regiments of

militia, immediately called out by the Lord Mayor, were scarcely

sufficient to protect against the passionate vengeance of the

multitude. The carriage conducted him to the prison of the Tower

where he was soon to die an ignominious and horrible death.

{455}

King James had arrived at Sheerness. The popular passions were

everywhere excited; the sailors were suspicious and disposed to

search everywhere for disguised Catholic priests. James was

arrested, searched, and insulted. "It is Father Petre," cried

one; "I know him by his lean jaws. Search the hatchet-faced old

Jesuit!" Roughly led ashore, the king was soon recognized. This

last check seriously affected his mind. Naturally courageous, as

had been proven in battle, James now piteously begged for a boat

to carry him away. "The Prince of Orange is hunting for my life.

If you do not let me fly now, it will be too late. My blood will

be on your heads."

Led into a tavern, and respectfully treated, still the

unfortunate king felt himself a prisoner in his own realm. "What

have I done?" said he; "what error have I committed?" The

compassion due to a great misfortune closed the mouths of all

bystanders. When the news of the arrest of the king reached

London, the little council that had assumed the government was

thrown into profound consternation. The Archbishop of Canterbury,

Sancroft, who presided, immediately withdrew. Halifax, bitterly

wounded by the role that James had compelled him to play at

Hungerford, where he had sent him with a derisive negotiation,

took his place. Orders were immediately given to send a troop of

the Life Guards, commanded by Feversham, to release the king.

James II., enfeebled in mind and body by the shocks which he had

undergone, was led by his friends to Rochester. He wrote to the

Prince of Orange: "I return to Whitehall, and I desire to confer

with you. The palace of St. James will be prepared for you

Highness."

{456}

The prospects of William were suddenly overcast by the arrest of

the king. He secretly cursed the officious zeal of the sailors.

He was constrained to decide, at once, whether the abdication

should be complete and voluntary, or whether the internal contest

should be prolonged. The prince refused the proposed conference,

and requested James to remain at Rochester. It was too late: the

king was already in London. Compassion, habit, and a reaction

from the past anger, drew a crowd about him as he drove through

the streets; he was saluted by some acclamations.

Acute observers were not deceived. "There have been shouts and

bonfires," wrote Barillon, "but at the bottom the people are for

the Prince of Orange." Always easily deceived, James for a moment

believed in a return of his popularity. He convoked a council,

again summoning some not legally qualified, and blaming severely

those peers who had dared usurp the authority in London.

The Count of Zulestein arrived with the message of the Prince of

Orange; its cold and severe tone disturbed the new-born hopes of

the monarch. "I hope, nevertheless, that my nephew will come to

St. James," said he, after excusing himself for having left

Rochester. "I must plainly tell your Majesty," replied Zulestein,

"that his Majesty will not come to London while there are any

troops here that are not under his orders." Some hours later a

deputation, headed by Halifax, arrived at Whitehall.

{457}

The English soldiers in the service of the States-General already

began to occupy the streets of London; the king was in a bed; the

messengers entered his chamber. "The prince will be at

Westminster to-morrow morning," said they; "he prays your Majesty

to retire to the palace of the Duke of Lauderdale, at Ham." "It

is a cold and unfurnished house," said James, who did not appear

much troubled; "I would like better to return to Rochester." The

permission of William was promptly accorded. The next morning at

ten o'clock the royal barge slowly descended the Thames; all eyes

were dimmed, all hearts were moved. It was a sad spectacle to see

this king, but recently so powerful, compelled to-day, by his own

faults as well as by the determined resolution of his subjects,

to flee that country from which he had been exiled when a child,

and then regained only to lose anew. The joy of deliverance was

at the bottom of all hearts, but compassion and respect were in

the countenance.

Four days later, on the night of the 22d of December, the king,

negligently guarded, pursued by mortal terror, stole out of the

house he occupied at Rochester, accompanied by the Duke of

Berwick. A small skiff was in waiting; before the break of day he

was on board of a smack which was running through the mouth of

the Thames. Four kings of the house of Stuart had for many years,

and under different titles, oppressed England with an unjust

yoke; for the second time and forever, a free people had rejected

them. When the Prince of Orange, who had arrived in London,

received a deputation of lawyers, headed by the venerable Manard,

who, forty-seven years before, had been charged with the

accusation of Strafford, "Mr. Serjeant," said the prince, "you

must have survived all the lawyers of your standing."

{458}

"Yes, Sire," said the old man, "and but for your Highness I

should have survived the laws too." It is to the eternal honor of

the Prince of Orange, as well as of the English nation, that they

defended, without violence and without effusion of blood, those

civil and religious liberties so recently gained by so much

effort and so much crime, worthy of being preserved and defended

by the hero and statesman who was at the same time and by the

same blow to save the independence of Europe, so seriously

menaced by Louis XIV.