state of excitement concerning the Reform Bill, which, if passed, would
give a vote to a great number of people who did not possess one, but
which was being firmly opposed by the Duke of Wellington and a strong
party. To avoid any risks of riots or demonstrations the usual
procession was left out, even the usual banquet in the old palace, while
everything was as simple and private as possible. But seven years later
those old grey walls looked down on a Coronation Day which brought
untold blessings to England. On June 28, 1838, Princess Victoria, a
slender girl in the first freshness of her youth, was publicly
recognised undoubted queen of the realm, and took her solemn oath in the
sight of the people to perform and keep the promises demanded of her by
the Archbishop. Here in the Sanctuary she was anointed; here the spurs
and the sword of state were presented to her, and then laid on the
altar; here the orb was placed in her hands and the royal robe about her
shoulders; here the ring, the sceptre, the rod were delivered to her;
here was the crown of pure gold set on her head, and the Bible, the
royal law, placed in her hands; here she ascended the throne, while her
nobles did her homage; here, taking off her crown, she received the Holy
Communion, and then passed on into the Confessor's Chapel in accordance
with the time-honoured usage.
Vastly solemn indeed was the ceremony, calling to mind as it did the
long procession of kings and queens who, without exception in that
place, almost in those identical words, had accepted the great trust to
which they had been called. Some had been faithful; some, through
weakness or through wilful wrong-doing, had violated the vow. The
strongest men had sometimes wavered, the bravest men had faltered before
their task. But Queen Victoria never failed her people. Through weal
and woe, through storm and sunshine, through good and evil days, she
watched over them and guarded their interests. She ruled over their
hearts at home and throughout those vaster dominions beyond the seas,
she bound them to her with bonds of loyal devotion, so that when, in the
dim light of a winter's day in February 1901, the Abbey was filled with
a vast crowd of those who were there to pay their last tribute to her
memory, their universal sorrow was no mere formality, but was in harmony
with the sense of personal loss which was felt by all who had owned her
as their Sovereign Lady.
*PART II*
*AMONG THE MONUMENTS*
[Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT.]
*CHAPTER XIII*
*PURITANS AND CAVALIERS IN THE ABBEY*
By a strange irony of fate, the royal chapel of the Tudors was destined
to be, at least for awhile, the burying-place of many Parliamentary
leaders, and perhaps stranger still it is to realise how Roundhead and
Cavalier, disgraced minister and triumphant reformer, came at last to
the old Abbey, which opened its arms to receive them, condemning no man,
but committing all unto the care of Him who judgeth with righteous
judgment. The Duke of Buckingham and Pym, Cromwell and Prince Rupert,
Admiral Blake, Clarendon the historian of the great rebellion, Essex and
General Monk, all were buried within a few feet of each other, and their
names are still engraved on Abbey stones, though some of them sleep
there no more.
These men, in their different ways, stood in the forefront of that
hard-fought Revolution, and as I want Westminster to be something more
to you than a place of names and monuments, I will try to tell you
enough of each one for you to be able to fit them into their proper
places in the history of those stormy days.
We will begin with Buckingham, who, as young George Villiers, was
brought up to be a courtier, and taught only such accomplishments as
would fit him for that part. He was an apt pupil, graceful, witty,
versatile, full of charm, and from the moment he entered the service of
James I. as cupbearer, his upward career began. He leapt from step to
step with dazzling rapidity, and the king became a mere puppet in his
hands. "I love the Earl of Buckingham more than anything else," he
declared. "Whatsoever he desireth must be done." For awhile Buckingham
did not seriously interfere with politics; his ambition was satisfied
with personal power and court influence, while his own position
concerned him much more closely than the affairs of the country. But
eventually he was drawn into the vortex, to his own undoing, for his
brilliancy was only superficial, his wild schemes collapsed one after
the other, while his reckless extravagance, coupled with his disastrous
undertakings, staggered the Parliament, which had for a brief moment
believed in him. However, Charles, who was now king, implicitly
believed in him through all his failures, and supported his exorbitant
demands for money to carry on his unpopular and unsuccessful foreign
policy. At last the gathering indignation burst.
"The Duke of Buckingham is the cause of all our miseries," was the
deliberate statement made in the House of Commons, followed by a long
list of charges, and the determination, for the first time, to hold a
minister responsible to Parliament for his actions. The king was
furious. "None of my servants shall be questioned by you, or it shall
be the worse for you," he said scornfully, and he dissolved Parliament.
But the trial of Buckingham was taken out of their hands, for shortly
afterwards he was stabbed to death by a certain Fenton, a melancholy,
malcontented gentleman, who declared that he did so to rid the country
of an intolerable tyrant. He was buried quietly in the Abbey, and the
king set up to his memory the elaborate but hardly beautiful monument
which you see. You must notice, though, the three figures of his
children, for one of them, Francis, a very gallant boy, "of rare beauty
and comeliness," fell fighting for the king at Kingston, wounded nine
times, yet scorning to ask quarter, standing with his back against an
oak tree till he dropped.
General Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle, fought on the Parliamentary
side, and after the defeat of the Royalists in England he was with
Cromwell through his victorious campaigns in Scotland and Ireland,
remaining behind as commander-in-chief for Scotland. But it was as a
sailor rather than as a soldier that he made his greatest reputation,
for when the struggle began between England and the Dutch for the
command of the seas, the Dutch challenging the English right to it,
Monk, and another Parliamentary officer, Blake, were appointed generals
at sea, it being thought that their ability to lead, their energy and
their good sense, would more than compensate for their lack of technical
experience. So it eventually proved, and after some close fighting Monk
was able to report that the English held the coast of Holland as if it
were besieged. Parliament rewarded Monk with a vote of thanks, a medal
and a chain worth L300, and he assured them that he had "no other
thought but to defend the nation against all enemies, whether by sea or
by land, as might be entrusted to him."
Not altogether approving of the arbitrary way in which Cromwell treated
Parliament, he determined to keep clear of politics and to remain a
"plain fighting man." But while employed by the Protector he was
entirely loyal to him, and at once sent to him a letter he received from
Charles II. suggesting negotiations. "An honest, very simple-hearted
man," was Cromwell's remark on him.
But with the death of the Protector the whole aspect of things changed.
Monk had fully intended to serve Richard Cromwell as he had served his
father, only it became palpably evident that the new Protector was not
in any way capable of controlling the country or the army, and within a
few weeks dissatisfaction and discontent were evident everywhere--the
pendulum had swung back, and England cried for a king once more. With
Richard Cromwell at the head of affairs, Monk saw that the days of the
Commonwealth were numbered. "He forsook himself or I had never faltered
in my allegiance," he explained; for Dick Cromwell was as anxious as any
one to be rid of his office. Through his brother, Nicholas Monk, a
sturdy Royalist, afterwards made Bishop of Hereford, Charles sent a
straightforward letter to the general, judging rightly that plain words
were more likely to take effect with him. "If you take my interests to
heart," wrote the king, "I will leave the way and manner to you and act
as you advise."
For awhile Monk hesitated, then he accepted the situation. He met the
king at Dover, and served him faithfully in whatever capacity it was
desired of him, assisting in the settlement of Scotland, or going to sea
with Prince Rupert, or keeping order in London during those years of
panic when first the plague, then the Great Fire produced the wildest
terror and confusion. He died "like a Roman general and a soldier, his
chamber door open as if it had been a tent, his officers around him,"
and England mourned an honest, duty-loving man, brave on every point
excepting where his wife was concerned, and here he frankly admitted to
a "terror of her tongue and passions." The king, who had made him Duke
of Albemarle, was present at his funeral, and undertook to pay all the
expenses, besides erecting a monument to him. But his memory and
gratitude were both short-lived, so that it was left to the second Duke
to see that his father's name and fame were duly chronicled in the
Abbey, that future generations might know him as "an honest man, who
served his country."
Admiral Blake, buried in the Cromwell vault, first went to sea to settle
Prince Rupert, who with his tiny fleet was a terror to English ships,
and so successful was he, that at last Rupert was thankful to reach
France in safety with his one remaining vessel. For reward, Parliament
gave him a place in the council of state, and he devoted himself to
making the navy more efficient, as he felt sure a war at sea with the
Dutch was imminent. He desired to make his sailors men of the same
stamp as Cromwell's famous Ironsides, but though he was a great
disciplinarian he was very popular, and his men fought for him with a
will. The war began with a victory for Blake, which, far from
disheartening the Dutch, put them on their mettle, and off Dungeness
they compelled the English admiral to retreat on Dover, after a fierce
struggle. So elated was Van Tromp at this advantage, that as he passed
along the Channel he had a broom fastened to the masthead of his ship to
show how he meant to sweep the English from the seas. Blake was sorely
grieved at his failure, and for a moment gave way to a depression which
led him to entreat Parliament that he might be discharged from "an
employment much too great for him." Then his old spirit returned, and
he asked "for more men to fight again."
At the battle of Portland the fleets met once more, and it was a
terrible fight. Though Blake was badly wounded, the victory lay with
the English. He followed up the advantages he had gained, and near the
North Foreland took eleven Dutch ships and 1350 prisoners, with a small
loss. His wound had by now so affected his health, that he was
compelled to return to England, leaving Monk to fight the last great
fight, in which Van Tromp was killed, 6000 Dutchmen killed, wounded, or
made prisoners, and twenty-six of their ships sunk or taken. However,
though the Dutch were settled, it was necessary to assert the English
power in the Mediterranean, especially where Spain was concerned, and
Blake was the name to conjure with. So, in spite of his painful
illness, he set out once more, "the one man able to preserve the
commonwealth," Cromwell told him. At Santa Cruz he met the Spanish
fleet and conquered it. "To God be all the glory," he wrote in his
simply worded despatch which told of this great and popular victory.
Then, feeling his increasing weakness, he asked leave to return home, as
"the work was done and the chain complete." But he died at sea, in
sight of Plymouth Sound. His funeral in Westminster Abbey was a
splendid one, worthy of the splendid service he had rendered to England,
Cromwell having ordered that "no pomp was to be spared, so as to
encourage all officers to venture their lives." A lasting shame it is
indeed that at the Restoration his remains, with those of Deane, one of
his admirals, and other Parliamentary officers, were taken from their
graves, and buried without any mark of respect in one common grave in
St. Margaret's Churchyard. Within the Abbey no monument marks his grave,
though he had held for England the supremacy of the seas against
vigorous attacks, and had made a reputation for himself "very wonderful,
which will never be forgotten in Spain."
The very name of Prince Rupert breathes of romance and adventure. His
mother was the fascinating and high-spirited Princess Elizabeth,
daughter of James I., who had married Frederick, Prince Palatine of the
Rhine, and had persuaded him to accept the crown of Bohemia when it was
offered to him by the people, who had just wrested their independence
from the Emperor of Austria. But his reign at Prague was short, for the
Emperor won back his own, and the Queen of Hearts, as Elizabeth was
affectionately called, had to escape with her children as best she
could, Rupert being but a few weeks old. Her father, afraid of Spain
and the Roman Catholic powers, would do nothing to help her, so she
would have fared badly had it not been for some faithful English
friends, headed by Lord Craven, and the people of Holland, who looked on
the king of Bohemia as a sufferer in the Protestant cause, and who
therefore gave his family a home besides a generous allowance.
Frederick was not only deprived of his new kingdom, but lost also his
old possessions, for the Emperor seized his lands on the Rhine and
spoiled his palaces. Many a brave attempt he made to win back the
Palatinate, always to be baffled, and at last, after the death of his
eldest son, he fell into such a low state of health that he died of a
fever. Elizabeth was left with three sons and two daughters, Rupert
being her idol, for she believed him born to be a hero. And truly he
was a boy to be proud of, excelling in everything he undertook, and such
a true soldier that, when he was only fourteen, his tutors declared he
was worthy to command a regiment. When Charles I. became king, he
invited two of his nephews to England, and, with the queen, at once lost
his heart to Rupert, who was then about eighteen. He proposed making
him a bishop or marrying him to an heiress, but Rupert would hear of
neither plan. A soldier's life, with plenty of adventure, was the only
life for him.
On the 22nd of August in the year 1642, the Civil War broke out in
England; the royal standard was set up at Nottingham, and Prince Rupert
was made General of the Royal Horse, he being then but twenty-three. His
very presence, brimming over as he was with enthusiasm, vigour, and
determination, brought a breath of new life to the men who "could not
hold back when the royal standard waved," yet "who did not like the
quarrel, and heartily wished the king would yield and consent to what
Parliament desired."
But Rupert was quite untouched by the general feeling of depression.
The cause or its merits concerned him but little; he knew nothing of the
intensity of the struggle, of the many unredressed grievances, of the
arbitrary treatment of the nation's representatives in Parliament, of
the total disregard for the opinions of the people which had at last
made nothing but war possible between two such conflicting parties. He
only saw the romantic side, a king called upon to defend himself in his
own realm against rebels and traitors, and so heart and soul he espoused
his uncle's cause. A cavalier of the cavaliers was Prince Rupert, with
his handsome face, long flowing hair, clean-shaved cheeks, beplumed hat,
and scarlet cloak, to which he added a very gallant bearing and a lordly
manner. Directly he saw the cavalry he was to command, less than a
thousand badly mounted untrained men, he dashed away like a whirlwind,
to scour the country in search of more. Here, there, and everywhere he
came and went like a flash, "in a short time heard of in many places at
great distances," to quote a Parliamentary historian, till the very
sound of his name had a magic effect. He charmed some, he terrified
others, but he did what he would with them all, and in less than a month
he rode back to join the court at Shrewsbury, with a picked force of
three thousand men, well horsed and equipped. Contrasted with the
indecision of Charles, Rupert's high-handed audacity was refreshing, and
when the king left him free "to steer his own course," he at once set
out for Worcester, which was threatened by Essex and the Parliamentary
army.
The Royalist plan was to march on London, a plan which Parliament saw
must at all costs be frustrated, so Essex received imperative orders to
intercept and check the enemy. At Edgehill, near Banbury, the armies
met, and the king, from his position on a hill-top, took view of Essex
and his army in the vale.
"I shall give them battle," he said. "God assist the justice of my
cause."
Then he called a council of war, at which many points of difference
arose between the old soldiers and the young. Of course Rupert was the
spokesman for the latter, and this was not the first time he had come
into collision with the other generals of the Royalist army. Caution
was a word unknown to him, and patience did not exist in his vocabulary.
Slow and steady tactics he abhorred; he scorned the enemy, and pleaded
vehemently for bold, dashing movements, which were, he said, best suited
to the high-spirited soldiers of the king. As usual he prevailed, for
he was never one who could be persuaded to change his opinion. His plan
of battle was decided on, which meant that the Royal Horse should charge
and drive the Roundhead Cavalry from the field, afterwards falling upon
the flank of the enemy's infantry, while the Royalist infantry attacked
them from the front.
"Then," he added, carried away by the thought of a victory which seemed
so obvious, "the day is ours."
When the battle began in earnest Rupert charged with his cavalry, and so
magnificently, that it seemed as if all his prophecies were fully
justified, for the Roundheads were swept backwards till they broke and
fled. But so excited and eager were the horsemen to pursue their flying
foes, that they left all the Royalist infantry unprotected, and when
Prince Rupert returned with such troops as he could rally from the
chase, he found all confusion and uncertainty. Moreover, it was nearly
dark, and no one was ready to support Rupert when he entreated that
another charge might be made to settle the day. So, after all, it was
only half a victory for the king's army, even though he held the road to
London, while altogether quite 6000 Englishmen lay dead on the field.
Charles next made a move to Oxford, where he established his Court, for
Oxford was almost the only city at that time "wholly devoted to his
Majesty," and from here peace negotiations were again entered into, with
the usual result that both sides were left still more bitterly opposed
to each other. Rupert was charged with attacking two Parliamentary
regiments at Brentford during the negotiations when all fighting was
suspended. But with all his faults of impatience and impetuosity he was
far too honourable a soldier to have willingly taken any unfair
advantage of his foe, and it seems clear what he did was at the king's
command, or when he was in ignorance of the stage which had been reached
in the negotiations. While the king and the main army lay inactive
though full of talk at Oxford, Rupert with his cavalry scoured the
country round in search of men, horses, food, and forage, and indeed
whatever they could lay hands on; for as Parliament held all the money,
the king's soldiers had to live off the country as best they could, and
wait patiently for pay which rarely came. The Prince, as was his wont,
journeyed far and wide, his special object being to extend the king's
territory all round Oxford and to take in all the west of England. So
we hear of him, sometimes successful and sometimes baffled, at
Cirencester, Banbury, Bristol, Gloucester, Birmingham, and Wales, then
moving northwards in Leicester and Northamptonshire, till at the
peremptory command of Charles he made his way towards York, which was in
great danger, and which, "if lost," wrote the king, "would mean little
less than the loss of the crown."
He relieved the town with great dash, but was so eager to press on that
he would not even wait to speak to the governor, Lord Newcastle, who was
very offended at what he considered to be a want of respect. Still more
angry was he when he received a message from Rupert commanding him to
follow the cavalry without delay. He made no haste to carry out this
order, and Rupert, who was in close touch with the enemy, waited for him
in vain. The delay cost the Royalists dear, for the battle of Marston
Moor which ensued was a complete triumph for the Roundheads. But even
then Rupert did not lose heart, as did so many of his party.
"'What will you do?' asked General King of him. 'I will rally my men,'
sayes ye Prince. Sayes General King, 'Nowe what will my Lord Newcastle
do?' Sayes he, 'I will go to Holland, for all is lost.'"
The defeat of the Northern army was decisive, and Rupert felt the only
help lay in Wales and the west of England. But defeat followed defeat.
At Naseby the Parliamentary army was again victorious; Bristol
surrendered, then Oxford. Nor was this all. Among the king's nearest
advisers were many who disliked Prince Rupert, especially Lord Digby,
and when the Prince surrendered Bristol, he saw his opportunity for
revenge. Very cleverly he worked on Charles to such an extent that he
made it appear as if Rupert had weakly capitulated without any
justification, and the king, who all too easily forgot the past, signed
an order revoking the military authority and position he had bestowed on
his nephew. The Prince was sorely hurt and indignant at this want of
confidence. "It is Digby that is the cause of all the distraction," he
said quietly, and then proceeded to defend his honour and his action,
which he did in a manner that commended itself to all fair-minded men.
Having written a full account of the siege, and proved that holding out
longer would have only meant a useless sacrifice of valuable lives, he
followed this up by going straight to the king at Newark, in spite of
having been forbidden to do so by Digby. "I am come, sir," he said, "to
render an account of Bristol." At first Charles would not listen, but
Rupert insisted on a court-martial, which at last was granted, and which
completely cleared him. The king accepted the verdict, but in a
half-hearted way, which nettled the Prince, who was already chafing at
the unjust accusations made against his honour. A few days later he
vigorously fought the battle of another officer who had been
dismissed--also the victim of Digby's jealousy.
"No officer," he declared indignantly, "should be deprived of his
commission without being able to defend himself against a council of
war."
In his anger he applied to Parliament for permission to return to
Holland, but when the message came that this would only be given on
condition that he did not fight again, he indignantly refused the terms.
His loyalty was deeper than his anger when it came to the test.
Ere long, however, the hopeless, weary struggle reached its end. The
king threw himself on the mercy of his Scottish army, who for L400,000
gave him up to Parliament, and he was made a prisoner. Rupert found his
way to France, and later on he joined the Prince of Wales in getting
together a small fleet which it was proposed to send to Ireland. He
entered enthusiastically into this new career. "The royal cause," he
said, "is now at sea." Far and wide on the ocean he was to be heard of
with his ships, round Spain, Portugal, in the Mediterranean and the West
Indies, near Azores and Cape Verde, seizing wherever he could find them
the treasure-ships belonging to the English Parliament. His name was a
terror by sea as it had been by land, and the adventurous life was quite
according to his liking. With the Restoration he came back to England,
and Charles settled on him an allowance of L4000 a year, besides giving
him an important command in the fleet. But no real scope was allowed
him for his powers, and Charles, with all his foreign intrigues, found
Rupert too inconveniently straightforward and resolute.