A FATAL CHOICE. STRAFFORD AND LAUD. HUGUENOTS AND ANGLICANS. ROYAL
PRODIGALITY. PLEASANT HOURS IN THE PILLORY. SHIP-MONEY. A PATRIOT.
MODERATE MEN. NO MORE PEACEFUL DAYS AT LATHOM. “THE RED HORSE OF THE
LORD.” VIRGIL UNDER DIFFICULTIES. EDGEHILL. “COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO
DEPART”
Charles was invariably unfortunate in his selection of advisers. When he
lost Buckingham, he took into his place Sir Thomas Wentworth. This
choice, on the face of it, would have appeared eminently wise, since at
the beginning of his public career Wentworth was a favourite with the
people and the Commons, chiefly on account of the Petition of Rights
being practically his work. His temperament however, was not made for
liberal partisanship. He was scholarly by rearing, proud, energetic,
full of ambition, and, once on the side of the Crown, he made his power
felt. In general demeanour he was a striking contrast to the amiable,
courtly Buckingham, doing his work skilfully, with a grave ceremony.
Unlike Buckingham too, who was before all things a royal favourite,
Wentworth was first a statesman; and while standing high indeed in the
King’s esteem, his usefulness was the quality which Charles more
appreciated. Desirous of employing his powerful abilities to the
greatest advantage, Charles rapidly advanced him in titles and
dignities, until in 1631 Thomas, now Viscount Wentworth, was appointed
Lord-Deputy of Ireland.
The deep-rooted attachment of Charles for the Anglican Church drew him
into bonds of close sympathy with Wentworth’s friend, Laud, who about
the same time, was raised to the Archbishopric of Canterbury. Laud was a
man honest of conviction, pure in intention, but unconciliatory of
speech, and narrow in his theological views. His intolerance of dissent
from the Church of England was rigid, whether in the direction of
Puritanism or of Romanism. This fixity of purpose was little understood
in his own day, either by Papist or by Puritan, and perhaps not even by
his greatest admirers; so little comprehended by the Romanists, that the
Pope was deluded into offering him a cardinal’s hat. Laud established
his theory of canonical guidance and of church rule solely upon the
Prayer Book, carrying out its directions in the spirit and the rubric,
and finding in these neither ambiguity nor elasticity; and he imposed
upon all his clergy a rigorous adherence to the ritual and ceremonial of
the Anglican Church, as he understood it. Many refused this, and were
punished as contumacious, being deprived of their cures; and when the
people crowded to hear the preaching of these “confessors”—for as such
they were regarded—to Gospel truth in its purity, all expounding or
preaching was forbidden them. While Laud denounced the excess, as he
regarded it, of ecclesiastical ceremony conducted in the private chapel
of the Queen, he offended the greater part of his own flock, clergy and
lay alike, by the pomp and ceremonial which he introduced into the
public services of the Church of England. Possibly no servant of the
Anglican Church ever grasped more entirely than Laud the real spirit and
tendency of Anglican doctrine; and, had he lived in a later time, his
sphere and mission would have been widely acknowledged. As it was,
though the few regarded his death as a martyrdom, the multitude rejoiced
at the removal of such a stumbling-block in the path of the true
spiritual seeker. Music and vesture and change of posture in the Lord’s
house were choking husks, to be cast into the fire, and the advocates of
these “mummeries” to be as summarily disposed of as might be. The
mistake of Laud was in imposing outward observations of religion upon
persons who had long discarded the self-denials and practices of the
early Christians. Laud might and did closely abide by such rules
himself, but they were less easily accepted by the general herd of
professing churchmen, who had no mind for too much self-discipline: and
hence the charge of pharisaism and needless austerities against the
ritualist Laud and his disciples. The accusation of his papistical
leanings holds good no further than that Laud, in common with many
upright and charitably thinking Christians of all sects and nations,
regretted the divisions among the followers of Christ, and strove to
mould his teaching by a spirit which might one day develop a stronger
desire for the unity of Christendom. Laud’s nature had in it, however,
no temporising spark; and, though taxed with Jesuitry, he, at all
events, did not understand that primary motive power of the Jesuits—of
being all things to all men, or of gradual achievement. Charles,
profoundly influenced by Laud, acted upon his counsel, and turned a cold
eye upon the Protestants of the Continent, going the length of
forbidding his ambassador in Paris to attend divine service in the
Protestant chapel there; and, truly, the religious reform of France and
Geneva wore a widely different aspect from that of England. No _via
media_ was offered by Huguenot and Calvinist. All was rigidly simple and
austere in their public worship. The Psalms, sermons, and long prayers
composing it were read, or, at the best, given forth in nasal sing-song,
which allowed no exercise to the senses or to the intellect of the
congregation. All was, or was intended to be, exclusively spiritual. And
to men and women of education and of intellect such limitations were
irksome and unedifying. Hence, when the Reformed members of the upper
classes came to pitch their tents in England, many of them quickly
conceived a liking for the Church of England, and, as in the case of the
Huguenot Charlotte de la Trémoille, fell naturally in with its teaching
and ritual, and so, as by second nature, mostly became ardent Royalists.
In order to retain foreign sympathy and support, Charles was often
prodigal in his gifts to and recognitions of his Continental friends.
This, considering the poverty of his exchequer and the needs of the
country, was reprehensible to a degree. Abuses increased. Taxation
became unendurable, and the people resisted, their remonstrances often
being couched in terms of respect and of loyal feeling which are
singularly pathetic. Every day the agitation and discontent increased;
until at last, the King, fearful of the spread of its contagion in the
country, issued commands that all country gentlemen should remain upon
their own estates.
Force had now to be employed to repress the popular discontent. Four of
the champions of the people were whipped, mutilated, and put in the
pillory; but instead of the portion of stones, filth, and rotten eggs,
ordinarily allotted to the occupiers of that unenviable eminence, they
received an ovation of sympathy and applause for their endurance and
patriotic courage.
The time had now arrived however, when the popular cause was to be taken
up by the wealthy and powerful. John Hampden, a Buckinghamshire
gentleman, refused to pay the tax of ship-money. He was not the first by
many who had murmured against its levying, as an illegal act, because
unsanctioned by Parliament; but he was the first to contest the question
in open court. The Crown lawyers, on the other side, proved that the
impost was of ancient origin, reaching as far back as the days when the
Danes ravaged the English coasts in their dragon-prowed warships, and
the people had contributed to the fitting-up and manning of vessels to
keep them at bay. From time to time, as occasion had demanded in the
interval of centuries, the tax had been revived, and dropped again when
the requirement no longer existed. That this did now actively exist, the
King’s party maintained; since the navy in James’s time had been
criminally neglected, and the protection against foreign invasion was
inadequate. The victory was to the King. Hampden was condemned, and
suffered. But the victory was a losing one. Hampden was hailed as the
champion of the people, and the greatest patriot of the time. Henceforth
all was contention between the royal party and the popular party. No
action on the part of Charles and his advisers went uncanvassed and
uncontested. The spirit of religious and political freedom waxed fierce;
Laud’s high churchmanship in England, Strafford’s high-handed government
in Ireland, the King’s endeavour to propagate Protestantism in Ireland,
and his attempt to force Episcopacy on Scotland, heaped fuel on fuel.
The King’s accusation of high treason against the five members, with his
command for their arrest, kindled the blaze of war. Mutual open defiance
between the King and his subjects first reared its ugly head at
Nottingham. Royalist and Roundhead fought a drawn battle at Edgehill,
and henceforth bloodshed and strife ruled the country. Many
moderate-minded men, before events reached this point, had withdrawn
from the Parliamentary party. They foresaw with apprehension the lengths
to which the “Reformers” were rushing; and, as it were, pausing to
consider, remained to rally round the King, his truest, ablest advisers.
Among these were Hyde, Lord Clarendon, who became Chancellor of the
Exchequer; and Lucius Cary, Lord Falkland, the hero, as he has been
called, of the great Chancellor’s epic.[10] And it is at this crisis
that Lord Strange, not as yet Earl of Derby, first steps into prominence
in the tragic scenes enacting in the drama, which only finds its
parallel in the chronicles of modern times, in France, nearly a century
and a half later.
Footnote 10:
Walpole.
Hitherto, since his marriage, Lord Strange had spent his time almost
entirely upon his estates, devoting himself to the welfare of his own
people and tenantry, and enjoying the pleasures of a country life and
the interchange of stately though simple hospitalities. Of Lady Strange,
little is recorded during these years. “Happy,” says the old axiom, “are
the people who have no history.” The daily events in the life of this
great lady, in whom discreetness and simplicity are such leading
characteristics, were as the ripples upon a calm ocean, upon whose
horizon for a long time little clouds scarce bigger than a man’s hand
threatened. Suddenly, after fifteen years of this comparative peace and
tranquillity, the clouds gathered thick, lowering till the storm broke
upon the Buckinghamshire plains.
The Parliamentarians were commanded by Lord Essex. Southwards lay the
vale of the Red Horse, the famous charger cut into the red rock in
memory of that ancestral kinsman of Lord Strange, who killed his horse,
vowing to share the perils of the meanest of his soldiers. The Puritans
called this figure “the Red Horse of the Lord, which He caused to ride
about furiously to the ruin of the enemy.”
Above the village of Radway, the King’s tent was pitched in the midst of
his redcoats. The royal standard, borne by Sir Edmund Verney, floated in
the morning breeze. The position of the Royal army was very strong, and,
had it remained to await the attack of the enemy, complete victory for
the King could hardly have been doubtful; but in spite of brave old Lord
Lindsay’s counsel, the King consented to the pushing forward of his
impatient soldiers, and met the attack half way.
The King rode along in front of his troops, clad as Vandyck has
presented him, a stately figure in full armour, with the ribbon of the
Garter across his breastplate, and its star on his mantle of black
velvet. In his tent he addressed his principal officers: “If this day
shine prosperous for us, we shall all be happy in a glorious victory.
Your King is both your cause, your quarrel, and your captain. The foe is
in sight. The best encouragement I can give you is this: that come life
or death, your King will bear you company, and ever keep this field,
this place, and this day’s service in his grateful remembrance.”
Major-General Sir Jacob Astley’s prayer is as memorable: “O Lord, Thou
knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou
forget me.... March on, boys.”
That some spirits no stress of circumstances can attune to war, the case
of William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, will
attest. Sir Edward Hyde and Harvey had charge of the two young princes,
Charles and James, during the battle. In the heat of the thunder of
cannon, and the rain of shot, Harvey was found seated comfortably under
a hedge, reading Virgil; though he consented, when urged, to retire into
a place of greater safety. The result of that day is well known. Both
sides claimed the victory; but the advantage, in absolute fact, was to
the Royalists.
The ghosts of the slain in that day’s fight are still said to haunt the
old scene of battle; and some three months after the event, “apparitions
and sundry noyses of war and battels” are recorded to have been seen and
heard on Edgehill. The faces of Sir Edmund Verney, the King’s
standard-bearer, and of many of the other “incorporeal substances,”
destroyed in the flesh, were recognised.
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