The king dreaded Parliaments. He endeavored to escape from the dilemma by convoking at York the great council of the peers of the realm, a feudal assembly, fallen into disuse for four centuries past. The peers had not yet assembled when two petitions, one from the City of London and the other signed by twelve of the most powerful noblemen, formally demanded the convocation of a real Parliament. The king no longer resisted. The great council of the peers nominated a commission entrusted to negotiate with the Scots. As a preliminary, it was decided that the two armies should remain on foot, both to be paid by the king. It was found necessary to provide for this expense by a loan, and the signatures of the sixteen commissioners were added to that of the king to guarantee the objects for which it was to be raised. Charles departed for London, weary and sad. The whole of England was ardently engaged in the elections, of which the importance was felt. Everywhere the candidates of the court were rejected. The assembling of the new Parliament was fixed for the 3d of November, a fatal date, it was said, for Laud. The Parliament assembled upon the same day under Henry VIII. had begun by overthrowing Wolsey, and had ended with the destruction of the abbeys. Laud refused to alter the date of the convocation. He was, like his master, weary of the struggle, and he abandoned himself, without further resistance, to the chances of a future as yet veiled in obscurity.
Parliament was opened, and scarcely had the king quitted Westminster when his friends—small in number among the Commons—were enabled to assure themselves that the public wrath was greater still than had been foreseen. The dissolution of the last Parliament had caused the cup to overflow. Charles, imbued with haughty ideas of absolute power, had desired to govern alone. In principle Parliament did not claim sovereignty, but it felt its strength, and was resolved to exert it. The monarch was foredoomed to defeat.
The session began with a long and complete enumeration of grievances. The abuses of tyranny were numerous, and all were brought to light. Monopolies, ship-money, arbitrary arrests, venality of justice, exactions of the bishops, the proceedings of the courts of exception—nothing was spared. Before considering the redress of wrongs, it was voted that the complaints were legitimate; they rained down from all quarters, and more than forty committees spent many days in receiving the petitions which came from the counties. Everywhere lists were drawn up of "delinquents," a name which was given to the agents of the crown who had taken part in the execution of the measures complained of. Before any resolution was made against these numerous guilty persons, they found themselves suddenly in danger of being summoned before the House, and condemned to a fine, imprisonment, or confiscation. All the servants of the king were thus placed at the mercy of their enemies. Once inscribed upon the list of "delinquents," no man could enjoy an instant's repose.
The explosion of the new power was sudden and terrible. Strafford had foreseen it. He begged the king to absolve him from appearing before Parliament. "I cannot," Charles answered him, "do without your counsels here. As truly as I am king of England, you incur no danger; they shall not touch a hair of your head." Strafford was not reassured. He set out, however, still bold and resolved to strike the first blow. He was not allowed time to do so: on the 9th of November he arrived in London ill; on the 11th, upon the motion of Pym, the House of Commons charged him with high treason. "The least delay may ruin all," the latter said. "If the earl has communication but once with the king, Parliament will be dissolved; besides, the House only impeaches, and will not judge." Strafford arrived at this moment in the House of Lords, but his impeachment had preceded him there. The door was closed; the earl caused it to be opened, and he was entering the House when his colleagues called out to him to withdraw. He stopped, looked around him, and obeyed after a few seconds' hesitation. Being recalled an hour afterwards, he was enjoined to kneel at the bar. There he learned that the House had admitted the impeachment of the Commons. On the same evening he was conducted to the Tower, whither Laud was conveyed not many days afterwards.
Some other important personages were accused with Strafford; but it was upon the latter that there was concentrated the vengeance of the triumphant party. Scotland and Ireland united themselves with England to overwhelm him with the proofs of his arbitrary rule. For nothing less than this league of three nations against the imprisoned minister could satisfy the feeling of hatred and apprehension among the people.
The House of Commons was henceforth master of the Government; commissioners taken from its midst alone had the right of administering the supplies which it voted, and the loans which it decreed in its own name. Political reforms, important and radical, succeeded each other almost without discussion, upon a simple exposition of grievances. The courts of exception were all abolished, and triennial Parliaments were voted. If the king failed in this duty, twelve peers of the kingdom assembled at Westminster were empowered to summon the Houses without his concurrence. Parliament could not be dissolved or adjourned without the approbation of the two Houses, at least for fifty years after its assembling. The king accepted the bill with ill-humor; but he attempted no resistance. He hoped, and he had some reason for hoping, for divisions among his enemies.
There was agreement upon political questions. Hampden, Pym, Hollis, Stapleton, moderate leaders of the Commons, were followed by Cromwell and Henry Martin, more violent, but as yet obscure. The divergences of feeling were made manifest when religious ground was touched. The question of the episcopacy, passionately attacked by the numerous Presbyterians in the House, was not yet resolved upon, and among the nation opinions were as various and conflicting as in the House. The friends of the king advised him to attach himself to the more moderate of the political chiefs, and to take advantage of the religious discussions which occupied the party. Secret negotiations were opened up; but, at the same time, through the intercession of the queen, Charles received proposals from a number of officers of the army, dissatisfied with the favor which Parliament manifested towards the Scots. Various advices, all menacing for the House, were discussed without any great effect and without any efficacious remedy. The king listened to all and often accorded his approbation. He even consented to affix the initial of his name to the petition which the army was to deposit upon the table of the Houses. The petition was not presented; but the chiefs of the popular party were apprised of it. Silently and without breaking off their negotiations with the king, they resolutely adopted a determination to unite themselves with the fanatical Presbyterians, and to ruin Strafford. The trial of the earl began.
The Commons of England were the prosecutors, supported by the commissioners of Scotland and Ireland. Eighty peers were present as judges. The bishops, yielding to the desire of the Commons, excused themselves against their wish. The king and queen were there, "in a closed gallery, eager to see all, but concealing, the one his anguish, the other her curiosity." The crowd of spectators was immense.
The accused arrived without suffering any insult from the multitude. "As he passed, his frame prematurely bent slightly by sickness, but with the proud and brilliant look that had distinguished his youth, all raised their hats, and he bowed courteously, looking upon this attitude of the people as of good augury." He was full of hope and did not doubt the happy issue of his trial. He was soon undeceived.
For seventeen days he sustained his cause without aid against thirteen accusers. The most odious impediments embarrassed his defense; but the earl manifested neither bitterness nor anger. He simply claimed his right, thanking his judges if they consented to recognize it, forbearing from complaining of their refusal, and replying to his enemies that they were provoked to anger by the delay arising from his skillful resistance. "It is as much my business, I think, to defend my life, as for any other to attack it." The Commons trembled with rage, for Strafford was gaining the ascendancy. The examination into the facts cleared the earl of the charge of high treason. The text of the law, and the steadfast ability of the accused had triumphed over all the obstacles opposed to the defense. Sir Arthur Haslerig proposed to declare Strafford guilty by an act of Parliament, and to condemn him by a bill of attainder. This proceeding was more violent and arbitrary than the greater number of the acts with which Strafford was so loudly reproached; but passion easily blinds even the most sincere. The bill, resting upon certain notes of Strafford delivered by the son of Sir Henry Vane, at once obtained a first reading. This time, Strafford was accused of having advised the king to make use of the army of Ireland to subjugate England. "Some thought they sacrificed law to justice, others, justice to necessity."
The regular trial meanwhile continued. Before his counsel began to speak to the question of right, Strafford summed up his defense himself with admirable eloquence. "My Lords," he said in conclusion, "your ancestors have carefully bound with the chains of our statute law, these terrible accusations of high treason; do not be ambitious of being more learned in the art of killing than our fore-fathers. Let us not awaken those sleeping lions to our destruction, by raking up a few musty records that have lain by the walls so many ages forgotten or neglected. I have troubled you, my Lords, longer than I should have done; were it not for the interest of those pledges that a saint in heaven left me … (at these words he stopped, burst into tears, and immediately raising his head, continued) I would not give myself so much trouble to defend this body already falling into decay, and burdened with so many infirmities, that of a truth I have little pleasure in bearing the burden of it any longer … (he stopped, as if in search of an idea): My Lords (he resumed), you will pardon my infirmity of weeping, I should have added, but am not able, therefore let it pass. And so, my Lords, even so, with all tranquillity of mind, I freely submit myself to your judgment, and whether that judgment be of life or death, Te Deum laudamus."
Compassion and admiration moved the most implacable enemies of the earl. Pym, in agitation, sought in vain for the paper upon which he had written his reply. None gave ear to him, and the accuser hastened to conclude his speech, vexed and confused by his involuntary emotion.
It was necessary at all cost to come to an end with an enemy so able and powerful, even when a prisoner—such was the force of his courage and eloquence. The second reading of the bill of attainder was hastened on; the most able and distinguished lawyers contended against it; the infuriated Commons desired to prevent the Lords from listening to the advocates of Strafford. The Lords resisted, and heard the pleadings, but the Lower House did not present itself, but four days subsequently, on the 21st of April, 1641, the bill was definitively passed. Fifty-nine members alone voted against it.
The king was disconsolate and profoundly anxious. He had himself exposed Strafford to this danger. "Be assured," he wrote to him, "upon my word as a king, that you shall suffer nothing, either in your life, or your fortune, or your honor." Negotiations and conspiracies were tried alternately, or at one and the same time. Attempts were on foot to pacify the chiefs of the Commons, or to obtain in the House of Lords a majority in favor of the earl. Enormous offers were made to the Governor of the Tower, Sir William Balfour, to allow the prisoner's escape. All collapsed in the face of official fidelity and popular passion. The king at length caused the two Houses to be summoned, and admitting the faults of the earl, promised that he would never employ him, even in the humblest office. He declared, however, that never would any reason, or any threat, make him consent to his death.
Charles presumed too much upon his courage. He did not yet know how completely the hatred of the Commons against Strafford was under the control of courage and ability. Popular violence was added to Parliamentary prosecutions. The Upper House, to which the bill of attainder had been carried, was besieged every day by a furious multitude, crying, "Justice! justice!" The Lords were insulted and summoned to declare themselves. Pym had for a long while held in reserve what he knew of the manœuvres of the court and the officers, to excite the army against Parliament; he published an account of this matter. Some of the accused persons fled, and terror spread in the House as well as among the people. It was decreed that all the ports should be closed, and that all letters coming from abroad should be opened. In remembrance of the conspiracy of Guy Fawkes, a rumor was circulated that the House was undermined, and the people hastened to Parliament to ascertain or to share its dangers. Meanwhile the two Houses united themselves by a vow for the defence of the Protestant religion and the public liberties. It was even attempted to impose the same pledge upon all citizens. In vain the Lords struggled against the rising tide; they endeavored to modify the bill of attainder. This the Commons refused; they were determined to obtain their complete vengeance. The Upper House yielded. Thirty-four of the Lords who had been present at the trial absented themselves; twenty-six voted for the bill, fourteen against; nothing was now wanting but the acquiescence of the king.
Charles still resisted. His affection and his honor were equally shocked. Hollis, brother-in-law of Strafford, advised the king to go himself and present to the Houses the petition of the earl, demanding a respite. He promised to induce his friends in the House to content themselves with banishment; but the queen beset him with her apprehensions. She did not like Strafford; she was terrified by the riots; she wished to fly, to embark, and return to France. The king listened, troubled and undecided. He convoked the privy council, then the bishops. Juxon alone advised him to follow his conscience; all the others persisted that Charles should sacrifice an individual to a throne; his conscience as a man to his conscience as a king. The Earl of Essex had said shortly before, "The king is obliged to conform both in regard to his person and his conscience to the advice and conscience of Parliament." His servants were repeating to him under another form this harsh truth, when Charles received a letter from Strafford himself. "Sire," wrote the Earl, "after a long and hard struggle, I have taken the only resolution which becomes me. Every private interest should give way to the prosperity of your sacred person and of the commonwealth. In passing this bill I beseech you to remove the obstacle to a blessed agreement between you and your subjects. Sir, my consent shall more acquit you herein to God than all the world can do besides. To a willing man there is no injury done, and as by God's grace I forgive all the world with a calmness and meekness of infinite contentment to my dislodging soul, that in your goodness you would vouchsafe to cast your gracious regard upon my poor son and his three sisters less or more, and no otherwise than as their (in present) unfortunate father may hereafter appear more or less guilty of this death."
On the morrow Strafford learnt in his prison that the king had given his assent to the fatal bill. He did not reply, but raising his hands toward heaven muttered this passage of the Psalm: "Put not your trust in princes nor in the sons of men, for in them there is no salvation."
It was on the 10th of May. On the morrow, the 11th, the Prince of Wales presented himself before Parliament with a letter from the king ending with these words: "If he must die it were charity to reprieve him till Saturday." Without taking heed of this last and miserable effort of Charles in favor of his great servant, the House appointed the morrow for the execution.
Strafford issued forth on foot from his prison, outstripping the guards as though he were marching at the head of his army: He declined the coach which the Governor of the Tower offered him, being afraid of the violence of the people. "No, Master Lieutenant," he said, "I dare look death in the face, and I hope the people too. I care not how I die, whether by the hand of the executioner or by the madness and fury of the people. If that may give them better content it is all one to me." Having arrived before the window of Laud's prison, he stopped. The old archbishop, informed on the previous evening of what was about to happen, stretched out his arms to bless the condemned man; but, agitated and enfeebled, he swooned and fell. "Farewell, my lord," said Strafford, as he went away, "God protect your innocence." He knelt upon the scaffold; then, raising himself, he addressed the immense crowd which surrounded him. "I wish," he said, "to this kingdom all the prosperity on earth; alive, I have always done so; dying, it is my only wish. But I implore each of those who listen to me to consider earnestly, with his hand upon his heart, whether the beginning of the reformation of a kingdom should be written in characters of blood. Think of it in returning to your homes. God forbid that the least drop of my blood fall upon any of you! But I fear that you are in a bad way." He knelt again, then shook hands with the friends who accompanied him. "I have nigh done," he said, "one stroke will make my wife husbandless, my dear children fatherless, and my poor servants masterless. But let God be to them all in all." He prepared himself to receive the fatal blow. "I thank God," he continued, "I am no more afraid of death, nor daunted with any discouragement arising from any fears, but do as cheerfully put off my doublet at this time as ever I did when I went to bed." He called to the executioner and gave the signal. "God save the king," exclaimed the executioner, showing the head to the people. Shouts of triumph answered him; but some were silent, and many people returned to their houses sad, uneasy, and almost doubting the justice of the act which they had so ardently desired.
The feeble policy of the king had missed its mark, as a policy of that kind always does. The death of Strafford had not removed the obstacle in the way of a reconciliation between the king and his subjects. In accepting the bill which struck down the most illustrious of his servants, Charles had at the same time, and almost without taking heed of the step he was taking, sanctioned a bill which prohibited any dissolution of Parliament without the approbation of the two Houses. But a mutual understanding, far from being re-established, became every day less possible between the king and the people. The power which the Commons had wrested piece by piece from the sovereign appeared to impel them more and more towards tyranny. Political reform was accomplished, but religious reform remained to be effected. Notwithstanding the moral enfeeblement of the Anglican Church, it retained its position. It was henceforth against this object that the confused and often antagonistic efforts of a great number of the chiefs of the Commons and the people were directed; but on the religious question their union was not so complete as when they stood on purely political ground, and the bold innovators were uneasy in the very midst of their success.
Charles suddenly announced an intention of setting out for Scotland, where his presence had, he said, become necessary for the execution of the treaty of peace. At the same time the queen prepared to make a journey to the Continent. The House took alarm; they dreaded the passing of the king through the army, which was being disbanded and was known to be disaffected; they feared the secret manœuvres of the queen among the absolute sovereigns. They asked Charles to delay his departure; they implored the queen to remain in England: both consented. The disbanding of the army was in vain hurried on by promising the soldiers the arrears of their pay. Money was borrowed, plate was melted down to meet this enormous expenditure. The operation was not completed when the king at length departed on the 10th of August. The House adjourned on the 27th. A committee, at the head of which was Hampden, was sent to Scotland to remain with the king, in order to watch over the interests of Parliament.
This measure was prudent and effective. Charles passed through the English and Scottish armies without daring to stay long; but his attempts to influence the officers meanwhile engaged the attention of Lord Holland, who was entrusted with the disbandment. He wrote on this matter with uneasiness to the Earl of Essex in London. On arriving in Edinburgh the king accorded to the Parliament and Church of Scotland all the religious and political concessions which they demanded. He attended the Presbyterian worship with a pious gravity which touched the Scots. He appeared to have regained in favor and confidence that ancient kingdom of his fathers, which had formerly risen in its entirety against the tyranny which attempted to interfere with its faith. The chiefs of the Covenanters themselves were received with eager good grace. Distrustful people in Scotland, anxious lookers-on in England, in vain endeavored to penetrate the mystery of this conduct.
Suddenly it became known that the two most influential of the great lords in the Scottish Parliament, Hamilton and Argyll, had left Edinburgh with their friends, and retired into the country to escape the danger of arrest. The king loudly complained of the conjectures which were in circulation; Parliament ordered an inquiry. The proceedings were in secret; the committee declared, without any particulars, that there was no claim on the side of the king for any reparation nor ground for any alarm on the part of the fugitives. The latter resumed their seats in Parliament, and the public knew nothing of what had happened.
Nothing was known, but the object of the journey of Charles to Scotland had failed. He had thought of collecting upon the spot such proofs of the correspondence of the English malcontents with the Covenanter chiefs of Scotland that the judges could not help declaring guilty of high treason those leaders of the Commons who had caused, by their intrigues, the invasion of their country. He intended to hurl against them the accusation which Strafford had not had time to prepare. The hopes of the king were sustained by his correspondence with a young and impetuous nobleman, the Earl of Montrose, formerly attached to the Covenant, but who had now given himself up body and soul to the royal cause. In Scotland the king had found Montrose in prison, suspected by Argyll; but the prison bolts were drawn now and then. Montrose had come by night to see Charles; he had inspired him with some uneasiness concerning Hamilton and Argyll, asserting that their papers would furnish the proofs which the king sought. The arrest of the two noblemen was agreed upon, when the latter frustrated the scheme by publicly quitting Parliament and the city. Far from ridding himself of them, Charles was compelled to load his enemies with favors: Hamilton was made a duke, Argyll a marquis, Lesley, the general of the Scottish troops, became Earl of Leven. But these indications did not deceive Hampden; he knew all, and informed his London friends of the fact. The period of adjournment of the Houses was drawing to an end.
Great was the terror among the Parliamentary leaders when the proof was forthcoming of the vindictive rancor of the king. They consulted with uneasiness upon the conduct to be observed. The Scottish Parliament had wisely suppressed the affair. The English Parliament could not make use of it to agitate the people. Ireland undertook this task.
On the 1st of November, 1641, it was suddenly learned that an immense insurrection had broken out in Ireland, threatening the most imminent danger to the Protestant religion and the Protestants of the country. The Catholics had everywhere risen, chiefs and people, claiming the liberty of their faith, vaunting the name of the queen and even of the king, setting up a commission signed, it was said, by the latter, and announcing the design of delivering Ireland and the throne from the tyranny of the English Puritans. On the very eve of the day on which the conspiracy was to break out it was accidentally discovered and quelled in Dublin. Throughout the country it had met with no obstacle. Murders, fires, horrible and nameless crimes, it is said, were rife throughout Ireland. Everywhere Protestants were massacred without resistance. The Government, disarmed by Strafford and the crown, was powerless before a half-savage people eager to avenge in one day centuries of outrage and misfortune. The Earl of Leicester, nominated viceroy in place of Strafford, had not yet arrived. To oppose so terrible a storm the English Government had in Ireland only two judges of no ability, of no credit, whose Presbyterian zeal alone had caused them to be invested with that difficult employment.
England uttered a prolonged cry of terror and rage; every Protestant considered himself attacked in common with his brothers of Ireland. The king, who was a stranger to the insurrection, hastened to communicate to Parliament the news which had reached him in Scotland, placing the affair in the hands of the Commons and entrusting them with the repression, partly to rid himself of all complicity, partly to avoid in the eyes of his Catholic subjects, whom he had not encouraged, but whom he was in no hurry to restrain, the responsibility for the severities to which they might be compelled to submit.
The leaders of the Commons were not much more eager than the king to stamp out the Irish insurrection. It furnished them with the popular agitation and general uneasiness of which they stood in need in order to continue their work. They eagerly took possession of the power which the king offered them; but their efforts against the Irish insurgents were more ostentatious than sincere, and more noisy than efficacious. The Protestants of Ireland were left in the hands of their enemies. All speeches and acts were directed towards England; the moment for striking the great blow had come.
Shortly after the opening of Parliament, in the month of November, 1640, a committee was chosen to prepare, with an exposition of grievances, a solemn remonstrance to the king; but political reforms had been so rapid, and the king had so completely given way before the growing power of Parliament, that the majority of the grievances had in reality disappeared, when, on the morrow of the insurrection of Ireland, amidst the popular excitement, the committee received orders to resume and complete its work without delay. The remonstrance but lately intended for the king became a sombre exposition addressed to the people, retracing all the past evils, and all those which yet subsisted, the wrong-doings of the king, the virtues of Parliament, and the dangers which faith and liberty incurred as long as the nation should not be unreservedly devoted to the House of Commons, which was alone capable of saving them from Popery, the bishops, and the king.
So much violence, without fresh pretexts, or any direct or apparent aim, raised numerous murmurs. The ever-growing pretensions of Parliament began to create, even in its midst, a party of resistance, favorable, in a certain measure, to the threatened royal power. The popular chiefs endeavored to quiet the distrust and exasperation, asserting that they only wished to intimidate the court and to thwart its intrigues, and that the remonstrance being once adopted it would not be promulgated. They asked for the vote towards the end of a sitting, at the moment when the House, being fatigued, was thinking of separating. Lord Falkland, Hyde, Colepepper—the friends of the king, as they were called—demanded that there should be a postponement until the morrow. "Why," said Cromwell to Falkland, "do you so greatly desire this delay?" "Because it is too late to-day, and because there will certainly be a debate." "A light debate," replied Cromwell impassively. The discussion began on the morrow; sides were taken. For the first time two national parties were at contention. It was no longer the court and the country; the good citizens were divided; both sides found support in public interests and opinions. There were discussions; there was vehement speaking. Hour after hour passed by; the sitting had opened at three o'clock; it was midnight. The delicate or ailing members, and the old men had all retired. "This," said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, "will be the verdict of a famished jury." When the vote was taken, a hundred and fifty-nine members adopted the remonstrance, against a hundred and forty-eight who voted against it.
The result had scarcely been announced when Hampden rose and demanded that the remonstrance should be printed. "We said so," it was exclaimed on the other side, "you wish to take from the Lords their legitimate share of authority; you desire to walk alone and arouse the people to insurrection." "I protest, I protest," exclaimed Mr. Palmer, and his friends followed his example. Protests were usual in the House of Lords; they were not in the Commons. Indignation was felt at this new proceeding, and the disturbance increased; several members had already placed their hands upon their swords. Hampden addressed the House, deploring the sad disorder, and proposing to adjourn the discussion to the morrow. This was agreed to. "Well," said Lord Falkland to Cromwell, on leaving, "has it been debated?" "I will take your word another time," replied Cromwell, and he added in a lower tone: "If the remonstrance had been rejected, I would have sold all I have the next morning, and never would have seen England more, and I know there are many honest men of the same resolution." The printing of the remonstrance was voted on the morrow without any disturbance, almost without discussion, by a majority of twenty-three. The return of the king, to whom it was first to be presented, was the only event waited for in order to publish it.
He arrived, and was magnificently received by the city of London, the new lord mayor, Richard Gourney, being devoted to him. Already confident in the movement which manifested itself in his favor, he allowed his new hopes to be revealed at the first moment, by withdrawing from the Commons the guard which the Earl of Essex had given to them for their safety in his absence.
The remonstrance was immediately presented to Charles; he listened patiently to the reading of it. "Does the House intend to publish this declaration?" he asked. "We are not authorized to answer the questions of your Majesty." "Well, I suppose you do not either expect my reply at once; I will send it to you as soon as the importance of the affair will allow." The leaders of the Commons did not wait for the royal reply before proposing to the Houses what were no longer reforms, but innovations. A bill relating to the pressing of soldiers, another to the militia, a third excluding the clergy, of whatever grade they might be, from all civil offices, were presented and adopted in a few days by the Lower House. The remonstrance was published on the 14th of December. Popular ardor, from day to day more impassioned, corresponded with the new attitude of the leaders of the opposition. The aspect of affairs was undergoing a change; to the unanimous movement of the nation succeeded the strife of parties; to reform, revolution. Parliament asked to have its guard back again; but the multitude which thronged around Westminster, the committees formed in all places for the defence of liberty and the faith, represented a militia more formidable than all the soldiers, all busy in proclaiming with loud voice the common danger.
The king did not stand alone before this bold and persevering effort of the popular reformers. Among the most esteemed members of the House of Commons who had fought against tyranny, a certain number, and these of the best, were brought back to the crown by the dread of innovations and excesses. Charles resolved to secure the attachment of the chiefs of this growing royalist party—Mr. Hyde, Sir John Colepepper, and Lord Falkland. The latter did not please him; he had little esteem for the king, and a great effort of his friends was necessary in order to induce him to enter publicly into his service. He allowed himself to be overcome by the solicitations of Charles himself, constrained by necessity; but when he accepted the office of secretary of state, it was with a profound sense of discouragement and as a victim to a devotion without affection and without hope. These three friends undertook the difficult task of directing the affairs of the king in the House, and the former promised to attempt nothing without their advice.
Charles could no more keep his word with his friends than with his enemies. He drew courage from the adhesion of the gentlemen attached by tradition to the throne, who arrived with clamor from their counties to offer to the king their service. Every day struggles took place in the streets, and particularly around Westminster, between the partisans of the king—the "cavaliers" as they were called, and the "roundheads," a name which the cavaliers themselves gave to the citizens, on account of the contrast which the short hair of the Puritans presented to the long ringlets of the gentlemen. The bill for the exclusion of the bishops, still in suspension in the Upper House, was the special cause of outbreaks. The bishops every day ran the risk of their lives in going and taking their seats, and they were obliged in order to leave Westminster, to hide themselves in the carriages of some popular noblemen. The House of Commons did not reply to the complaints of the Lords against the disturbance excited at its doors: "We need all our friends," said the leaders; "God forbid that we should prevent the people obtaining thereby that which they are right in desiring." At the same time the Commons decreed that as the king persisted in refusing their guard, each of the members was entitled to bring an armed servant and to keep him at the door. Blood was shed incessantly around Westminster Palace.
The bishops adopted their course, a strange and frivolous one in so grave a situation; they resolved to absent themselves, while protesting by anticipation against all bills which might be adopted during their retirement, as not being invested with the necessary assent of all the members of Parliament. This declaration, signed by twelve bishops, being communicated to the king, was approved by him; he seized it as a pretext which might one day permit him to annul the acts of the indomitable Parliament against which he was struggling without success. He did not speak of the matter to his new councillors; but, on the same day, the keeper of the great seal carried, by his orders, the protest of the bishops to the Upper House, who sent it immediately to the Commons.
The surprise of the Lords and the anger of the Commons were great, and the popular leaders immediately contrived to find therein a new weapon. The impeachment of the bishops was suddenly proposed and resolved upon; they had designed to determine the fate of Parliament itself, and to destroy it by separating themselves from its debates; they were conducted to the Tower, upon the vote of the Upper House, which received the indictment of the Commons. The point was urged further. The king had taken the government of the Tower from Sir William Balfour, to entrust it to a cavalier. Sir Thomas Lunsford, a man little esteemed and very violent. The nomination of a new governor was demanded. Lord Digby, formerly animated with a patriotic zeal but now become the most intimate confidant of the king, was denounced for having said that Parliament was not free. The Commons again claimed their right to have a guard.
Charles did not lose his temper at so many proofs of growing distrust; he nominated as governor of the Tower, Sir John Byron, a man esteemed by all, and he replied to the inquiries of the House: "We do engage to you solemnly on the word of a king, that the security of all and every one of you from violence is and ever shall be with as much our care as the preservation of ourselves and our children," but he refused the guard. The House caused the militia of London to be mustered, and bodies of troops were placed in different parts of the city.
The instinct of the popular leaders had not deceived them concerning the apparent moderation of the king. On the same day, the 3rd of January, 1642, Sir Edward Herbert, the attorney-general of the crown, appeared in the House of Lords, and there, in the name of the king, charged with high treason, Lord Kimbolton and Messrs. Hampden, Pym, Hollis, Strode, and Haslerig, all five members of the House of Commons, for having attempted to destroy the fundamental laws of the kingdom, to deprive the king of his legal power, and to provoke war against him. Such was the substance of the accusations unfolded at length. Sir Edward Herbert demanded at the same time that the House should secure the accused.
Lord Kimbolton rose. "I am ready," he said, "to obey all the orders of the House; but, since my accusation is public, I demand that my justification may be public also." Silence reigned in the Hall, nobody spoke. Lord Digby leaned towards Lord Kimbolton. "How deplorably," he said, "the king is advised. I shall be very unfortunate if I do not learn whence this comes." He left as if to hasten after news. The advice had emanated from him.
A message from the Lords immediately warned the Commons. The servants of the five accused members hastened at the same time to give notice that the king's men were affixing seals to the locks at their residences. While the Lower House was asking for conference with the Lords, a herald at arms entered the Hall. "In the name of the king, my master," he said, "I come to request the speaker to consign into my hands the five gentlemen, members of the House, whom his Majesty has commanded me to arrest for high treason." None stirred, the accused members remained in their places. The speaker enjoined the herald to withdraw, and a committee nominated without opposition repaired to the palace of the king to say that to so grave a message the House could only reply after mature examination. Two ministers. Lord Falkland and Sir John Colepepper, formed part of the deputation. They had known nothing of the projects of the king. The Lords joined with the Commons in demanding a guard for Parliament. "I will reply to-morrow," the king said in his turn.
On the morrow, the House opened its sitting at one o'clock. The five members arrived among the first; they preserved silence, being fully informed of what was being prepared; they were surrounded; they were questioned. The agitation was at its height when there was a rush to announce that the king, accompanied by a retinue of four hundred cavaliers, all armed, had arrived at the House, and that he was coming in person to arrest the accused. The House at once urged the five members to withdraw. Pym, Hollis, Hampden, Haslerig went out immediately; it was found necessary to thrust Mr. Strode outside by the shoulders. The House was seated and silent. The king approached, accompanied only by his nephew, the Prince Palatine; he entered the hall; all the members rose, bareheaded. The king cast a rapid glance around him; the seats of the five members were empty. "Mr. Speaker," he said, "with your permission, I will borrow your chair for a moment. Gentlemen, I am sorry for this occasion of coming to you. … I expected from you obedience and not a message. … I come to see whether any of the accused are here; as long as they shall sit in this house, I cannot hope that it will return into the good path which I sincerely desire it to be in. … Mr. Speaker, where are they?" The speaker fell upon his knees. "Under the good pleasure of your Majesty, I have not here either eyes to see or tongue to speak except so much as the House, of which I am the servant, chooses to command me; I humbly implore your Majesty to forgive me." "Well, since I see that the birds have flown," said the king, "I expect that you will send them to me as soon as they return. But I assure you, on the word of a king, I never did intend any force, but shall proceed against them in a fair and legal way. I do not wish to disturb you any longer. I repeat to you, I expect you to send them to me as soon as they shall re-enter the Hall, otherwise I will take means to find them." He left. The House had remained motionless. Cries of "Privilege! privilege!" emanated from some corners of the Hall; then an adjournment until the morrow took place. All the members were eager to know what was being done and said without.
The people were as much agitated as the House, and the cavaliers as energetic as their master. The projected political manœuvre had been the object of their most ardent and haughty wishes; the check they experienced was bitter. The king persisted in his design, but without knowing how to accomplish it. The five members had retired to the city, where the citizens had spontaneously taken to arms. Charles resolved to proceed on the morrow to claim the accused men at the hands of the common council.
The mob thronged upon his passage with grave, sombre looks. Some voices resounded with the threatening cry of "Privilege! privilege!" The whole nation adopted as their own grievance the violated privileges of the Commons. The language of the king towards the common council was mild and conciliatory. He promised to act in all things according to the law, but he claimed the five members, and he did not obtain them. The aldermen of the city looked as grave as the multitude which encumbered the streets. The king returned to his palace foiled and angry.
The House adjourned for six days, declaring that after the attack upon its privileges, it could not sit in safety without a guard. But a committee had been established in the city, close to the house inhabited by the five accused members. The latter were consulted upon all the resolutions, and they even came several times and sat with the committee, which was open to all the members of the House. Popular anger increased from hour to hour, and its alliance with the House became closer. The adjournment of Parliament was about to expire. The king learnt that the five members were to be brought back in triumph to Westminster by the trainbands and the people. He could not endure to see his enemies pass in front of his palace. The queen had for a long time implored him to go away. The nobility of the counties promised aid and security. Away from this city of London, delivered from the roundheads, far from Parliament, the king would be free, and what could Parliament do without the king? It was resolved to go at first to Hampton Court; but orders were given to secure a more remote refuge in case of need. The Earl of Newcastle, faithfully attached to the king, set out for the north, where his influence was predominant, on the 10th of January. On the eve of the reassembling of the Commons, Charles, accompanied only by his wife, his children, and a few servants, quitted London and that palace of Whitehall which he was never to see again, except on his way to the scaffold.
It was time for the king to fly from London if he wished to avoid the triumph of Parliament. On the 11th of January, the Thames was covered with boats armed for war, bringing back to Westminster the five members. A fleet of vessels, adorned with flags, followed them. Along the shore marched the soldiery of London, bearing at the end of their pikes the last declaration of Parliament.
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Queen Henrietta Maria.
The Commons were sitting at Westminster, awaiting their colleagues, and as soon as the five members had entered the Hall, the sheriffs were introduced, the House wishing to address its thanks to the City. The gates of Westminster were besieged by an enthusiastic and triumphant crowd; in its midst were a retinue of four thousand gentlemen or freeholders of Buckinghamshire, all on horseback, bringing a petition to Parliament against the Papist lords and bad advisers of the crown. They bore inscribed upon their hats a vow to live and die with Parliament. The breeze of popular favor favored every sail. The leaders of the Commons contrived to take advantage of it. It was voted, in a few hours, that no member could be arrested without the authorization of the House, that Parliament should be free to sojourn wherever it should think proper. Skippon, the commander of the soldiery of London, was entrusted to watch the approaches to the Tower, still governed by Sir John Byron, whose dismissal was demanded by the House. The governor of Portsmouth was forbidden to receive into his town troops or supplies without the order of Parliament. Sir John Hotham was sent to Hull, an important town and the real key to England in the north. It was declared that the kingdom was threatened and that it should be placed in a state of defence. The Lords refused to consent to this vote, but the Commons had attained their object; the people had been apprised of the danger.