Chapter XXXI.

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

England never loved James II.: she dreaded his religion and that unfeeling character of which he had so many times given proof. The shrewd and liberal politicians had made great efforts to exclude him from the throne; he was nevertheless proclaimed without tumult and accepted peaceably by the nation. The great revolution which was to be accomplished under his reign, and which was to make England forever a free country, had not yet begun, nor was there any presentiment of its approach.

This drama was to unfold itself slowly, and to display in its progress successively the tyranny of the king and the resistance of the nation. At the outset, James II. profited by the absolute victory obtained by Charles II. in the last years of his reign. It was an epoch of tranquillity and of good appearances, false at the foundation, notwithstanding the royal protestations and the assurances of confidence lavished on the new monarch. Already, in the month of November, 1685, many disquieting acts and fatal prognostics began to alarm the friends of liberty; and from this time we may date the commencement of that progressive tyranny which was to develop conspiracies and at the same time arouse lively opposition and legal resistance throughout the country, both within and without Parliament.

[Image] James II.

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In the third period of the reign of James II. from July, 1687, to December, 1688, the nation and the king had evidently broken all ties: the one aspired without reserve to the absolute triumph of his will, the other defended proudly its attacked liberties. The contest ended only with the overthrow of James II. and his flight from England. It is necessary to follow step by step the episodes of this great conflict--a conflict unavoidable from the nature of the monarch who had just taken possession of the crown. To the far-seeing eye, the accession of James II. was the sure pledge of tyranny.

The mass of the nation was contented; the disquiet of political plots had counterbalanced the indignation caused by the Papist conspiracies, and public sentiment rallied around the throne; the great national calamities which signalized some years of the reign of Charles II.--war, pestilence, and fire--did not return to scourge the people. No hardy innovator among the literary or philosophical writers threw among the public such brands of agitation and of discord as Lilburne had scattered in spite of Cromwell or the Long Parliament. Milton died in 1674, having been solely occupied since the Restoration with his great poem, _Paradise Lost_, that masterpiece of religious and philosophical poetry alone worthy of saluting Dante in his sublime pilgrimage into the invisible world. The political pamphlets which had but recently served his cause and which had placed Milton in the front rank of English prose writers were eclipsed, if not forgotten, by the brilliancy of that poetical genius which had kept almost entirely silent during the ardent contests for liberty. Cowley and Butler were also dead; Otway and Waller mingled politics with their poetry. {398} Hobbes opened the door to a dangerous school of philosophy, against which Bunyan, a poor laborer and strolling preacher, defended his country without knowing it, by writing in the depths of his prison the "_Pilgrim's Progress_," that strange and profound book destined to take the first rank after the Bible in the popular libraries of England. Dryden alone occupied a brilliant position: his verse and prose were elegant, powerful, rich, and energetic; but personally he was often corrupt, without principle and without respect for himself or for his fame, as his pretended conversion to Catholicism subsequently proved. Minds were contemplative without being active: the revolution and the Republic had not been propitious to literary development; while the Restoration had profited by the leisure of Milton, it did not at first realize his value; it was during a period of intellectual calm as well as of political quiet that James II. ascended the throne. The treaty of Ratisbon gave Europe hope for some relaxation of the ambition of Louis XIV. The Emperor and Spain had accepted his new conquests, "recognizing" said the Marquis de la Fare, "that the empire of the French was a necessary evil to the other nations." After so many and such cruel blows, a moment of calm seemed to rest upon the world.

James II. was destined ere long to trouble this repose. It seemed when he ascended the throne that his only desire was to render his people happy. "They have spread abroad the report that I have a desire for arbitrary power," said he, February 6th, in the council which had assembled a few hours after the death of Charles II., "but it is not the only calumny that they have invented against me. I will do my utmost to maintain the government of the State and the Church as I find it to-day. {399} I know that the principles of the Church of England are favorable to monarchy, and that its members have proved themselves true and loyal subjects; I shall therefore defend and sustain it. I know also that the laws of England are sufficient to elevate a monarch as high as I should desire. I have often risked my life to defend this nation; I shall use the utmost of my power to preserve its rights and liberties."

This declaration was received with applause. Already the courtiers of Charles II. seemed to have lost the royal favor. James II., though as debauched as his brother, did not affect his license of conduct. "The appearance of the court changed immediately," wrote Evelyn; "the aspect is more grave and moral, the new king likes neither buffoons nor scoffers." Parliament was convoked for the 15th of May.

The elections assured to the Tories an overwhelming majority. "There are not more than forty members of the House of Commons that I have not chosen myself," said the king. At the opening of the session he repeated the promises he had already made before the council; a word only betrayed the absolute temper of the new monarch; in demanding that they accord him a fixed revenue for life, as they had done to the king, his brother, he added, "They may say to you that the best means of securing the frequent assembling of Parliament will be to allow me means only according to your will, and as you may think suitable; speaking today from the throne, I respond, once for all, to this argument. This will be a bad plan to adopt with me; the best means of securing frequent assemblings is to treat me well." {400} Parliament voted the subsidies demanded. Already James II. had performed an act of absolute power in continuing to collect the custom duties, but recently accorded by the Houses to Charles II. for life. Even the Whigs did not protest; they trusted to the sincerity of the king. "We have for the protection of our church the promise of a king," said a zealous preacher, "and of a king who never belied his word." So soon were forgotten the perfidy and faithlessness of the House of Stuart, of which James II. was soon to show himself a worthy son.

Already some disquieting symptoms began to alarm the far-seeing politicians. The king had thrown open the doors of his private chapel, establishing thus at the outset his right of hearing mass publicly. When Holy Week arrived and the services multiplied, James required the most considerable personages of his household to assist him in the ceremonies of his worship. Lord Godolphin, who was a member of the queen's household, and accustomed to accompanying her to the chapel, made no resistance. Lord Rochester, although corrupt and arrogant, had nevertheless been educated by his father, Lord Clarendon, to show a profound respect for the Anglican Church; he refused to follow the king to mass and obtained permission to retire to the country during Easter. The Dukes of Ormond and Halifax remained in the ante-chamber. The Duke of Norfolk, recently appointed to carry the sword of the crown before the king, stopped at the door of the chapel. "Your father would have gone farther, my lord," said James. "Yours, who valued mine much, would not have come so far. Sire," responded the duke. The religious pomps of the coronation, celebrated after the Protestant ritual, did not suffice to reassure their minds. Some remarked that the crown was too large for the head of the king, and was also badly placed upon his head. The supports of the dais gave way. Superstition, united to forebodings of evil, began to awaken in the public the first germs of an increasing restlessness.

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It was nevertheless with a true though confused sincerity that king James had promised religious liberty to his people. In his desire to protect the English Church and to allow freedom to the persecuted Dissenters, James II. had first in view the relief of the Catholics, so long and so cruelly oppressed. This was precisely what the Church and the Nonconformists equally feared. One of the first acts of the king was to open the doors of the prisons to all those who were detained by questions of conscience. Scarcely had Parliament assembled when a bill was presented begging of the crown the rigid enforcement of the laws against all Dissenters, whoever they might be. James opposed this measure, which would impose persecution on the Catholics; the motion was modified. "The House trusts to the oft-repeated promises of his Majesty to sustain and defend the religion of the Church of England as established by law, which is more dear to us than life." The king made no reply to this address; the persecution of the Scotch Puritans was the only favor that he granted.

The Scotch Parliament surpassed the English in submission and zeal. The resources of the hereditary kingdom of the Stuarts were limited; to the small subsidies which they were able to grant, the Scotch Parliament added a decree which they believed would satisfy King James: any preacher in a private meeting, any preacher or auditor in a public assembly was to be from this fact alone liable to the penalty of death. {402} Persecution was redoubled. Graham of Claverhouse overran the country at the head of his dragoons, dispersing assemblies and seizing, even in their homes, suspected persons. A poor carter of the county of Lanark was shot down in the presence of his wife, who clasped her terrified children in her arms. The fervent prayers of the victim already troubled and alarmed Claverhouse. "The day will come when you will have to render an account of this to God and to men," cried the unhappy widow. "I will know well how to account for my actions to men," replied the madman, "and as for God, I challenge him."

Men and women died with equal courage. A young girl was fastened to a post in the sea and left for the rising tide to engulf. "Abjure, abjure!" they cried to her. "Leave me in peace," responded she; "I belong to Jesus Christ." The waves swept over her.

The rigors exercised against the Scotch Presbyterians were not, however, prejudicial to the king's cause. In England the idea of liberty of conscience sometimes struck the persecuted. James himself had been impressed by it when he suffered the penalties imposed upon those of the Catholic faith. Having acquired power, he soon forgot the sublime principle, and his people likewise ignored it. The composition of his council, the want of favor that he manifested towards certain popular men, the confidence that he placed in others disliked by the people, occupied the public mind more seriously than the sufferings of a few Covenanters revolted from the Episcopal yoke. {403} On ascending the throne, James II. had openly announced his intention of maintaining near his person all the councillors of his brother; only a small number, however, were his friends. They soon perceived this. Sunderland and Godolphin had lately voted for the bill of exclusion that Halifax had defeated by the force of his eloquence. These two ministers nevertheless were less suspected by James than the brilliant chief of the Trimmers.

Irrevocably enrolled against the Papacy and tyranny, Halifax was received by the king with flattering words. "I remember but a single day in your life, my lord," said James; "it is that on which you spoke against the Exclusion Bill." He said at the same time to Barillon: "I know him; I cannot trust him. He shall not employ his hand in public affairs."

Halifax soon succeeded, as president of the council, Lord Rochester, who was placed at the head of the finances. The latter alone shared with the Judge, Jeffreys, the confidence of the king. His eldest brother, Lord Clarendon, replaced in Ireland the old Duke of Ormond, a veteran of devotion to monarchy, honored by all, too sincere in his Protestantism, too independent of character, to please the government and serve the views of King James. When he learned of his disgrace, the old servitor of Charles I. gathered around him at a banquet all the officers of the garrison at Dublin. He drank the health of the king, raising with a firm hand his glass filled to the very brim. "I have not spilled a single drop, gentlemen; my heart is as firm as my hand, still they accuse me at court of having fallen into my dotage. Long live King James!" His return to London resembled a triumph; a crowd of gentlemen claimed the honor of escorting him.

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Although disturbed by the religious and political tendencies of its king, the English nation regarded with pleasure the proud and independent attitude that he seemed to assume towards France and Louis XIV. England had never pardoned Charles II. the sale of Dunkirk, the treaty of Dover, nor any of the disgraceful bargains so often negotiated between the two monarchs. A few days after the accession of King James, Barillon received from his court a sum of five hundred thousand pounds, destined to be immediately delivered to the new sovereign. James II. was grateful, and at first modest and flattering in his language towards the ambassador of France. He excused himself for having convoked Parliament without the advice of Louis XIV. "I know that I am able to do nothing without the protection of the king, and that it would be a wrong to my brother not to remain always faithful to France. I will take care that Parliament does not meddle with foreign affairs. If I see them disposed to act ill, I will send them about their business." As testimony of his devotion, James broke the engagements that bound him to Spain for the protection of the Low Countries. Lord Churchill, the young favorite of the new king, destined to become known throughout the entire world under the name of the Duke of Marlborough, was charged with a solemn embassy to carry to Louis XIV. the homage of the King of England. "My attachment will endure as long as my life," were the words used by James II. to the Grand Monarch. He was ignorant as yet of all the claims to his devotion that Louis XIV. was to acquire.

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Parliament had scarcely assembled when King James already changed a little his tone towards France; he had found among his people more docility and generosity than he had expected; his revenues were assured to him during his life; he raised his head, assumed boldly the equality due his rank, and resolved, he said, to maintain with a firm hand the equilibrium of Europe. When the Marshal of Lorge came to London to repay the visit of the embassy of Lord Churchill, James received him, seated and covered, as his envoy had been received at Versailles. "Our brother the King of England speaks rather loftily," said Louis XIV. smiling, "but he nevertheless loves well the guineas." A few months only elapsed before James II. asked for new subsidies. The resources furnished him by Parliament were no longer sufficient for his expenses. He was in the face of an insurrection, and believed himself obliged henceforth to maintain a standing army--a constant object of terror in England. The Duke of Argyll and the Duke of Monmouth lived as exiles in Holland, that refuge for all men driven from their country on account of their political or religious opinions. The Duke of Argyll had been there already four years; the Duke of Monmouth only a few months. They were surrounded by a certain number of the proscribed of all parties. Their origin and conditions were diverse--men of law, as Ayloffe and Wade, compromised in the Whig conspiracies; old Cromwellians like Rumboldt; gentlemen of the court, as Lord Grey of Wark; ecclesiastics and pamphleteers, as Ferguson. On the death of King Charles, the ambitious projects of Monmouth were reawakened. The restless spirits among the exiles conceived the idea of creating an insurrection in England, and securing the aid of Monmouth by dazzling him with the prospect of a crown.

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He had already quitted The Hague; always prudent and circumspect, William of Orange had given a refuge at his court to the well-beloved son of Charles II. When James II. ascended the throne he requested him to withdraw. The conspirators found him at Brussels. He had retired there with Lady Wentworth, to whom he was passionately attached, and it was with great difficulty that they induced him to place himself at the head of the insurrection. He had little confidence in the enterprise, and from the beginning had but faint hopes of its success. At the same time it was determined to make an attempt upon Scotland.

Argyll counted upon the fidelity of his clan; he knew that the Campbells would sacrifice themselves, to the last man, in his name and for his cause; he also believed himself assured of the rising of the persecuted Presbyterians. The two conspiracies, at first distinct and almost hostile, finally united. They resolved to make a descent upon the west coast of Scotland. This movement, headed by Argyll, was to be supported by a descent on England under the leadership of Monmouth. Ayloffe and Rumboldt accompanied the Scottish expedition. Fletcher of Saltoun, republican and aristocrat, eloquent and learned, was to follow the fortunes of Monmouth. The young chief became encouraged. Ambitious hopes were awakened in his breast. He received letters from England urging him to action. "The Earl of Richmond had but a handful of men when he landed in England two hundred years ago," wrote Wildman, one of the most dangerous instigators of this plot; "yet a few days later, after the battle of Bosworth, he was proclaimed king as Henry VII." {407} "True," responded Fletcher of Saltoun, "but Richmond had the support of the barons and their retainers, while Richard III. had not at his disposal a single regiment of regular troops." On May 2, 1685, Argyll set sail with a fleet of three small vessels. King James, informed of the preparations, demanded of the States of Holland that measures should be taken to prevent the departure of the expedition. The city of Amsterdam was hostile to the House of Nassau, and her magistrates took pleasure in thwarting the plans and wishes of the Prince of Orange, who was very desirous at this time to maintain amicable relations with his father-in-law. The Scotch expedition was consequently able to depart without molestation. On the 6th, Argyll touched at the Orkney Islands.

The duke was nominally at the head of the expedition, but in reality the control of the same was in the hands of a commission, charged to watch and direct it actions. While they were wasting their valuable time in discussions and quarrels. King James, with prudent activity, occupied the country adjacent to the territory of Argyll. He roused the peasantry by his appeals, but the gentry were either absent or secretly favorable to the invaders; eighteen hundred men only united themselves to Tarbet. The "fiery cross" had overrun the country. A manifesto, prepared by James Stewart, a Scotch lawyer, recalled the grievances of the nation against King James. It was in the name of the persecuted Presbyterian Church, so dear to its followers, that the Scotch were called upon to revolt. Against his better judgment, Argyll was obliged to divide his little army; he remained in the Highlands with Rumboldt, while Sir Patrick Hume and Cochrane, more jealous of their chief than ardent for combat, directed a small expedition towards the Lowlands. Their expectation was that the entire people would rise at their approach.

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The conspirators and their friends were deceived concerning the temper of the persecuted Covenanters; they had no more confidence in the religious faith of Argyll than in the Papacy of James; persecuted, hunted, massacred, they hoped only for a miraculous deliverance; they neither desired nor expected any other; "the sword of the Lord and of Gideon" appeared alone worthy to save the Church; they did not recognize these invaders as a holy army come to their relief. The enthusiasts who had defended their assemblies with the sword failed to join the army of Cochrane; in vain the two detachments rejoined the Duke of Argyll at Bute; disorder only increased, and each day some new defection diminished the forces of the insurgents. The castle of Ealan Ghineg, which contained all the provisions and supplies, was delivered without a blow to the royal troops; their boats having been captured, a panic seized the insurgents--the most ardent refused to march on Glasgow, as Argyll desired. A strong detachment of red-coats appearing on the horizon, both leaders and followers sought safety in flight. Hume fled to the Continent; Cochrane was arrested and sent to London; the Duke of Argyll, after wandering many days about the country, was finally surrounded by a few straggling militiamen; he endeavored to defend himself; when captured and bound he disclosed his name to his countrymen; tears filled their eyes on beholding the misfortunes of their celebrated chief; but the love of gain soon caused them to stifle the feelings of compassion, and they led Argyll to Renfrew. {409} The duke was condemned in advance; an unjust sentence of death had been for a long time hanging over his head. "I know nothing about Scotch law," said Halifax; "but I am well assured that here we would not hang a dog on such evidence as they have employed to condemn the Duke of Argyll." As the prisoner entered the Castle of Edinburgh, after having passed through the city on foot and with head uncovered, he received the announcement of his speedy death; he was threatened at the same time with torture. They wished at any price to extort from him information concerning his countrymen; as to who were accomplices or abettors of the insurrection.

Although indifferent as a military commander, and ill qualified for a politician, Argyll was firm in prison, bravely confronting death, solely occupied regarding the evils that he had brought upon his clan. Disdainful of suffering, piously absorbed in the thought of soon appearing before his Maker, Argyll inspired with respect all who approached him. "God has softened their hearts," he said; "I did not expect so much kindness." He was not subjected to the torture. "I have implicated no one," wrote the duke, the morning of his execution (June 30th), "God, in his mercy, has marvellously sustained me." He walked to the scaffold, whence he wrote to his wife, "My heart, God is unchangeable; He hath always been good and gracious to me; and no place alters Him. Forgive me all my faults; and now comfort thyself in Him, in whom only true comfort is to be found. The Lord be with thee, bless and comfort thee, my dearest, adieu!"

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Rumboldt died several days before his chief. Seized like him by a band of troops, he fought so valiantly that there scarcely remained a breath of life in his body. Supported under the gibbet by two men, he raised his dying voice that he might be heard by the people: "I die faithful to that which I have believed all my life," cried he. "I have always detested Papacy and tyranny; I have always been a friend to limited monarchy, but I have never believed that Providence sent a handful of men into the world booted and spurred, to ride, and millions of other beings saddled and bridled, to be ridden. I desire to bless and magnify God's holy name that I am not here for any wrong that I have done, but for adhering to His cause in an evil day. If each hair in my head were a man, in this quarrel I would venture them all." The drum of the soldiers drowned his last words. The Rye House plot was not forgotten in the repentance of the old soldier of Cromwell. "I have always held assassination in horror!" he said; nevertheless it was under his roof that they conspired to ambuscade King Charles and the Duke of York. Ayloffe opened a vein; he was carried to London and questioned by James himself. "You will find it to your advantage to be frank with me," said the king; "you know that it is in my power to pardon you." "It may be in your power, but it is not in your nature!" replied the prisoner. Many people were punished in Scotland; a great number of Campbells were executed without a trial. The Scotch rebels had not yet suffered the penalties of their rebellion when England was already agitated by the descent of Monmouth, who landed at the port of Lyme upon the coast of Dorset. {411} Having escaped from Holland like Argyll, by the connivance of the commissaries of the admiralty at Amsterdam, he had been detained by bad weather, and it was not until the 11th of June that he reached the soil of England. The cry was raised, "A Monmouth! a Monmouth! The Protestant religion!" A declaration of the most libelous character was read at the market-cross; it was the work of Ferguson. James was accused of having burned London, having strangled Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, having cut the throat of Essex, and having poisoned King Charles. It was for all these crimes that he was declared to have forfeited his right to the throne, in the name of the menaced religion. The Duke of Monmouth, who might have proved his legitimate birth and claim to the crown, made no pretensions to any title except that of captain-general of the English Protestants-in-arms against tyranny and Papacy. The people of the west of England had not forgotten the young man who had passed triumphantly through the towns and villages so recently, by the acclamations of the people. The peasants flocked in large numbers to his standard; about fifteen hundred men had already assembled around him, when he sent, on the 14th of June, a detachment against Bridport. The royal troops began to assemble.

Parliament hurled declaration upon declaration against the pretensions of Monmouth. King James profited by the alarm of the Houses to obtain a subsidy; the members withdrew to their homes to urge the people to remain faithful to the royal cause. The Duke of Albemarle, son of General Monk, commanded a body of militia in the west; Churchill and Lord Feversham advanced against the insurgents at the head of the regular troops.

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Lord Grey was easily repulsed before Bridport, and fled in a cowardly manner. Fletcher of Saltoun, having killed his adversary in a quarrel, was obliged on account of the public indignation to seek refuge on board the boats of the duke, whence he fled to Hungary, where he fought against the Turks. Nevertheless, Monmouth advanced continually; Albemarle dared not give him battle, so many of his troops seemed ill-disposed. The city of Taunton opened its gates to the insurgents; the population was wealthy, had been devoted to Parliament during the civil war, and numbered a great many Nonconformists; the daughters of the best families came before the duke offering him a standard and a Bible. He received the holy volume with reverence. "I come," he said, "to defend the truths contained in this book, and to seal them, if it must be so, with my blood." Monmouth thus announced himself "Defender of the Faith"--an integral part of the royal titles. He soon went further, and on the 20th of June was proclaimed king at Taunton, not without some repugnance on his part, history has assured us. In order to avoid the confusion which must inevitably arise from his name (James II.), the most of his followers saluted him with the strange title of King Monmouth. From village to village the proclamation was repeated, to the great indignation of the partisans of the Princess Mary. The great lords and country gentlemen failed to join this small army of rebels.

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The peasants and workmen of the villages were for the most part without arms; they had begun their undertaking at the wrong end, as the Vendéan peasants did a hundred years later. Monmouth lacked money; he meditated a surprise upon Bristol, where he hoped to find abundant resources; but the king's troops had already taken possession of that city, on their return through Wiltshire; the rebels in vain summoned Bath to open its gates. Obliged to seek refuge at Philips-Norton, into which the Duke of Grafton had forced an entrance, Monmouth felt his courage abandoning him; he thought of withdrawing and seeking safety on the Continent, in place of the glory which he had labored for in vain. He sought the advice of his adherents: Lord Grey urged him not to abandon the poor peasants who had risked all for him. Monmouth gave up his contemplated flight, but was uncertain what plan of campaign to adopt, wandering from Wells to Bridgewater, when the royal troops, commanded by Feversham, appeared in view of the insurgent army. Four thousand men were encamped upon the plain of Sedgemoor; the duke observing from afar the standards of the regiment of Dumbarton, but recently so familiar to him. "I know those men," sadly remarked the young invader; "they will fight; if I had but them, all would go well."

Feversham was an indifferent general; Monmouth possessed more than ordinary military talents, but it mattered little that his positions were well chosen and his night attack well planned; he commanded men badly armed, inexperienced and undisciplined, and no matter how great their courage, it was not enough to enable them to withstand the attack of regular troops and the discharges of artillery to which they were soon unable to respond.

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Lord Grey's progress being arrested by a trench of whose existence he was not aware, immediately turned his back to the enemy. The peasants defended themselves heroically; the miners from Mendip knocked down all who approached them with the butt-end of their muskets. They were still fighting when Monmouth took to flight, abandoning his unfortunate followers. Fifteen hundred corpses of the rebels strewed the plain, and five hundred prisoners were taken before the struggle terminated. Two days later Monmouth fell into the hands of a detachment of soldiers sent in search of him. "Now," said Barillon, with a sagacity true but malicious, "all the zealous Protestants will rest their hopes on the Prince of Orange."

No one hoped for mercy from the king. If Monmouth thought for a moment that possibly his life might be spared, his interview with James II. taught him his error. "Remember, Sire, that I am the son of your brother," cried the unhappy young man, throwing himself at the feet of the monarch; "it is your own blood that you shed in shedding mine." "Your crime is too great," coldly replied the king. The queen, it was said, was even more hard-hearted. Showing great weakness at first, and apparently overcome at the thought of death, piteously begging for "life, only life, life at any price," Monmouth nevertheless recovered his firmness in the presence of such pitiless resolution. "Very well," said he at last, "I have nothing more to do but to die."

For an instant, the unfortunate prisoner was cowardly enough to seek to save his life by abjuring the Protestant faith, of which he had styled himself the "Defender." Disabused, however, of that hope, he refused the absolution offered him by the priests of the royal chapel.

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

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The Anglican bishops were not entirely satisfied with his repentance. They wished to obtain from him a confession of that doctrine of non-resistance which he had openly violated. The irregularities of his private life also excited their pious indignation. The duke at first refused to see his wife; when he finally received her, their interview was brief and cold. "I die penitent," repeated Monmouth; and as the bishops accompanied him to the foot of the scaffold, "I come here not to speak, but to die," said the young man; "pray for me." The name of the king was mingled in the episcopal intercessions. "Will you not pray for the king?" asked one of the clergy. Monmouth remained silent a moment; then, as if making a great effort, finally said, "Amen." He turned towards the executioner: "Look well to your axe," said he, "and do not hack me as you did my Lord Russell." He placed his head upon the block. Monmouth's appeal disconcerted the executioner; his hand trembled; blow after blow was struck, and yet the neck was not severed. The crowd were about to tear him in pieces when the head of the victim finally fell. The populace rushed up to dip their handkerchiefs in the blood of the young duke. Frivolous and superficial, without true courage or personal valor, he possessed that art of gaining hearts which seems sometimes independent of all true merit. The peasants of the western counties long worshipped Monmouth's memory; they refused to admit that he was dead, and many times impostors passed through the counties of Dorset and Wilts claiming to be the duke, miraculously raised from the dead, and were honored and feted.

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Men long remember those for whom they have suffered. Many peasants of the west had perished on the field of battle, under the standards of Monmouth; many more were to suffer severely for their fidelity to him. Already Colonel Kirke, at the head of his regiment from Tangier, overran the insurgent counties, and his "Lambs," as his soldiers were called, in remembrance of the Pascal Lamb--represented on their banner while in Africa--spread everywhere terror and death. At each toast drunk by the officers, a rebel prisoner was executed. The toasts were numerous, the orgies prolonged. The love of money sometimes checked the cruelty of "the Butcher of Taunton." Those who possessed sufficient fortune were sometimes allowed to purchase their lives. Around the inn where Kirke had established his quarters, they waded ankle deep in blood. The country was depopulated; all those who were able to gain the coast embarked for America: they fled from the barbarity of Kirke and from the "justice" of Jeffreys.

Guilford, the Keeper of the Seals, had just died, sadly humbled and discouraged towards the end of a life of cowardly servility. King James promised the office to Jeffreys, on his return from the circuit, which he had just undertaken in the western counties--a splendid recompense for "The Bloody Assizes." The great judge resolved to merit the reward.

Naturally cruel and basely corrupt, habitually excited by continual intoxication, Jeffreys had consecrated to the service of the worst passions an indomitable energy united to rare judicial qualifications. He was never pleasing to Charles II., who had often employed him at the instigation of the Duke of York. "This man," said he, "has neither learning, good sense, nor manners, and more impudence than ten depraved women." {417} Under the reign of the hard and cruel James, Jeffreys abandoned himself without reserve to his savage passions; he was not contented with condemning, torturing, and inflicting the extreme penalties permitted by law against his victims, but he also delighted in taunting the accused, following them with sarcasms and insults to the very foot of the scaffold. The odious task with which he was charged after the insurrection of Monmouth suited his disposition. While at London, Lord Grey, Sir John Cochrane, and a few others purchased their lives by their cowardly revelations. The great judge carried from village to village his bloody tribunal and corps of executioners. Everywhere cynical and cruel, obliging his victims to confess their guilt in order to obtain a day's respite, and executing those on the spot who protested their innocence, he surrounded himself with an atmosphere of such terror that the people dared not speak in favor of the condemned. The friends of Lady Lisle ventured, however, to plead her cause; she was the aged widow of Lord Lisle, a judge during the reign of Charles I., who was but lately assassinated in Scotland, whither he had fled. She had given an asylum to more than one Cavalier during the revolution, and "no woman in England," she said, "mourned more bitterly the death of the king."

{418}

Always compassionate, she had concealed a Nonconformist minister and an advocate compromised in the Rye House plot. Both were found in her house; she was ignorant, she declared, of what they were accused; neither of them had been brought to trial, when Lady Lisle was led before the tribunal of Jeffreys. The witnesses one after the other were terrified by the violence of the judge. The jury hesitated, recoiling before the odious sentence that was expected of them. "What liars these Presbyterians are!" cried Jeffreys; "show me a Presbyterian and I'll show thee a lying knave." He threatened to lock up the jury in the hall for the night if they did not hasten their decision. Lady Lisle was condemned to be burned. The clemency of the king mitigated the sentence. The pious woman walked without fear to the scaffold. Some months later, at London, another woman, of a more humble condition, animated by the same charitable spirit, suffered at the stake for assistance she had given to James Burton, compromised, like the protégés of Lady Lisle, in the plots of 1683. "My fault was one which a prince might well have forgiven," said Elizabeth Gaunt as they arranged the straw of her funeral pile; "I did but relieve a poor family, and lo! I must die for it." "The people were moved to tears," relates William Penn, the illustrious founder of Pennsylvania, who was present at the execution. Loud lamentations arose from the western counties. Dorsetshire, Wiltshire, Devonshire, and Somersetshire were strewn with corpses, bristling with gibbets, depopulated by exile, transportation, and the sale of the condemned, some of whom, abandoned to the avidity of courtiers, were reduced to slavery in the West Indies. The ladies of honor of the queen shared the fines imposed upon the young girls of Taunton, who had made a part of the deputation sent to welcome Monmouth. Some of the accused ventured to bring their complaints to the foot of the throne. The sister of Benjamin and William Hewling, young men of great promise, presented herself at Whitehall with a petition. Lord Churchill introduced her. "I wish you well to your suit," said he, as they entered; "but do not flatter yourself with hopes; this marble," and he laid his hand on the chimney-piece, "is not harder than the king." James was inexorable. The soldiers wept while leading the young men to the gallows.

{419}

The "campaign of Jeffreys," as the king himself called it, was at last completed; he returned to London stained with the blood of his victims, loaded with silent maledictions which weigh even to this day upon his memory. "The air of Somersetshire is tainted with death, and one cannot go a step without encountering some horrible spectacle," wrote Bishop Ken to the king. The assizes of London were opened, directed against the middle class, still obstinately rebellious. Many perished; some compromised like Cornish in the Rye House plot; others convicted for trivial offences, like the physician Bateman, who was hanged and quartered for having dressed the wounds of Titus Oates, that cowardly and cruel instigator of so many crimes, who had received his terrible punishment at the beginning of the reign of James II. Religious persecution was added to political persecution. Never in England were the Nonconformists pursued with such rigor. Jeffreys received the "seals" as a reward for his zeal. Nearly four years later, when he was confined in the Tower, trembling under the popular indignation, Jeffreys protested that he had never surpassed the orders of his master, but had even softened their terror. At St. Germain, James threw upon Jeffreys the overwhelming weight of the "Bloody Assizes." The king and the judge are equally condemned by posterity.

{420}

The national sentiment sustained James in his struggle against the insurgents; both Parliament and the Church had demonstrated their loyalty; but the cruelty of his vengeance revolted their honest hearts, and disquieted those who feared the future. An event in France at this time exercised great influence over the spirit of the nation. Louis XIV., led astray by the dangerous intoxication of absolute power, seduced and deceived by flatterers or fanatics, believed himself powerful enough to impose his will upon the consciences of his subjects. Convinced that nothing could resist him, and that the work of conversion was well advanced by preliminary persecutions, he revoked the Edict of Nantes on the 22d of October, 1685. Already a fugitive multitude, inundating the Protestant countries, proved to Europe the religious firmness of the reformed faith, as well as the little value with which arbitrary sovereigns regard the most solemn pledges accorded to their subjects. When the rumor of this intention reached England, Barillon wrote to Louis XIV.: "That which most vexes the English is, that they see no means of preventing that which your Majesty has undertaken. They speak freely in London of what is taking place in France, and many people think, and even say, that it is in consequence of England's not being governed by a Protestant king." And again, some days after the Revocation: "I have spoken to the king in regard to the language used in his court concerning your Majesty, and of the impropriety of allowing such freedom of speech. I said to him that I had not as yet rendered an account of these proceedings to your Majesty, but I prayed him to repress an insolence which ought not to be allowed."

{421}

It was not in the power of the English king to stifle this national sentiment; he was obliged to conform to it in a certain measure; the fugitive Protestants were received in England, and their necessities relieved by public charity. I have said that James II. nourished in his heart certain ideas of religious liberty; the horror inspired in his people by the persecution upon the Continent of those of the reformed faith, reanimated in the heart of the king the desire to relieve his Catholic subjects of the burdens weighing upon them. More powerful than he had yet been, deceived by the easy victory gained over the rebels, James resolved to push forward his triumph. The oppression exercised by Louis XIV. against his Protestant people interfered with the plans of James II. in favor of the liberty of the Catholics; the King of England declared himself free from all engagements with France. He had just concluded a defensive alliance with the United Provinces. The policy of Halifax seemed to have great weight in the royal councils, when, on the 20th of October, 1685, on the eve of the opening of the session, Halifax suddenly learned that the king had no further need of his services. James thus gave to the growing opposition a leader most skillful and experienced. It was in the name of principles the most dear to England that the contest was to be waged between the prince and his subjects. James had announced his intention of repealing the Act of Habeas Corpus--an act obtained with great difficulty during the preceding reign, and an object of national pride to the Tories as well as to the Whigs. He projected an increase of the standing army, although the troops he already maintained were a cause of alarm to the most faithful adherents of royalty, even among old Cavaliers who had so recently seen a Republican army impose laws upon both Parliament and king. {422} Finally, in contempt of the most solemn promises made before his people at the time of his accession to the throne, he proposed to open the way to public offices to the Catholics. While waiting for the repeal of the Test Act, the king had already placed a number of Catholic officers at the head of his troops. The final disgrace of Halifax was due to his persevering resistance. He had formally said, "I will never vote for the abolition of the Test Act, or the repeal of the Act of Habeas Corpus."

The Habeas Corpus Act has remained one of the guarantees of individual liberty most justly dear to the English people. The Test Act has been swept away, as it deserved to be, by the progress of justice and religious tolerance: each was a part of the English law, and the king could not violate either without breaking his oath. The profound distrust that the principles of the king inspired even in this Parliament, so loyal and devoted, displayed itself on the day of the opening, when James, in his speech from the throne, announced the additions that he had made to the regular army, expressing at the same time his contempt for the militia, and recalling the weakness they had shown during the insurrection. "I know well," he added, "that you will find among the new officers admitted into my service, men who have not taken the test. They are for the most part personally known to me, and have given me assurances of their fidelity. Besides, to speak frankly, after having used them in a moment of danger, I do not wish them to be disgraced, nor to be myself deprived of their assistance should a new rebellion render them necessary." {423} This was high language: the House of Commons manifested their disapprobation at once. It proposed the increase of the militia, offered to the king seven hundred thousand pounds sterling in place of the twelve hundred thousand demanded by the ministers, and promised that the Catholic officers already in the army should be relieved from the penalties legally imposed upon them, since they could not be lawfully employed without the authority of Parliament. The censure was respectful, notwithstanding its firmness. James was irritated by it. In responding to the address of the Commons he reproached them for their jealousy and distrust, and said: "However you may proceed on your part, I will be very steady in all the promises which I have made to you." "I hope that we are all Englishmen," said John Coke, a noted Tory, "and that we shall not be frightened from our duty by a few high words." The House sent the audacious member to the Tower. Nevertheless, the Lords followed the example of the Commons, and protested against the irregular nominations in the army. On the 20th of November King James prorogued Parliament until the 10th of February, resolved to accomplish alone and by his absolute authority that reform which the public sentiment of his people refused him.

"The Catholics are not now in accord," wrote Barillon to Louis XIV.; "the ablest, and those highest in the king's confidence, know well that this conjuncture is the most favorable that they may hope for, and that if they allow it to pass by, it may be a very long time ere another such opportunity returns. The Jesuits are of this opinion, which is, without doubt, most reasonable, but the rich and well-established Catholics fear the future, and apprehend a reaction, which may ruin them. Those nearest the court of Rome share this opinion." {424} Innocent XI. in fact had given to the Nuncio this prudent counsel: "The safety and advantage of the Catholics depend upon a reunion of his Majesty with his Parliament." "What a great shame and outrage this quarrel is!" replied the Nuncio. Italian sagacity comprehended the advantages of a constitutional policy to the Catholics, as against the dangers which might arise from royal favors tainted with illegality.

French artifice in the service of Louis XIV. desired an entirely different result. The secret intrigues of Barillon and of his coadjutor Bonrepaux tended to raise the temper of Parliament by exciting both the religious zeal and absolute temper of the sovereign. The advances of the court of Spain to the King of England disquieted France. "The news from Madrid is alarming," wrote the king; "they menace us with an alliance between England and the court of Austria, at the moment the king is assured that Parliament will no longer embarrass him." "They flatter him with the hope of holding the balance of power in Europe, and of being regarded as the only one capable of checking the power and designs of your Majesty," responded Barillon. The interest of France was evidently to maintain discord between the King of England and his Parliament. The narrow obstinacy of James II., the inconsiderate zeal of a small fraction of the Catholics, and the audacious cleverness of the Jesuits, actively served the views of Louis XIV.

{425}

"I will not make concessions; my father made concessions, and he was beheaded," often remarked King James. The nation demanded of the king that he remain faithful to his engagements; he regarded the fidelity of a prince as a concession, and absolute submission as the simple duty of the subject. One principle alone remained to him of his education by the English Church: he admitted the doctrine of non-resistance, and charged the bishops to strenuously enforce the same. Already the discourse of the Bishop of London, Compton, delivered on the 19th of November in the House of Lords, astonished and irritated him. "The civil and religious constitutions of the kingdom are in peril," the prelate had the audacity to say. One resource remained to the king: the "_dispensing power_," which gave him, he thought, the right to suspend the action of the penal laws. He resolved to exercise this power before the reassembling of Parliament.

The policy of the Council favored the development of arbitrary power. Rochester succumbed beneath the double weight of his attachment to Protestantism and of a scandalous intrigue that he had plotted, in order to fortify his influence, by aiding the favorite of the king, Catherine Sedley. Father Petre, a clever Jesuit, recently admitted into the closest intimacy with the king, had succeeded, by his pious exhortations, in bringing about the dismissal of the favorite; he seconded at the same time the efforts of the converted Sunderland to supplant Rochester. Already a solemn embassy had been sent to Rome; at the same time King James renounced all his foreign projects. "I am in no condition to trouble myself about what passes abroad," said he to the Spanish ambassador. "It is my resolution to let foreign affairs take their course, to establish my authority at home, and to do something for my religion." The revival of French influence soon manifested itself. {426} A collection ordered for the benefit of the Huguenot refugees realized a much larger sum than the king desired. "This prince shows great aversion to them," writes Barillon, "and would gladly have dispensed with this contribution; for he knows well that the people most ill disposed towards himself are the most prompt and willing to give to this cause." The funds passed through the hands of the royal commissioners, the Chancellor at their head. As the fugitives presented themselves to receive assistance, "It is the good pleasure of the king," announced Jeffreys, "that no charity be given save to those who will receive the sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England." The Huguenots were deeply attached to those traditional forms of that church for which they had suffered so much. "They retired with sad hearts," wrote Lady Russell to her chaplain, Dr. Fltzwilliam. Some days later James caused to be burned by the hangman before the Royal Exchange a writing of the celebrated minister Claude, a refugee in Holland, entitled, "_The Complaints of the Protestants, cruelly persecuted in France_." The Chancellor had not been advised of this concession to the pride of Louis XIV. Even he was startled, and ventured to protest. James would not suffer the question to be discussed. "My resolution is taken," said he; "dogs defend each other when they are attacked: why should not kings do as much?" The effect upon the public was very great. "Perhaps your Majesty will not judge this affair to be as important as it appears here," wrote Barillon; "but nothing has happened since the accession of the king which has made a greater impression upon the public mind."

{427}

Twice already the reassembling of Parliament had been postponed. The king was working upon the magistrates, resolved to obtain an opinion favorable to the exercise of the "_dispensing power_." Already several judges and the Solicitor-General had been dismissed; the affair of Sir Edward Hales, recently converted to Catholicism, and appointed colonel of an infantry regiment, was decided in his favor. It was recognized that the royal authority was sufficient to remove all obstacles. One judge alone, of moderate reputation, named Street, dissented. The gate was henceforth open: four Catholic lords--Powis, Bellasyse, Arundel, and Dover--were admitted into the Privy Council. Catholic officers, up to that time silently tolerated, now multiplied in the army. "It is to annul the whole statute law from the accession of Elizabeth to this day," said the Attorney-General, Sawyer.

King James was not contented with his legal victory; he wished to carry into the Church of England the signs of his triumph. "God has permitted," said he to Barillon, "that all the laws which have been made for establishing the Protestant religion and destroying the Catholic will serve presently as a foundation for what I purpose to do for the true religion." By virtue of the act of supremacy, ecclesiastics believed to be secretly Catholics were raised to the vacant bishoprics. "I wished to appoint avowed Catholics," said James to the Nuncio Adda, "but the time is not yet come. Parker (the new Bishop of Oxford) is with us at heart; he will soon lead his clergy." Mass was celebrated every day in Christ Church, under the direction of John Massey, appointed dean. {428} The preachers of the English Church were prohibited from opening any controversy. Dr. Sharp, Dean of Norwich and Rector of St. Giles', a man of great piety and much learning, disobeyed this injunction. The Bishop of London received an order to suspend him. Compton hesitated, excused himself, and engaged Sharp to keep silence.

The Court of High Commission, an ancient power, odious to the nation, abolished by two acts of Parliament, was re-established against the Church that it pretended to govern. This court was presided over by the Chancellor, violent to barbarity even in the ordinary tribunals, where he was restrained by legal forms-- henceforward unchecked in his authority over those placed arbitrarily under his jurisdiction. The Archbishop of Canterbury (Sancroft), appointed by the king, refused to sit; the Bishops of Durham and Rochester were weak enough to accept their nominations. The Earl of Rochester cowardly consented to serve, thereby yielding his influence to the tyranny which menaced the Church. The Bishop of London was called before the new tribunal. He had refused to suspend Dr. Sharp; he was, in consequence, himself suspended from his ecclesiastical functions, and the care of his vast diocese was confided to the bishops who had consented to judge him. The magistrates informed the king that it was impossible to drive Compton from his palace and sequester his revenues. "We should be obliged to decide against the crown," said the great Judge Herbert.

{429}

The same energy was shown through all the kingdom: everywhere convents were established and Catholic chapels opened; the council of the city protested against the consecration of a place of Catholic worship in Lime street. "The men of the long robe are of the opinion that the thing is illegal," said the Lord Mayor. He was called before the Privy Council. "Take heed what you do," said the king; "obey me, and do not trouble yourself about gentlemen of the long robe or gentlemen of the short robe." The people threatened the Catholics; in many places the chapels were surrounded and the worshippers insulted. The king assembled troops on Hounslow Heath; a camp was formed there with the intention of intimidating the capital. The inhabitants of London repaired thither in crowds, conversing familiarly with the soldiers. The influence of public opinion became more efficacious than fear. The troops were gained over by the people. A preacher named Johnson, more ardent than prudent or judicious, was condemned to degradation and the lash for having spread abroad in the army an appeal in defense of Protestantism. The trial and the punishment carried public indignation to the highest pitch. The king refused all appeals for clemency. "Mr. Johnson has the spirit of a martyr," said James, "and it is fit that he should be one." Some years later William III., in according pardon to an obstinate Jacobite, said gently, "He has set his heart on being a martyr, and I have set mine on disappointing him."

The Anglican Church had not sustained Johnson in his virulent and almost revolutionary attacks; that Church had undertaken a pacific campaign, boldly defining her principles, and defending her doctrines by the pens of the most celebrated theologians of that epoch--Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Sherlock, Prideaux--almost all distinguished writers, experienced dialecticians, learned and eloquent divines. {430} The defenders of Catholicism were less numerous; most of them had been educated abroad, far from the "movement of ideas" in England; their defeat was complete, and public sentiment was satisfied with the superiority of the champions of Protestantism. King James resolved to employ more powerful arguments for the defense and success of his religious convictions. The Scotch Parliament was convoked for the 12th of February, 1687; it was there that the monarch wished first to launch the declaration of his absolute power. The Duke of Queensberry, Lord Treasurer of Scotland, an obstinate Protestant, had been replaced by the Earl of Perth, a convert to Catholicism. He was related to Rochester, whose humiliations and mortifications had finally terminated in his complete disgrace. The attachment of the son of Clarendon to the Church of England had triumphed over his ambition for power and fortune; he had consented to receive the instructions of the royal chaplains, but was unable to do his part in becoming a Catholic. The two brothers-in-law of the king, Clarendon and Rochester, were dismissed at the same time. Clarendon was replaced in the government of Ireland by the violent Tyrconnel, an ardent Catholic, Irish by race, character, and prejudice, in order to establish the royal supremacy in Ireland. "There is work to be done in Ireland which no Englishman will do," said King James. Under the rule of Tyrconnel all power passed into the hands of the Catholics. "We have become the slaves of our servants," bitterly complained the Protestants; a great number of the distinguished families left Ireland with Clarendon. "Tyrconnel is foolish enough to ruin ten kingdoms," openly said his friends.

{431}

The Parliament of Scotland, submissive by habit and tradition, admitted without difficulty the "_dispensing power_" of the king. James comprehended that he would not be able to abolish the penal laws which weighed upon the Catholics, without at the same time according effectual relief to the Nonconformists, who groaned under their rigor. It was with regret that he found himself so constrained: his repugnance to the Presbyterians was very great. "I believe that in the depth of his heart the King of England would be well content if he could leave only the Anglican and Catholic religions established by law," wrote Barillon to Louis XIV. The principle of religious liberty, however, was the only protection of the Catholics; it was in its name that James proclaimed, at Edinburgh, on the 12th of February, 1687, a Declaration of Indulgence "by our sovereign authority, royal prerogative and absolute power." The Catholics and the Quakers found themselves now for the first time enjoying equal and complete tolerance. Numerous restrictions, however, still remained imposed upon the Presbyterians.

The temperament of the English Houses differed from that of the Scotch Parliament; the Anglican Church, always foremost in their minds, was directly engaged in the contest. James was prudent, and endeavored to prepare the way for his declaration before the opening of Parliament. One after another of the public functionaries seated in either House, as well as a great number of important and independent members, were invited to private audiences with the king, where they were urged, entreated, and pledged to sustain the measure. Many were bought. Those who resisted were menaced.

{432}

Closeted thus successively, the members of the House of Commons convinced James of the opposition that might be expected. On the 4th of April, 1687, the "Declaration of Indulgence" was made public. It was, however, much more moderate in tone and in form than that which he had sent to the Scotch Parliament. Addresses of thanks from Independents, Quakers, Presbyterians, and Catholics were everywhere quoted and published. "The king is convinced that conscience ought not to be forced," said the memorable declaration; "that persecution is fatal to the increase of population as well as of commerce, and never attains the end sought by the persecutors." The Dissenting ministers came forth out of their prisons, and their places of worship were reopened. The court made great ado over the universal joy and gratitude of the Nonconformists.

Popular exultation was exaggerated, and confidence was less general than gratitude. Baxter, Howe, Bunyan, Kiffin, eminent in their different sects, having a presentiment of a snare, rose against this abuse of the royal power. The moderate Dissenters were more disposed to respond to the advances of the Anglican Church, herself menaced in turn, than to lend their co-operation to the emancipation of the Catholics. With but few exceptions, English Protestantism presented a compact front, resolved to repel the royal seductions, as it had royal violence. Parliament was dissolved on the 4th of July, 1687.

{433}

On the eve of the same day, the Papal Nuncio, recently made Archbishop _in partibus_ of _Amasia_, appeared at Windsor with a most magnificent equipage, and was solemnly received by the king in public audience. Innocent XI. had treated Lord Castlemaine, the scandalous ambassador of King James, with extreme coldness and reserve. In vain had he begged, in the name of his master, for the authority necessary for the elevation of Father Petre. As the envoy threatened to leave Rome, the Pope quietly remarked, "Your excellency is your own master; I hope you will take good care of your health upon the way." Castlemaine departed without accomplishing his object. The prudent counsels of the moderate Catholic party were not listened to in England; Father Petre was admitted into the council, but a Jesuit could not become a bishop without the consent of the Pope. Innocent XI. obstinately refused this. Some great English lords also showed themselves rebellious to the will of the king. When the Duke of Somerset was appointed an escort of the Nuncio he declined to assist at the ceremony. "I am advised that I cannot obey your Majesty without breaking the law," said he. "I will make you fear me as well as the law," answered the irritated king; "do you not know that I am above the law?" "Your Majesty may be above the law," replied Somerset, "but I am not; and while I obey the law I fear nothing." Somerset instantly lost his offices at court and in the army.

Other dismissals and other promotions, at this time, astonished England. Ardent and anxious, like all innovators, to take possession of the establishments of charity and education, the king made an attempt to oblige the administrators of the Charter House of London to admit invalid Catholics into their hospital. "An Act of Parliament opposes it," responded the governor. "What is that to the purpose?" said a courtier. "It is very much to the purpose, I think," gravely replied the venerable Duke of Ormond; "an Act of Parliament is, in my judgment, no light thing."

{434}

James demanded from the University of Cambridge the grade of Master of Arts for a Benedictine monk; upon the refusal of the authorities, the Vice-Chancellor, Pechell, was called before the High Commission, brutally reprimanded by Jeffreys, and suspended from his office. An analogous case, yet more violent, took place at Oxford during an election for a president of Magdalen College. The _fellows_ claimed their rights and their independence; the king wished to impose his candidate upon them. "They shall feel the whole weight of my hand," said he, angrily, to the dignitaries of the University. The _fellows_ were deprived of their revenues, the doors of the president's house were forced, and the royal candidate was installed. The Catholics took possession of that endowment, one of the richest at Oxford. The contest with the Anglican Church was now irrevocably begun. By a good fortune, such as it had not for many years been favored with, this Church was henceforth enrolled among the defenders of the rights and liberties of the English people.

The king ordered new elections, not, however, without disquietude as to their results. The House of Lords itself appeared hostile, and the new hopes of maternity which the queen gave, after numerous accidents, inspired James more than ever with the desire of finishing a work that might be perpetuated by his successor. All the lordly tenants of the counties were ordered to interrogate their subordinates, and to assure themselves of their electoral intentions. The Catholics and the Dissenters were to occupy as many as possible of the municipal offices. The king had badly judged the pride of the great lords: one-half of the lord-lieutenants peremptorily refused to lend themselves to the odious service required of them. They were summarily dismissed. The crown had some difficulty in finding successors.

{435}

No private intimation, no official warning, opened the eyes of King James, infatuated as he was by his real power and his imaginary rights; sincerely preoccupied with his fool-hardy undertaking, he showed neither prudence nor sagacity. "The world has much exaggerated the ability of his Majesty," said Bonrepaux, who knew him well and judged him accurately; "he has less mind than King Charles, without having more virtue."

To the Anglican Church belongs the honor of striking the first blow in favor of the menaced liberties of England. On the 27th of April, 1688, the king issued a new Declaration of Indulgence, repeating and commenting upon those preceding, and announced his intention of convoking Parliament in the month of November. On the 4th of May he ordered that this declaration should be read in all the churches on the 20th.

This manœuvre was clever, yet at the same time fool-hardy. The Anglican clergy disapproved of the measure, both religiously and politically; but the delay was brief and the means of communication difficult, consequently uniformity of action was deemed impossible. They considered the remoteness, the feebleness, and the effect of non-resistance; London, however, as usual, gave the signal for resistance; a reunion of the clergy, together with a council of bishops, resolved not to yield to the illegal exactions of the king. The most eminent Dissenters supported by their counsels the courage of the prelates. {436} On the 18th, at Lambeth, the residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, a petition was signed by the primate and his diocesans--the Bishops of St. Asaph, of Ely, of Chichester, of Bath, of Peterborough, and of Bristol. The Bishop of London, Compton, the leader of this movement, having been suspended, was unable to sign. The petition, drawn up by the archbishop himself, in a style dry, heavy, and confused, exculpated the prelates from all intolerance as well as from all rebellion. The laws accorded to the king only the right to _modify_ the ecclesiastical statutes. The Declaration of Indulgence not being a legal act, the bishops could not permit it to be read in their dioceses.

The same evening six bishops presented themselves at Whitehall: the archbishop was ill, and besides his approach to the court had been interdicted. The Bishop of St. Asaph desired to acquaint Sunderland with the contents of the petition; the minister refused to read the document, but he introduced the bishops to the king. The secret had been rigorously kept. James expected some objections regarding the form of the Declaration. "This is my Lord of Canterbury's hand," said the king, opening the paper. "Yes, Sire, his own hand," was the reply. James read the petition, and his brow became overcast. "This is a standard of rebellion," said he at last. The Bishop of Bristol, Sir John Trelawney, fell upon his knees. "Rebellion!" cried he, "for God's sake. Sire, do not say so hard a thing of us. No Trelawney can be a rebel. Remember that my family has fought for the crown. Remember how I served your Majesty when Monmouth was in the West." {437} "We put down the last rebellion," said Lake, Bishop of Chichester; "we shall not raise another." "I hope you will grant us that liberty of conscience which you grant to all mankind," said Ken, the pious Bishop of Bath. As was his custom, James repeated his former remark, "This is rebellion; this is a standard of rebellion. I will have my Declaration published." "Sire," answered Ken, "we have two duties to perform--our duty to God, and our duty to your Majesty. We honor you, but we fear God." "Have I deserved this?" said the king; "I who have been such a friend to your Church? What do you do here? Go to your dioceses and see that I am obeyed. I will keep this paper. I will remember you that have signed it." "God's will be done," said Ken. The bishops retired after this pious invocation. The next morning, through indiscretion or treachery, the petition of the bishops was everywhere published. The king remained silent. The following Sunday only four of the clergy of London read the Declaration. Their congregations rose and withdrew.

Everywhere the provinces followed the example of the capital; a great number of the bishops sent in their approval of the petition. In the dioceses where the bishops were inclined to comply with the royal demand, the majority of the clergy disobeyed. "I cannot reasonably expect your Honor's protection," wrote a poor clergyman of the diocese of the Bishop of Rochester; "God's will be done. I must choose suffering rather than sin." The enthusiasm of the people equalled the resolution of the clergy. "The Anglican Church has risen in public estimation to an incredible degree," wrote the Dutch minister to the States-General: "the Nonconformists repeat everywhere that they would rather endure the penal laws than separate their cause from that of the prelates."

{438}

The king was troubled; in his blind obstinacy he had not foreseen the resistance of the Church nor the indignation of the people. For a moment he inclined towards conciliation. The Chancellor, however, advised to the contrary; he counselled legal prosecution. Summoned to appear before the Council upon the 8th of June, the bishops, carefully instructed by the ablest lawyers, were prudently reserved. They refused to recognize the order of appearance before the Court of King's Bench, and intrenched themselves behind their privileges as peers of the realm. "You believe everybody rather than me," cried the king, angrily. The seven bishops were sent to the Tower.

A great multitude crowded after them. "God bless your lordships," shouted the people on every side. The soldiers who guarded the Traitor's Gate fell upon their knees to receive the episcopal blessing. Their health was drunk throughout the garrison; the coaches of the first nobles were ranged in double file outside of the prison; a deputation of Nonconformist ministers was sent to compliment the bishops. The king sent for these delegates to reproach them for their ingratitude. "We have forgotten all past quarrels," responded the Dissenters, "and we are resolved to stand by the men who stood by the Protestant religion." On the 15th of June, at the opening of the assizes, the bishops were admitted to bail, and at once returned to their palaces. Twenty-one peers of the highest rank offered their guarantees; one of the richest Dissenters claimed the honor of furnishing the bail for Ken. {439} The attitude of the bishops had continued pious and modest as well as courageous. "Honor the king and remember us in your prayers," repeated they to the crowd assembled about them. Sir Edward Hales, the Catholic Governor of the Tower, threatened them with irons and the dungeon if they came into his hands again. "We are under our king's displeasure," replied the bishops, "and most deeply do we feel it; but a fellow-subject who threatens us does but lose his breath." The Archbishop of Canterbury had great difficulty in preventing the grenadiers, stationed before his palace, from lighting bonfires in honor of his return. All demanded his blessing.

While the bishops were yet in the Tower, upon the 10th of June, 1688, was born at the Palace of St. James, in the midst of suspicions the most insulting, the unfortunate heir of the Stuarts, destined to wander about the world for seventy-seven years, a prey to every misfortune. Throughout all England the pregnancy of the queen had been questioned, and when the Prince of Orange despatched his ambassador, Count Zulestein, to congratulate his father-in-law upon the birth of the Prince of Wales, the envoy soon wrote to his master that the infant was generally believed to be supposititious. This public conviction accorded with the interests of William of Nassau. Soon the prayers ordered for the little prince, in the chapel of the court at the Hague, were suppressed. When King James angrily remonstrated, his daughter assured him that the omission was a mere neglect, but nevertheless the prayers were never renewed.

{440}

History has judged James II. severely; less distrustful or less prejudiced than the English people and the Prince of Orange, it has ceased to question the legitimacy of his son. On the 29th of June, already at the break of day, the neighborhood of Westminster Hall was thronged with people; the jury, chosen with care by the agents of the crown, was assembled in the Court of King's Bench. They awaited the arrival of the bishops, who came accompanied by the most distinguished advocates of that day. Thirty-nine peers of the realm were in the audience. The discussion was long, close, and often passionate; it turned upon the right of subjects to present a petition which had not the character of a _libel_. Two of the judges decided in favor of the bishops. "The Declaration of Indulgence is null according to my judgment," said Powell; "and the dispensing power, as lately exercised, is utterly inconsistent with all law. If these encroachments of prerogative are allowed, there is an end of Parliaments. The whole legislative authority would be in the king. That issue, gentlemen, I leave to God and to your consciences."

Night had come; the jury retired. "It is very late," wrote the Papal Nuncio, "and the decision is not yet known. The judges and the culprits have gone to their homes. The jury remain together. To-morrow we shall learn the issue of this great struggle."

The consultation was violent. Those who watched upon the stairs heard confused voices and angry ejaculations. At first nine were for acquittal. Two of the minority soon gave away; but Arnold remained obstinate. "Whatever I do," he said, "I am sure to be half ruined. If I say Not guilty, I shall brew no more for the king; and if I say Guilty, I shall brew no more for anybody else. I am not accustomed to reasoning and debating, and my conscience is not satisfied; I shall not acquit the bishops."

{441}

Austin, a rich country gentleman, earnestly in favor of the prelates, replied: "If you come to that, look at me. I am the largest and strongest of the twelve; and before I find such a petition as this a libel, here I will stay till I am no bigger than a tobacco pipe." It was six in the morning when Arnold finally yielded. The court reassembled at ten. "Not guilty," announced Sir Roger Langley, the chief of the jury.

Lord Halifax sprang from his seat and waved his hat. At this signal shouts of joy burst forth in the great hall; these were repeated by the thousands filling the old palace yard.

The innumerable multitude which filled the adjacent streets sent back the echo with thundering vehemence; men, usually stern and cold, gave way to tears of relief and gratitude. The boats which covered the Thames answered the cheer; the soldiers, encamped on Hounslow Heath, had just learned the news, as the king, who had that day visited them, was departing; behind him resounded the acclamations of the troops. "What means that uproar?" demanded James. "Nothing," was the answer, "the soldiers are glad that the bishops are acquitted." "Do you call that nothing?" said James. And then he repeated what he had muttered in French, upon receiving the courier sent by Sunderland: "So much the worse for them."

Notwithstanding his bigoted obstinacy and his sincere illusions, James II. felt profoundly this defeat; he nevertheless became more determined in his views and more desperate in his means. The question of the government of England became a challenge between the king and his people. {442} In the presence of what perils and what rivals did James II. thus govern? Could he forget the constant menace which the situation of his son-in-law, the Prince of Orange, presented: the veritable chief of European Protestantism, as well as of the grand coalition which was slowly forming itself against Louis XIV.?

Great grandson of William the Silent and of Louise of Coligny, William of Nassau was born on the 4th of November, 1650, at the moment when the fortunes of his family had succumbed beneath the oppression of the republican patriciate of the Province of Holland. Educated with great care, by John De Witt, who never had absolute confidence in the destiny of his party, he took an important part both in war and politics at an early age. When but twenty-one he saved his country from ruin the most imminent. As cold in appearance as he was ardent and resolute in reality, he learned to govern himself before attempting to govern others, which he did with an ease and power that caused Pope Innocent XII. to say, "The Prince of Orange is the master of Europe." Adored by his wife, and a few friends to whom he showed in return a touching devotion, he received from both evidences of the sincerest affection; his friend Bentinck cared for him during an attack of small-pox. "Whether Bentinck slept or not while I was ill," tenderly remarked the prince, "I know not; but this I know, that through sixteen days and nights I never once called for anything but that Bentinck was instantly at my side." For a long time a misunderstanding had existed between his wife and himself. {443} Mary was ignorant of the exclusive rights which her birth conferred upon her. Dr. Burnet, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury, after wandering upon the continent, in consequence of the distrust of King James, had taken up his residence in Holland, and there charged himself with revealing the cause of the Prince's indifference and estrangement. The princess sent immediately for her husband. "I did not know till yesterday," said Mary, "that there was such a difference between the laws of England and the laws of God. But I now promise you that you shall always bear rule, and, in return, I ask only this: that, as I shall observe the precept which enjoins wives to obey their husbands, you will that which enjoins husbands to love their wives." Henceforth there was perfect accord between the Prince of Orange and his wife, and no attempts of King James were able to gain him to his views. "You ask me," said William, "to countenance an attack on my own religion. I cannot, with a safe conscience, do it, and I will not; no, not for the crown of England, nor for the empire of the world."

"My nephew's duty," said the king, "is to strengthen my hands. But he has always taken a pleasure in crossing me." Dykvelt, the envoy of William at London, respectfully protested: "You cannot reasonably expect the aid of a Protestant prince against the Protestant religion." While defending his master, the astute Hollander silently and skillfully pursued the work for which he had been sent to England.

{444}

Since the fall of Monmouth the diverse elements of opposition had noiselessly gravitated towards the Prince of Orange, a leader absent and circumspect, prudent an sagacious, well calculated to maintain a certain accord between the antagonistic forces which were preparing for resistance in England. In his great project, for a league of all the European powers against the unbridled ambition of Louis XIV., England held a prominent place.

Firmly resolved to oppose any undertaking against the power of his father-in-law, he nevertheless possessed a mind too powerful and too sagacious not to discern the clouds which were gathering over the head of the imprudent and obstinate monarch who was walking blindly to his destruction. Already, upon the return of Dykvelt, in 1687, the ambassador brought confidential letters from all the chiefs of the opposition--Halifax, Danby, and even Lord Churchill, all powerful with Princess Anne, on account of the singular and romantic friendship that the second daughter of the king manifested towards his wife, Sarah Jennings, who was as ambitious and adroit as himself.

"The princess has commanded me," wrote the future Duke of Marlborough, "to assure her illustrious relatives that she is fully resolved, by God's help, rather to lose her life than to be guilty of apostasy. As for me, though I cannot pretend to have lived the life of a saint, still I shall be found ready, on occasion, to die the death of a martyr."

The trial of the bishops at the time of the birth of the Prince of Wales had opened the eyes of the Tories, as the latter event closed the door to their religious and political hopes. The king began the persecution of the Anglican Church at the same time that they lost the consoling prospect of a Protestant succession. {445} For the first time since the Restoration, all parties found themselves united in the same desire, tending towards the same end. "_Aut nunc, aut nunquam_," said William to Dykvelt when he learnt of the acquittal of the bishops. He refused even then to listen to Edward Russell, nephew of the Duke of Bedford, a distinguished and daring sailor, ardently resolved to avenge the injuries inflicted upon his house by James II. "I am not willing," said William to Russell, "to make an attempt upon England without more distinct assurances than those you bring me to-day. I know that many who talk in high language about sacrificing their lives and fortunes for their country would hesitate when the prospect of another Bloody Circuit is brought close to them. I want only a few signatures, but they must be from powerful and eminent men, representing great interests." When the invitation of the conspirators reached the Hague, it contained, in cipher, the names of Shrewsbury, Devonshire, Danby, Lumley, and the Bishop of London, Compton. The vice-admiral, Herbert, disguised in the garb of a common sailor, carried the paper to the Prince of Orange. Soon, Henry Sidney, brother of Algernon Sidney, actively employed in the negotiations between William and the English politicians, brought him the assurance that Lord Sunderland himself, loaded with honors by King James, a convert to the Catholic faith, and victorious over all rivals, showed favorable inclinations towards the secret designs of the prince. The moment of action approached; the political plots as well as the military preparations could no longer remain concealed; the internal agitation of William, impenetrable to the vulgar eye, showed forth in all its bitterness when he wrote to Bentinck, "My sufferings, my disquiet, are dreadful. I hardly see my way. {446} Never in my life did I so much feel the need of God's guidance. God support you and enable you to bear your part in a work on which, as far as human beings can see, the welfare of His Church depends."

In the face of the danger which menaced Louis XIV. as well as King James, that vigilant monarch had not been deceived; in England he had in vain repeated his warnings; James was bound hand and foot to Sunderland. This minister exercised the same influence over Barillon: both ridiculed the idea of a descent upon England. The experienced and prudent Prince of Orange-- would he renew the foolish attempt of Monmouth? Louis XIV. sent Bonrepaux to London authorized to offer a fleet to the queen; a body of French troops were ready to march into Holland; the Count of Avaux received instructions to inform the States-General that the King of France took the English Court under his protection.

So many efforts and so much forethought went for naught before the blind obstinacy of King James. He haughtily resented all overtures of Louis XIV. "My good brother," said he to the Nuncio, "has excellent qualities, but flattery and vanity have turned his head." He assured the States-General of his amicable sentiments. "My master is raised, alike by his power and by his spirit, above the position which France affects to assign to him," said the Marquis of Albeville, the ignorant and venal ambassador of King James to the Hague; "there is some difference between a king of England and an archbishop of Cologne."

{447}

Irritated and wounded, Louis XIV. sent his forces into Germany, to the assistance of that Archbishop of Cologne, so despised by James II. The arms of France were once again triumphant, but the United Provinces had nothing to fear. The States-General adhered to the policy of their stadtholder; on the 16th of October, 1688, William appeared before that solemn assembly; he came to bid farewell to the representatives of his native country. He thanked them for the kindness which they had shown him during his lonely childhood, and for the confidence which they had since reposed in him. He was now leaving them, perhaps forever. If he should fall in defence of the reformed religion and of the independence of Europe, he commended his beloved wife to their care. All wept: William alone, with his indomitable resolution, preserved a calm exterior--imperturbable and cold to all appearances. To the hereditary and characteristic device of his house, "I will maintain," he added the significant words, "_The liberties of England and the Protestant religion_."

The die was cast, and the contrary winds, which at one time seemed to threaten the destruction of the expedition, were unable to arrest, in his progress, the liberator. He set sail from Helvoetsluys on the 19th of October, on the same day his manifesto, which had already been forwarded to England, appeared in Holland. The wrongs of the English nation were firmly yet moderately portrayed in this paper, the work of the Grand Pensionary Fagel, translated and abridged by Burnet. Attached to England by ties of gratitude and of family, the prince did not believe it his duty to refuse the appeals of the spiritual and temporal peers, nor the prayers of the English of all ranks and classes who desired to confide to him the protection of the national liberties. {448} He abjured all thought of conquest. His only object was the reunion of a free and legal Parliament, charged to decide all national or individual questions. As soon as England was delivered from tyranny, the soldiers of the prince would withdraw from her soil.

The thunderbolt was about to fall upon the head of King James, and at last his eyes were opened. A disquieting dispatch from Albeville preceded by a few hours the arrival of the manifesto. James feigned to be blind to the work of his son-in-law; he threw into the fire all copies that came into his hands. In the meantime he multiplied concessions: his haughty spirit bowed at last before that necessity which his stubborn will had so long refused to recognize. A solemn declaration promised the royal protection to the Anglican Church; the Bishop of London was reinstated. The king no longer insisted upon the admission of Catholics into the House of Commons. He re-established in their offices the local magistrates dismissed for their resistance to his political views; the Court of High Commission was abolished; the charter of the City of London was restored; the universities regained their privileges. A strange inquiry, destined to prove the legitimacy of the Prince of Wales, was instituted before the Council. One concession alone was obstinately refused--the _dispensing power_ remained intact. "God has confided it to me for the good of His people," repeated the king. Everywhere the Catholic officers retained their positions in the army.

{449}

James II. was accustomed to intrigues; he had often seen them fomented and baffled. He felt, even in his palace, the breath of treason. Sunderland was suspected, and the king demanded the seals. The minister protested his devotion. "Do not, Sire; do not make me the most unhappy gentleman in your dominions, by refusing to declare that you acquit me of disloyalty," said he, in an agitated tone. Lord Preston received the seals. Sunderland immediately departed for the Hague. The Prince of Orange was no longer there. On the 4th of November he was in view of the Isle of Wight, still in fear of an attack by the royal fleet. "This is not the time to show our bravery, nor to fight if we can avoid it," said William to Herbert. An error of the pilot carried the fleet too far to the west. On the 5th, towards midday, the sun shone forth, and that "Protestant wind," so ardently prayed for by the waiting and anxious multitudes on shore, finally sprang up. The Holland fleet rode safely into the harbor of Torbay. The tempest, which had raged about the ships of William in vain, had been fatal to the movement of the fleet of James. Lord Dartmouth was unable to put to sea to intercept the progress of the invaders. As the storm abated, William of Orange landed upon English soil. When he began his march towards Exeter, he was still only surrounded by his countrymen and the English fugitives who had joined him at the Hague. No new accessions had as yet made their appearance. The nation hesitated, astonished and troubled at the aurora of deliverance. The English conspirators remained immovable.

{450}

King James had called around him the chiefs of the opposition and the bishops. Halifax and Nottingham had not taken part in the conspiracy; among the prelates, Compton alone had signed the appeal to the Prince of Orange; all refused nevertheless to declare publicly that they blamed the conduct of William. "These are affairs of state, Sire," said gently the Archbishop of Canterbury; "your Majesty knows what it has recently cost us to meddle with affairs of state." James II. had alienated from himself the Anglican Church, but recently the firmest support of the throne; her pulpits were silent, and the voices of her pastors no longer urged the people to the defense of the king. "As ministers of the Church we will assist you with our prayers," said the bishops; "as peers of the realm we will advise you in Parliament." "Go, my lords, I will urge you no further," responded James; "since you will not help me, I must trust to myself and to my own arms."

Already that standing army, that supreme resource, so carefully prepared for some time past by the king, seemed to waver in his hands and almost fail his hopes and expectations. When men hesitate a moment in a great popular movement, they go into action with redoubled ardor on account of their first uncertainty. The gentry of the neighboring counties and the great lords at the head of their servants and retainers hastened to Exeter. First, Lord Cornbury, son of Clarendon, and completely under the influence of the Churchills, led to the prince a part of three regiments that he commanded. "Oh, God! that a son of mine should be a rebel," cried dolorously the son of the great Chancellor, faithful to his master thus far through all the vicissitudes of fortune. Princess Anne was astonished at the consternation of her uncle. "Many people are very uneasy about Popery," said she; "I believe that many of the army will do the same." {451} Some days later Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton, at the head of their troops, joined the Prince of Orange. King James had advanced as far as Salisbury when he learnt of this unexpected defection. Everywhere the people rose: the west and the north were under arms. The unfortunate monarch, fearing that his communication with London would be cut off, ordered a retreat. His son-in-law, Prince George of Denmark, quitted him secretly during the march. Gross in body and stupid in mind, he was accustomed to respond to all news, whether grave or insignificant, by a uniform exclamation, in French, "Est-il-possible?" "What! is 'est-il-possible' gone too?" said James in the morning, when he learnt of the prince's departure. "If he was not the husband of my daughter, a good trooper would have been a greater loss." On arriving at London the king learnt that the Princess Anne had disappeared as well as her husband. This blow struck him with consternation. Blind regarding his family as well as his kingdom, he had not divined the intrigues that were forming about him, nor the isolation that the intolerant ardor of his religious faith created. He was overwhelmed: "God help me!" he said; "my own children have forsaken me."

On all sides the unhappy king felt himself surrounded by defection. Even those who yet remained faithful to him had changed their tone. A deputation from the House of Lords urged him to open negotiations with the Prince of Orange and to convoke a free Parliament. He appeared inclined to accept this salutary advice. "It is very important," said Lord Clarendon, "that the minds of the people should be relieved from the fear of Popery. Even now his Majesty is raising in London a regiment into which no Protestant is admitted." {452} "That is not true!" cried James. They endeavored to exact a promise of amnesty from him. "I cannot do it," he exclaimed, "I must make examples--Churchill above all; Churchill whom I raised so high. He and he alone has done all this. He has corrupted my army. He has corrupted my child. He would have put me into the hands of the Prince of Orange but for God's special providence. My lords, you are strangely anxious for the safety of traitors. None of you troubles himself about my safety." He yielded nevertheless, and charged Halifax to draw up the royal proclamation.

Parliament was convoked for the 13th of January, 1689. The amnesty was without reserve. Commissioners were designated to treat with the Prince of Orange; the Governor of the Tower, Sir Edward Hales, was dismissed, and replaced by Skelton, but recently his prisoner.

So many concessions and so much justice on the part of the king were only designed to blind the nation. "This negotiation," said James to Barillon, "is a mere feint. I must send commissioners to my nephew that I may gain time to ship off my wife and the Prince of Wales. You know the temper of my troops. None but the Irish will stand by me; and the Irish are not in sufficient force to resist the enemy. A Parliament would impose on me conditions which I could not endure. I should be forced to undo all that I have done for the Catholics, and to break with the king of France. As soon, therefore, as the queen and my child are safe, I will leave England and take refuge in Ireland, in Scotland, or with your master." {453} On the 9th of December, the Prince of Wales and the queen, his mother, accompanied by three attendants, and under the protection of the Duke of Lauzun--adventurous and bold as well in London as in Paris--quitted secretly the palace of Whitehall, crossed the Thames in an open boat, and hastened on to Gravesend. The next day the fugitives arrived at Calais; an attendant of Lauzun's carried the news of their safe arrival to King James. Lords Dover and Dartmouth, two of the king's most trusted servants, had peremptorily refused to assist in this escape. "I would risk my life in defense of the throne," said the admiral, Dartmouth, "but I will be no party to the transporting of the prince into France." Only strangers consented to serve the king of England. Following the announcement of the safety of the royal party came Lord Halifax with propositions from the Prince of Orange, more moderate and more conciliatory than were expected. The greatest names in the kingdom had given their support to William of Nassau: those who had not crowded to his audiences had nevertheless united their servitors and retainers for his service. "What is it that you want?" whispered Halifax in the ear of Burnet, in the midst of the crowded assembly; "do you wish to get the king into your power?" "Not at all," said Burnet; "we would not do the least harm to his person." "And if he were to go away?" "There is nothing so much to be wished," replied the ecclesiastic. The observance of the courtiers interrupted the conversation, but the despatches of Halifax showed the effects of Burnet's advice. On the night of the 10th of December, King James, plainly dressed, accompanied only by Sir Edward Hales, departed secretly from Whitehall, after having thrown into the fire all the writs for the new Parliament, which had not yet been sent out. {454} In crossing the Thames he flung the Great Seal into the midst of the stream. Disembarking at Vauxhall, where a carriage awaited him, he took the road to Sheerness. "I thank you for your fidelity," wrote he to Lord Feversham, "and I demand that you no longer expose your life for me by resisting a foreign army and a nation poisoned by contagion. I seek my safety in flying my kingdom." When he received this letter, Feversham immediately disbanded the army, thereby adding a new element of disorder to the general excitement and turbulent passions that were raging in the capital, now deprived of its legitimate head. "Call your troop of guards together," said Rochester to the young Duke of Northumberland. The peers in London took the power into their hands, declaring officially their intention to rally around the Prince of Orange, and to administer the government in his name until his arrival. All attempts to preserve order, however, were of no avail. During three days and nights the houses of the Catholics, as well as their places of worship, were pillaged, the furniture broken or burned, the plate stolen, and their persons insulted; the rumor of an Irish invasion redoubled the fury of the populace. No murder was committed; the Chancellor, Jeffreys, however, was in great danger.

Carefully disguised, he attempted flight. A man but recently brought before him recognized that terrible glance of the eye which had once frozen his blood. He gave the alarm, and the Chancellor was instantly seized by a mob. Two regiments of militia, immediately called out by the Lord Mayor, were scarcely sufficient to protect against the passionate vengeance of the multitude. The carriage conducted him to the prison of the Tower where he was soon to die an ignominious and horrible death.

{455}

King James had arrived at Sheerness. The popular passions were everywhere excited; the sailors were suspicious and disposed to search everywhere for disguised Catholic priests. James was arrested, searched, and insulted. "It is Father Petre," cried one; "I know him by his lean jaws. Search the hatchet-faced old Jesuit!" Roughly led ashore, the king was soon recognized. This last check seriously affected his mind. Naturally courageous, as had been proven in battle, James now piteously begged for a boat to carry him away. "The Prince of Orange is hunting for my life. If you do not let me fly now, it will be too late. My blood will be on your heads."

Led into a tavern, and respectfully treated, still the unfortunate king felt himself a prisoner in his own realm. "What have I done?" said he; "what error have I committed?" The compassion due to a great misfortune closed the mouths of all bystanders. When the news of the arrest of the king reached London, the little council that had assumed the government was thrown into profound consternation. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Sancroft, who presided, immediately withdrew. Halifax, bitterly wounded by the role that James had compelled him to play at Hungerford, where he had sent him with a derisive negotiation, took his place. Orders were immediately given to send a troop of the Life Guards, commanded by Feversham, to release the king. James II., enfeebled in mind and body by the shocks which he had undergone, was led by his friends to Rochester. He wrote to the Prince of Orange: "I return to Whitehall, and I desire to confer with you. The palace of St. James will be prepared for you Highness."

{456}

The prospects of William were suddenly overcast by the arrest of the king. He secretly cursed the officious zeal of the sailors. He was constrained to decide, at once, whether the abdication should be complete and voluntary, or whether the internal contest should be prolonged. The prince refused the proposed conference, and requested James to remain at Rochester. It was too late: the king was already in London. Compassion, habit, and a reaction from the past anger, drew a crowd about him as he drove through the streets; he was saluted by some acclamations.

Acute observers were not deceived. "There have been shouts and bonfires," wrote Barillon, "but at the bottom the people are for the Prince of Orange." Always easily deceived, James for a moment believed in a return of his popularity. He convoked a council, again summoning some not legally qualified, and blaming severely those peers who had dared usurp the authority in London.

The Count of Zulestein arrived with the message of the Prince of Orange; its cold and severe tone disturbed the new-born hopes of the monarch. "I hope, nevertheless, that my nephew will come to St. James," said he, after excusing himself for having left Rochester. "I must plainly tell your Majesty," replied Zulestein, "that his Majesty will not come to London while there are any troops here that are not under his orders." Some hours later a deputation, headed by Halifax, arrived at Whitehall. {457} The English soldiers in the service of the States-General already began to occupy the streets of London; the king was in a bed; the messengers entered his chamber. "The prince will be at Westminster to-morrow morning," said they; "he prays your Majesty to retire to the palace of the Duke of Lauderdale, at Ham." "It is a cold and unfurnished house," said James, who did not appear much troubled; "I would like better to return to Rochester." The permission of William was promptly accorded. The next morning at ten o'clock the royal barge slowly descended the Thames; all eyes were dimmed, all hearts were moved. It was a sad spectacle to see this king, but recently so powerful, compelled to-day, by his own faults as well as by the determined resolution of his subjects, to flee that country from which he had been exiled when a child, and then regained only to lose anew. The joy of deliverance was at the bottom of all hearts, but compassion and respect were in the countenance.

Four days later, on the night of the 22d of December, the king, negligently guarded, pursued by mortal terror, stole out of the house he occupied at Rochester, accompanied by the Duke of Berwick. A small skiff was in waiting; before the break of day he was on board of a smack which was running through the mouth of the Thames. Four kings of the house of Stuart had for many years, and under different titles, oppressed England with an unjust yoke; for the second time and forever, a free people had rejected them. When the Prince of Orange, who had arrived in London, received a deputation of lawyers, headed by the venerable Manard, who, forty-seven years before, had been charged with the accusation of Strafford, "Mr. Serjeant," said the prince, "you must have survived all the lawyers of your standing." {458} "Yes, Sire," said the old man, "and but for your Highness I should have survived the laws too." It is to the eternal honor of the Prince of Orange, as well as of the English nation, that they defended, without violence and without effusion of blood, those civil and religious liberties so recently gained by so much effort and so much crime, worthy of being preserved and defended by the hero and statesman who was at the same time and by the same blow to save the independence of Europe, so seriously menaced by Louis XIV.