The strong light in the parlour which we have described, served to
enable Everard easily to recognise his acquaintances, Desborough,
Harrison, and Bletson, who had assembled round an oak table of large
dimensions, placed near the blazing chimney, on which were arranged
wine, and ale, and materials for smoking, then the general indulgence
of the time. There was a species of movable cupboard set betwixt the
table and the door, calculated originally for a display of plate upon
grand occasions, but at present only used as a screen; which purpose it
served so effectually, that, ere he had coasted around it, Everard
heard the following fragment of what Desborough was saying, in his
strong coarse voice:—“Sent him to share with us, I’se warrant ye—It was
always his Excellency my brother-in-law’s way—if he made a treat for
five friends, he would invite more than the table could hold—I have
known him ask three men to eat two eggs.”
“Hush, hush,” said Bletson; and the servants, making their appearance
from behind the tall cupboard, announced Colonel Everard. It may not be
uninteresting to the reader to have a description, of the party into
which he now entered.
Desborough was a stout, bull-necked man, of middle-size, with heavy
vulgar features, grizzled bushy eyebrows, and walleyes. The flourish of
his powerful relative’s fortunes had burst forth in the finery of his
dress, which was much more ornamented than was usual among the
roundheads. There was embroidery on his cloak, and lace upon his band;
his hat displayed a feather with a golden clasp, and all his
habiliments were those of a cavalier, or follower of the court, rather
than the plain dress of a parliamentarian officer. But, Heaven knows,
there was little of courtlike grace or dignity in the person or
demeanour of the individual, who became his fine suit as the hog on the
sign-post does his gilded armour. It was not that he was positively
deformed, or misshaped, for, taken in detail, the figure was well
enough. But his limbs seemed to act upon different and contradictory
principles. They were not, as the play says, in a concatenation
accordingly;—the right hand moved as if it were upon bad terms with the
left, and the legs showed an inclination to foot it in different and
opposite directions. In short, to use an extravagant comparison, the
members of Colonel Desborough seemed rather to resemble the
disputatious representatives of a federative congress, than the
well-ordered union of the orders of the state, in a firm and
well-compacted monarchy, where each holds his own place, and all obey
the dictates of a common head.
General Harrison, the second of the Commissioners, was a tall, thin,
middle-aged man, who had risen into his high situation in the army, and
his intimacy with Cromwell, by his dauntless courage in the field, and
the popularity he had acquired by his exalted enthusiasm amongst the
military saints, sectaries, and Independents, who composed the strength
of the existing army. Harrison was of mean extraction, and bred up to
his father’s employment of a butcher. Nevertheless, his appearance,
though coarse, was not vulgar, like that of Desborough, who had so much
the advantage of him in birth and education. He had a masculine height
and strength of figure, was well made and in his manner announced a
rough military character, which might be feared, but could not easily
become the object of contempt or ridicule. His aquiline nose and dark
black eyes set off to some advantage a countenance otherwise irregular,
and the wild enthusiasm that sometimes sparkled in them as he dilated
on his opinions to others, and often seemed to slumber under his long
dark eyelashes as he mused upon them himself, gave something strikingly
wild, and even noble to his aspect. He was one of the chief leaders of
those who were called Fifth-Monarchy men, who, going even beyond the
general fanaticism of the age, presumptuously interpreted the Book of
the Revelations after their own fancies, considered that the second
Advent of the Messiah, and the Millenium, or reign of the Saints upon
earth, was close at hand, and that they themselves, illuminated, as
they believed, with the power of foreseeing these approaching events,
were the chosen instruments for the establishment of the New Reign, or
Fifth Monarchy, as it was called, and were fated also to win its
honours, whether celestial or terrestrial.
When this spirit of enthusiasm, which operated like a partial insanity,
was not immediately affecting Harrison’s mind, he was a shrewd worldly
man, and a good soldier; one who missed no opportunity of mending his
fortune, and who, in expecting the exaltation of the Fifth Monarchy,
was, in the meanwhile, a ready instrument for the establishment of the
Lord-General’s supremacy. Whether it was owing to his early occupation,
and habits of indifference to pain or bloodshed acquired in the
shambles, to natural disposition and want of feeling, or, finally, to
the awakened character of his enthusiasm, which made him look upon
those who opposed him, as opposing the Divine will, and therefore
meriting no favour or mercy, is not easy to say; but all agreed, that
after a victory, or the successful storm of a town, Harrison was one of
the most cruel and pitiless men in Cromwell’s army; always urging some
misapplied text to authorize the continued execution of the fugitives,
and sometimes even putting to death those who had surrendered
themselves prisoners. It was said, that at times the recollection of
some of those cruelties troubled his conscience, and disturbed the
dreams of beatification in which his imagination indulged.
When Everard entered the apartment, this true representative of the
fanatic soldiers of the day, who filled those ranks and regiments which
Cromwell had politically kept on foot, while he procured the reduction
of those in which the Presbyterian interest predominated, was seated a
little apart from the others, his legs crossed, and stretched out at
length towards the fire, his head resting on his elbow, and turned
upwards, as if studying, with the most profound gravity, the half-seen
carving of the Gothic roof.
Bletson remains to be mentioned, who, in person and figure, was
diametrically different from the other two. There was neither foppery
nor slovenliness in his exterior, nor had he any marks of military
service or rank about his person. A small walking rapier seemed merely
worn as a badge of his rank as a gentleman, without his hand having the
least purpose of becoming acquainted with the hilt, or his eye with the
blade. His countenance was thin and acute, marked with lines which
thought rather than age had traced upon it; and a habitual sneer on his
countenance, even, when he least wished to express contempt on his
features, seemed to assure the individual addressed, that in Bletson he
conversed with a person of intellect far superior to his own. This was
a triumph of intellect only, however; for on all occasions of
difference respecting speculative opinions, and indeed on all
controversies whatsoever, Bletson avoided the ultimate _ratio_ of blows
and knocks.
Yet this peaceful gentleman had found himself obliged to serve
personally in the Parliamentary army at the commencement of the Civil
War, till happening unluckily to come in contact with the fiery Prince
Rupert, his retreat was judged so precipitate, that it required all the
shelter that his friends could afford, to keep him free of an
impeachment or a court-martial. But as Bletson spoke well, and with
great effect in the House of Commons, which was his natural sphere, and
was on that account high in the estimation of his party, his behaviour
at Edgehill was passed over, and he continued to take an active share
in all the political events of that bustling period, though he faced
not again the actual front of war.
Bletson’s theoretical politics had long inclined him to espouse the
opinions of Harrington and others, who adopted the visionary idea of
establishing a pure democratical republic in so extensive a country as
Britain. This was a rash theory, where there is such an infinite
difference betwixt ranks, habits, education, and morals—where there is
such an immense disproportion betwixt the wealth of individuals—and
where a large portion of the inhabitants consist of the inferior
classes of the large towns and manufacturing districts—men unfitted to
bear that share in the direction of a state, which must be exercised by
the members of a republic in the proper sense of the word. Accordingly,
as soon as the experiment was made, it became obvious that no such form
of government could be adopted with the smallest chance of stability;
and the question came only to be, whether the remnant, or, as it was
vulgarly called, the Rump of the Long Parliament, now reduced by the
seclusion of so many of the members to a few scores of persons, should
continue, in spite of their unpopularity, to rule the affairs of
Britain? Whether they should cast all loose by dissolving themselves,
and issuing writs to convoke a new Parliament, the composition of which
no one could answer for, any more than for the measures they might take
when assembled? Or lastly, whether Cromwell, as actually happened, was
not to throw the sword into the balance, and boldly possess himself of
that power which the remnant of the Parliament were unable to hold, and
yet afraid to resign?
Such being the state of parties, the Council of State, in distributing
the good things in their gift, endeavoured to soothe and gratify the
army, as a beggar flings crusts to a growling mastiff. In this view
Desborough had been created a Commissioner in the Woodstock matter to
gratify Cromwell, Harrison to soothe the fierce Fifth-Monarchy men, and
Bletson as a sincere republican, and one of their own leaven.
But if they supposed Bletson had the least intention of becoming a
martyr to his republicanism, or submitting to any serious loss on
account of it, they much mistook the man. He entertained their
principles sincerely and not the less that they were found
impracticable; for the miscarriage of his experiment no more converts
the political speculator, than the explosion of a retort undeceives an
alchymist. But Bletson was quite prepared to submit to Cromwell, or any
one else who might be possessed of the actual authority. He was a ready
subject in practice to the powers existing, and made little difference
betwixt various kinds of government, holding in theory all to be nearly
equal in imperfection, so soon as they diverged from the model of
Harrington’s Oceana. Cromwell had already been tampering with him, like
wax between his finger and thumb, and which he was ready shortly to
seal with, smiling at the same time to himself when he beheld the
Council of State giving rewards to Bletson, as their faithful adherent,
while he himself was secure of his allegiance, how soon soever the
expected change of government should take place.
But Bletson was still more attached to his metaphysical than his
political creed, and carried his doctrines of the perfectibility of
mankind as far as he did those respecting the conceivable perfection of
a model of government; and as in the one case he declared against all
power which did not emanate from the people themselves, so, in his
moral speculations, he was unwilling to refer any of the phenomena of
nature to a final cause. When pushed, indeed, very hard, Bletson was
compelled to mutter some inarticulate and unintelligible doctrines
concerning an _Animus Mundi_, or Creative Power in the works of Nature,
by which she originally called into existence, and still continues to
preserve, her works. To this power, he said, some of the purest
metaphysicians rendered a certain degree of homage; nor was he himself
inclined absolutely to censure those, who, by the institution of
holydays, choral dances, songs, and harmless feasts and libations,
might be disposed to celebrate the great goddess Nature; at least
dancing, singing, feasting, and sporting, being conformable things to
both young and old, they might as well sport, dance, and feast, in
honour of such appointed holydays, as under any other pretext. But then
this moderate show of religion was to be practised under such
exceptions as are admitted by the Highgate oath; and no one was to be
compelled to dance, drink, sing, or feast, whose taste did not happen
to incline them to such divertisements; nor was any one to be obliged
to worship the creative power, whether under the name of the _Animus
Mundi_, or any other whatsoever. The interference of the Deity in the
affairs of mankind he entirely disowned, having proved to his own
satisfaction that the idea originated entirely in priestcraft. In
short, with the shadowy metaphysical exception aforesaid, Mr. Joshua
Bletson of Darlington, member for Littlefaith, came as near the
predicament of an atheist, as it is perhaps possible for a man to do.
But we say this with the necessary salvo; for we have known many like
Bletson, whose curtains have been shrewdly shaken by superstition,
though their fears were unsanctioned by any religious faith. The
devils, we are assured, believe and tremble; but on earth there are
many, who, in worse plight than even the natural children of perdition,
tremble without believing, and fear even while they blaspheme.
It follows, of course, that nothing could be treated with more scorn by
Mr. Bletson, than the debates about Prelacy and Presbytery, about
Presbytery and Independency, about Quakers and Anabaptists,
Muggletonians and Brownists, and all the various sects with which the
Civil War had commenced, and by which its dissensions were still
continued. “It was,” he said, “as if beasts of burden should quarrel
amongst themselves about the fashion of their halters and pack-saddles,
instead of embracing a favourable opportunity of throwing them aside.”
Other witty and pithy remarks he used to make when time and place
suited; for instance, at the club called the Rota, frequented by St.
John, and established by Harrington, for the free discussion of
political and religious subjects.
But when Bletson was out of this academy, or stronghold of philosophy,
he was very cautious how he carried his contempt of the general
prejudice in favour of religion and Christianity further than an
implied objection or a sneer. If he had an opportunity of talking in
private with an ingenuous and intelligent youth, he sometimes attempted
to make a proselyte, and showed much address in bribing the vanity of
inexperience, by suggesting that a mind like his ought to spurn the
prejudices impressed upon it in childhood; and when assuming the _latus
clavus_ of reason, assuring him that such as he, laying aside the
_bulla_ of juvenile incapacity, as Bletson called it, should proceed to
examine and decide for himself. It frequently happened, that the youth
was induced to adopt the doctrines in whole, or in part, of the sage
who had seen his natural genius, and who had urged him to exert it in
examining, detecting, and declaring for himself, and thus flattery gave
proselytes to infidelity, which could not have been gained by all the
powerful eloquence or artful sophistry of the infidel.
These attempts to extend the influence of what was called freethinking
and philosophy, were carried on, as we have hinted, with a caution
dictated by the timidity of the philosopher’s disposition. He was
conscious his doctrines were suspected, and his proceedings watched, by
the two principal sects of Prelatists and Presbyterians, who, however
inimical to each other, were still more hostile to one who was an
opponent, not only to a church establishment of any kind, but to every
denomination of Christianity. He found it more easy to shroud himself
among the Independents, whose demands were for a general liberty of
conscience, or an unlimited toleration, and whose faith, differing in
all respects and particulars, was by some pushed into such wild errors,
as to get totally beyond the bounds of every species of Christianity,
and approach very near to infidelity itself, as extremes of each kind
are said to approach each other. Bletson mixed a good deal among those
sectaries; and such was his confidence in his own logic and address,
that he is supposed to have entertained hopes of bringing to his
opinions in time the enthusiastic Vane, as well as the no less
enthusiastic Harrison, provided he could but get them to resign their
visions of a Fifth Monarchy, and induce them to be contented with a
reign of Philosophers in England for the natural period of their lives,
instead of the reign of the Saints during the Millenium.
Such was the singular group into which Everard was now introduced;
showing, in their various opinions, upon how many devious coasts human
nature may make shipwreck, when she has once let go her hold on the
anchor which religion has given her to lean upon; the acute
self-conceit and worldly learning of Bletson—the rash and ignorant
conclusions of the fierce and under-bred Harrison, leading them into
the opposite extremes of enthusiasm and infidelity, while Desborough,
constitutionally stupid, thought nothing about religion at all; and
while the others were active in making sail on different but equally
erroneous courses, he might be said to perish like a vessel, which
springs a leak and founders in the roadstead. It was wonderful to
behold what a strange variety of mistakes and errors, on the part of
the King and his Ministers, on the part of the Parliament and their
leaders, on the part of the allied kingdoms of Scotland and England
towards each other, had combined to rear up men of such dangerous
opinions and interested characters among the arbiters of the destiny of
Britain.
Those who argue for party’s sake, will see all the faults on the one
side, without deigning to look at those on the other; those who study
history for instruction, will perceive that nothing but the want of
concession on either side, and the deadly height to which the animosity
of the King’s and Parliament’s parties had arisen, could have so
totally overthrown the well-poised balance of the English constitution.
But we hasten to quit political reflections, the rather that ours, we
believe, will please neither Whig nor Tory.