Another fatal delusion had taken
possession of his mind, and was
never dispelled till it had ruined him. He firmly believed that,
do what he might, the members of the
Church of England would act up to
their principles. It had, he knew, been proclaimed from ten
thousand pulpits, it had been solemnly
declared by the University of
Oxford, that even tyranny as frightful as that of the most
depraved of the Caesars did not justify
subjects in resisting the royal
authority; and hence he was weak enough to conclude that
the whole body of Tory gentlemen and
clergymen would let him plunder,
oppress, and insult them without lifting an arm against
him. It seems strange that any man should
have passed his fiftieth year
without discovering that people sometimes do what
they think wrong: and James had only to
look into his own heart for
abundant proof that even a strong sense of religious duty
will not always prevent frail human beings
from indulging their passions in
defiance of divine laws, and at the risk of awful
penalties. He must have been conscious
that, though he thought adultery
sinful, he was an adulterer: but nothing could convince
him that any man who professed to think
rebellion sinful would ever, in any
extremity, be a rebel. The Church of England was, in
his view, a passive victim, which he
might, without danger, outrage and
torture at his pleasure; nor did he ever see his
error till the Universities were preparing
to coin their plate for the purpose
of supplying the military chest of his enemies, and till a Bishop,
long renowned for loyalty, had thrown aside
his cassock, girt on a sword, and taken
the command of a regiment of
insurgents.
In these fatal follies the King was
artfully encouraged by a minister
who had been an Exclusionist, and who still called
himself a Protestant, the Earl of
Sunderland. The motives and conduct
of this unprincipled politician have often been
misrepresented. He was, in his own
lifetime, accused by the Jacobites
of having, even before the beginning of the reign of
James, determined to bring about a
revolution in favour of the Prince
of Orange, and of having, with that view, recommended a
succession of outrages on the civil and
ecclesiastical constitution of the
realm. This idle story has been repeated down
to our own days by ignorant writers. But
no well informed historian,
whatever might be his prejudices, has condescended to
adopt it: for it rests on no evidence
whatever; and scarcely any evidence
would convince reasonable men that Sunderland
deliberately incurred guilt and infamy in
order to bring about a change by
which it was clear that he could not possibly be a
gainer, and by which, in fact, he lost
immense wealth and influence. Nor
is there the smallest reason for resorting to so
strange a hypothesis. For the truth lies
on the surface. Crooked as this
man's course was, the law which determined it was simple.
His conduct is to be ascribed to the
alternate influence of cupidity and
fear on a mind highly susceptible of both those
passions, and quicksighted rather than
farsighted. He wanted more power
and more money. More power he could obtain only at
Rochester's expense; and the obvious way
to obtain power at Rochester's
expense was to encourage the dislike which the King
felt for Rochester's moderate counsels.
Money could be most easily and most
largely obtained from the court of Versailles;
and Sunderland was eager to sell himself
to that court. He had no jovial
generous vices. He cared little for wine or for beauty:
but he desired riches with an ungovernable
and insatiable desire. The passion
for play raged in him without measure, and had not
been tamed by ruinous losses. His
hereditary fortune was ample. He
had long filled lucrative posts, and had neglected no art
which could make them more lucrative: but
his ill luck at the hazard table
was such that his estates were daily becoming more
and more encumbered. In the hope of
extricating himself from his
embarrassments, he betrayed to Barillon all the schemes adverse
to France which had been meditated in the
English cabinet, and hinted that a
Secretary of State could in such times render
services for which it might be wise in
Lewis to pay largely. The Ambassador told his master that six thousand
guineas was the smallest
gratification that could be offered to so important a
minister. Lewis consented to go as high as
twenty-five thousand crowns,
equivalent to about five thousand six hundred pounds
sterling. It was agreed that Sunderland
should receive this sum yearly, and
that he should, in return, exert all his influence to
prevent the reassembling of the
Parliament. He joined himself
therefore to the Jesuitical cabal, and made so dexterous an use
of the influence of that cabal that he was
appointed to succeed Halifax in the
high dignity of Lord President without being
required to resign the far more active and
lucrative post of Secretary. He
felt, however, that he could never hope to obtain
paramount influence in the court while he
was supposed to belong to the
Established Church. All religions were the same to him.
In private circles, indeed, he was in the
habit of talking with profane
contempt of the most sacred things. He therefore
determined to let the King have the
delight and glory of effecting a
conversion. Some management, however,
was necessary. No man is utterly without
regard for the opinion of his
fellow creatures; and even Sunderland, though not
very sensible to shame, flinched from the
infamy of public apostasy. He
played his part with rare adroitness. To the world
he showed himself as a Protestant. In the
royal closet he assumed the
character of an earnest inquirer after truth, who was almost
persuaded to declare himself a Roman
Catholic, and who, while waiting
for fuller illumination, was disposed to render every
service in his power to the professors of
the old faith. James, who was never
very discerning, and who in religious matters was
absolutely blind, suffered himself,
notwithstanding all that he had
seen of human knavery, of the knavery of courtiers as a
class, and of the knavery of Sunderland in
particular, to be duped into the
belief that divine grace had touched the most
false and callous of human hearts. During
many months the wily minister
continued to be regarded at court as a promising
catechumen, without exhibiting himself to
the public in the character of a
renegade.
He early suggested to the King the
expediency of appointing a secret
committee of Roman Catholics to advise on all matters
affecting the interests of their religion.
This committee met sometimes at
Chiffinch's lodgings, and sometimes at the official
apartments of Sunderland, who, though
still nominally a Protestant, was
admitted to all its deliberations, and soon
obtained a decided ascendency over the
other members. Every Friday the
Jesuitical cabal dined with the Secretary. The conversation at table
was free; and the weaknesses of the prince
whom the confederates hoped to manage were
not spared. To Petre Sunderland
promised a Cardinal's hat; to Castelmaine a splendid
embassy to Rome; to Dover a lucrative
command in the Guards; and to
Tyrconnel high employment in Ireland. Thus hound together by
the strongest ties of interest, these men
addressed themselves to the task of
subverting the Treasurer's power.
There were two Protestant members of the
cabinet who took no decided part in
the struggle. Jeffreys was at this time tortured
by a cruel internal malady which had been
aggravated by intemperance. At a
dinner which a wealthy Alderman gave to some
of the leading members of the government,
the Lord Treasurer and the Lord
Chancellor were so drunk that they stripped themselves
almost stark naked, and were with
difficulty prevented from climbing
up a signpost to drink His Majesty's health. The pious
Treasurer escaped with nothing but the
scandal of the debauch: but the
Chancellor brought on a violent fit of his complaint. His
life was for some time thought to be in
serious danger. James expressed
great uneasiness at the thought of losing a minister
who suited him so well, and said, with
some truth, that the loss of such a
man could not be easily repaired. Jeffreys, when he
became convalescent, promised his support
to both the contending parties, and
waited to see which of them would prove victorious.
Some curious proofs of his duplicity are
still extant. It has been already
said that the two French agents who were then
resident in London had divided the English
court between them. Bonrepaux was
constantly with Rochester; and Barillon lived with
Sunderland. Lewis was informed in the same
week by Bonrepaux that the
Chancellor was entirely with the Treasurer, and by Barillon
that the Chancellor was in league with the
Secretary.
Godolphin, cautious and taciturn, did his
best to preserve neutrality. His
opinions and wishes were undoubtedly with
Rochester; but his office made it
necessary for him to be in constant
attendance on the Queen; and he was naturally unwilling
to be on bad terms with her. There is
indeed reason to believe that he
regarded her with an attachment more romantic than often
finds place in the hearts of veteran
statesmen; and circumstances, which
it is now necessary to relate, had thrown
her entirely into the hands of the
Jesuitical cabal.
The King, stern as was his temper and
grave as was his deportment, was
scarcely less under the influence of female
attractions than his more lively and
amiable brother had been. The beauty, indeed, which distinguished the
favourite ladies of Charles was not
necessary to James. Barbara Palmer, Eleanor
Gwynn, and Louisa de Querouaille were
among the finest women of their
time. James, when young, had surrendered his liberty,
descended below his rank, and incurred the
displeasure of his family for the
coarse features of Anne Hyde. He had soon, to the
great diversion of the whole court, been
drawn away from his plain consort
by a plainer mistress, Arabella Churchill. His
second wife, though twenty years younger
than himself, and of no unpleasing
face or figure, had frequent reason to complain of his
inconstancy. But of all his illicit
attachments the strongest was that
which bound him to Catharine Sedley.
This woman was the daughter of Sir Charles
Sedley, one of the most brilliant
and profligate wits of the Restoration. The
licentiousness of his writings is not
redeemed by much grace or vivacity;
but the charms of his conversation were acknowledged
even by sober men who had no esteem for
his character. To sit near him at
the theatre, and to hear his criticisms on a new
play, was regarded as a privilege. Dryden
had done him the honour to make him
a principal interlocutor in the Dialogue on
Dramatic Poesy. The morals of Sedley were
such as, even in that age, gave
great scandal. He on one occasion, after a wild revel,
exhibited himself without a shred of
clothing in the balcony of a tavern
near Covent Garden, and harangued the people who were
passing in language so indecent and
profane that he was driven in by a
shower of brickbats, was prosecuted for a misdemeanour, was
sentenced to a heavy fine, and was
reprimanded by the Court of King's
Bench in the most cutting terms. His daughter had
inherited his abilities and his impudence.
Personal charms she had none, with
the exception of two brilliant eyes, the lustre of
which, to men of delicate taste, seemed
fierce and unfeminine. Her form was
lean, her countenance haggard. Charles, though he
liked her conversation, laughed at her
ugliness, and said that the priests
must have recommended her to his brother by way of
penance. She well knew that she was not
handsome, and jested freely on her
own homeliness. Yet, with strange inconsistency,
she loved to adorn herself magnificently,
and drew on herself much keen
ridicule by appearing in the theatre and the ring
plastered, painted, clad in Brussels lace,
glittering with diamonds, and
affecting all the graces of eighteen.
The nature of her influence over James is
not easily to be explained. He was
no longer young. He was a religious man; at
least he was willing to make for his
religion exertions and sacrifices from which the great majority of
those who are called religious men
would shrink. It seems strange that any attractions
should have drawn him into a course of
life which he must have regarded as
highly criminal; and in this case none could
understand where the attraction lay.
Catharine herself was astonished by
the violence of his passion. "It cannot be my
beauty," she said; "for he must see that I
have none; and it cannot be my wit,
for he has not enough to know that I have any."
At the moment of the King's accession a
sense of the new responsibility
which lay on him made his mind for a time
peculiarly open to religious impressions.
He formed and announced many good
resolutions, spoke in public with great severity of the
impious and licentious manners of the age,
and in private assured his Queen
and his confessor that he would see Catharine Sedley no
more. He wrote to his mistress intreating
her to quit the apartments which
she occupied at Whitehall, and to go to a house
in Saint James's Square which had been
splendidly furnished for her at his
expense. He at the same time promised to allow her a
large pension from his privy purse.
Catharine, clever, strongminded,
intrepid, and conscious of her power, refused to
stir. In a few months it began to be
whispered that the services of
Chiffinch were again employed, and that the mistress
frequently passed and repassed through
that private door through which
Father Huddleston had borne the host to the bedside of
Charles. The King's Protestant ministers
had, it seems, conceived a hope
that their master's infatuation for this woman might cure
him of the more pernicious infatuation
which impelled him to attack their
religion. She had all the talents which could
qualify her to play on his feelings, to
make game of his scruples, to set
before him in a strong light the difficulties
and dangers into which he was running
headlong. Rochester, the champion
of the Church, exerted himself to strengthen her
influence. Ormond, who is popularly
regarded as the personification of
all that is pure and highminded in the English
Cavalier, encouraged the design. Even Lady
Rochester was not ashamed to
cooperate, and that in the very worst way. Her office
was to direct the jealousy of the injured
wife towards a young lady who was
perfectly innocent. The whole court took notice of
the coldness and rudeness with which the
Queen treated the poor girl on whom
suspicion had been thrown: but the cause of Her
Majesty's ill humour was a mystery. For a
time the intrigue went on
prosperously and secretly. Catharine often told the King
plainly what the Protestant Lords of the
Council only dared to hint in the
most delicate phrases. His crown, she said, was at stake: the old
dotard Arundell and the blustering Tyrconnel would
lead him to his ruin. It is possible that
her caresses might have done what
the united exhortations of the Lords and the Commons,
of the House of Austria and the Holy See,
had failed to do, but for a strange
mishap which changed the whole face of affairs.
James, in a fit of fondness, determined to
make his mistress Countess of
Dorchester in her own right. Catharine saw all the
peril of such a step, and declined the
invidious honour. Her lover was
obstinate, and himself forced the patent into her
hands. She at last accepted it on one
condition, which shows her
confidence in her own power and in his weakness. She made him
give her a solemn promise, not that he
would never quit her, but that, if
he did so, he would himself announce his resolution to
her, and grant her one parting interview.
As soon as the news of her elevation got
abroad, the whole palace was in an
uproar. The warm blood of Italy boiled in the veins of
the Queen. Proud of her youth and of her
charms, of her high rank and of her
stainless chastity, she could not without agonies of
grief and rage see herself deserted and
insulted for such a rival.
Rochester, perhaps remembering how patiently, after a
short struggle, Catharine of Braganza had
consented to treat the mistresses
of Charles with politeness, had expected that, after a
little complaining and pouting, Mary of
Modena would be equally submissive.
It was not so. She did not even attempt to conceal
from the eyes of the world the violence of
her emotions. Day after day the
courtiers who came to see her dine observed that
the dishes were removed untasted from the
table. She suffered the tears to
stream down her cheeks unconcealed in the presence of
the whole circle of ministers and envoys.
To the King she spoke with wild
vehemence. "Let me go," she cried. "You have made your
woman a Countess: make her a Queen. Put my
crown on her head. Only let me hide
myself in some convent, where I may never see
her more." Then, more soberly, she asked
him how he reconciled his conduct
to his religious professions. "You are ready," she
said, "to put your kingdom to hazard for
the sake of your soul; and yet you
are throwing away your soul for the sake of that
creature." Father Petre, on bended knees,
seconded these remonstrances. It
was his duty to do so; and his duty was not the
less strenuously performed because it
coincided with his interest. The
King went on for a time sinning and repenting. In
his hours of remorse his penances were
severe. Mary treasured up to the
end of her life, and at her death bequeathed to the
convent of Chaillot, the scourge with
which he had vigorously avenged her
wrongs upon his own shoulders. Nothing but Catharine's absence could
put an end to this struggle between an
ignoble love and an ignoble superstition.
James wrote, imploring and
commanding her to depart. He owned that he had promised to
bid her farewell in person. "But I know
too well," he added, "the power
which you have over me. I have not strength of mind enough
to keep my resolution if I see you." He
offered her a yacht to convey her
with all dignity and comfort to Flanders, and
threatened that if she did not go quietly
she should be sent away by force.
She at one time worked on his feelings by pretending to
be ill. Then she assumed the airs of a
martyr, and impudently proclaimed
herself a sufferer for the Protestant religion. Then
again she adopted the style of John
Hampden. She defied the King to
remove her. She would try the right with him. While the Great
Charter and the Habeas Corpus Act were the
law of the land, she would live
where she pleased. "And Flanders," she cried; "never!
I have learned one thing from my friend
the Duchess of Mazarin; and that is
never to trust myself in a country where there are
convents." At length she selected Ireland
as the place of her exile, probably
because the brother of her patron Rochester was
viceroy there. After many delays she
departed, leaving the victory to
the Queen.
The history of this extraordinary intrigue
would be imperfect, if it were not
added that there is still extant a religious
meditation, written by the Treasurer, with
his own hand, on the very same day
on which the intelligence of his attempt to govern
his master by means of a concubine was
despatched by Bonrepaux to
Versailles. No composition of Ken or Leighton breathes a spirit
of more fervent and exalted piety than
this effusion. Hypocrisy cannot be
suspected: for the paper was evidently meant only for
the writer's own eye, and was not
published till he had been more
than a century in his grave. So much is history stranger than
fiction; and so true is it that nature has
caprices which art dares not
imitate. A dramatist would scarcely venture to bring on
the stage a grave prince, in the decline
of life, ready to sacrifice his
crown in order to serve the interests of his
religion, indefatigable in making
proselytes, and yet deserting and
insulting a wife who had youth and beauty for the sake of a
profligate paramour who had neither. Still
less, if possible, would a
dramatist venture to introduce a statesman stooping to
the wicked and shameful part of a
procurer, and calling in his wife
to aid him in that dishonourable office, yet, in his moments
of leisure, retiring to his closet, and
there secretly pouring out his soul
to his God in penitent tears and devout
ejaculations.
The Treasurer soon found that, in using
scandalous means for the purpose of
obtaining a laudable end, he had committed, not only a
crime, but a folly. The Queen was now his
enemy. She affected, indeed, to
listen with civility while the Hydes excused their
recent conduct as well as they could; and
she occasionally pretended to use
her influence in their favour: but she must have
been more or less than woman if she had
really forgiven the conspiracy
which had been formed against her dignity and her
domestic happiness by the family of her
husband's first wife. The Jesuits
strongly represented to the King the danger which he had
so narrowly escaped. His reputation, they
said, his peace, his soul, had been
put in peril by the machinations of his prime
minister. The Nuncio, who would gladly
have counteracted the influence of
the violent party, and cooperated with the moderate
members of the cabinet, could not honestly
or decently separate himself on
this occasion from Father Petre. James himself, when
parted by the sea from the charms which
had so strongly fascinated him,
could not but regard with resentment and contempt
those who had sought to govern him by
means of his vices. What had passed
must have had the effect of raising his own Church in
his esteem, and of lowering the Church of
England. The Jesuits, whom it was
the fashion to represent as the most unsafe of
spiritual guides, as sophists who refined
away the whole system of
evangelical morality, as sycophants who owed their influence
chiefly to the indulgence with which they
treated the sins of the great, had
reclaimed him from a life of guilt by rebukes as sharp
and bold as those which David had heard
from Nathan and Herod from the
Baptist. On the other hand, zealous Protestants, whose
favourite theme was the laxity of Popish
casuists and the wickedness of
doing evil that good might come, had attempted to
obtain advantages for their own Church in
a way which all Christians regarded
as highly criminal. The victory of the cabal
of evil counsellors was therefore
complete. The King looked coldly on
Rochester. The courtiers and foreign ministers soon
perceived that the Lord Treasurer was
prime minister only in name. He
continued to offer his advice daily, and had the
mortification to find it daily rejected.
Yet he could not prevail on himself
to relinquish the outward show of power and the
emoluments which he directly and
indirectly derived from his great
place. He did his best, therefore, to conceal his vexations
from the public eye. But his violent
passions and his intemperate habits
disqualified him for the part of a dissembler. His gloomy
looks, when he came out of the council
chamber, showed how little he was
pleased with what had passed at the board; and, when the bottle had
gone round freely, words escaped him which betrayed
his uneasiness.
He might, indeed, well be uneasy.
Indiscreet and unpopular measures
followed each other in rapid succession. All thought of
returning to the policy of the Triple
Alliance was abandoned. The King
explicitly avowed to the ministers of those continental
powers with which he had lately intended
to ally himself, that all his views
had undergone a change, and that England was still
to be, as she had been under his
grandfather, his father, and his
brother, of no account in Europe. "I am in no condition," he said
to the Spanish Ambassador, "to trouble
myself about what passes abroad. It
is my resolution to let foreign affairs take their
course, to establish my authority at home,
and to do something for my
religion." A few days later he announced the same
intentions to the States General. From
that time to the close of his
ignominious reign, he made no serious effort to escape
from vassalage, though, to the last, he
could never hear, without
transports of rage, that men called him a vassal.
The two events which proved to the public
that Sunderland and Sunderland's
party were victorious were the prorogation of the
Parliament from February to May, and the
departure of Castelmaine for Rome
with the appointments of an Ambassador of the highest
rank.
Hitherto all the business of the English
government at the papal court had
been transacted by John Caryl. This gentleman was known
to his contemporaries as a man of fortune
and fashion, and as the author of
two successful plays, a tragedy in rhyme which had been
made popular by the action and recitation
of Betterton, and a comedy which
owes all its value to scenes borrowed from Moliere.
These pieces have long been forgotten; but
what Caryl could not do for himself
has been done for him by a more powerful genius.
Half a line in the Rape of the Lock has
made his name immortal.
Caryl, who was, like all the other
respectable Roman Catholics, an
enemy to violent courses, had acquitted himself of his
delicate errand at Rome with good sense
and good feeling. The business
confided to him was well done; but he assumed no public
character, and carefully avoided all
display. His mission, therefore,
put the government to scarcely any charge, and excited
scarcely any murmurs. His place was now
most unwisely supplied by a costly
and ostentatious embassy, offensive in the highest
degree to the people of England, and by no
means welcome to the court of Rome. Castelmaine had it in charge to
demand a Cardinal's hat for his
confederate Petre.
About the same time the King began to
show, in an unequivocal manner, the
feeling which he really entertained towards the
banished Huguenots. While he had still
hoped to cajole his Parliament into
submission and to become the head of an European
coalition against France, he had affected
to blame the revocation of the
edict of Nantes, and to pity the unhappy men whom
persecution had driven from their country.
He had caused it to be announced
that, at every church in the kingdom, a collection
would be made under his sanction for their
benefit. A proclamation on this
subject had been drawn up in terms which
might have wounded the pride of a
sovereign less sensitive and
vainglorious than Lewis. But all was now changed. The principles
of the treaty of Dover were again the
principles of the foreign policy of
England. Ample apologies were therefore made for the
discourtesy with which the English
government had acted towards France
in showing favour to exiled Frenchmen. The proclamation
which had displeased Lewis was recalled.
The Huguenot ministers were
admonished to speak with reverence of their oppressor in
their public discourses, as they would
answer it at their peril. James not
only ceased to express commiseration for the sufferers,
but declared that he believed them to
harbour the worst designs, and
owned that he had been guilty of an error in countenancing
them. One of the most eminent of the
refugees, John Claude, had
published on the Continent a small volume in which he described
with great force the sufferings of his
brethren. Barillon demanded that
some opprobrious mark should be put on his book.
James complied, and in full council
declared it to be his pleasure that
Claude's libel should be burned by the hangman
before the Royal Exchange. Even Jeffreys
was startled, and ventured to
represent that such a proceeding was without example,
that the book was written in a foreign
tongue, that it had been printed at
a foreign press, that it related entirely to
transactions which had taken place in a
foreign country, and that no
English government had ever animadverted on such works. James
would not suffer the question to be
discussed. "My resolution," he
said, "is taken. It has become the fashion to treat Kings
disrespectfully; and they must stand by
each other. One King should always
take another's part: and I have particular reasons
for showing this respect to the King of
France." There was silence at the
board. The order was forthwith issued; and
Claude's pamphlet was committed to the
flames, not without the deep
murmurs of many who had always been reputed steady loyalists.
The promised collection was long put off
under various pretexts. The King
would gladly have broken his word; but it was pledged so
solemnly that he could not for very shame
retract. Nothing, however, which
could cool the zeal of congregations was omitted.
It had been expected that, according to
the practice usual on such
occasions, the people would be exhorted to liberality from
the pulpits. But James was determined not
to tolerate declamations against
his religion and his ally. The Archbishop of
Canterbury was therefore commanded to
inform the clergy that they must
merely read the brief, and must not presume to preach on the
sufferings of the French Protestants.
Nevertheless the contributions were
so large that, after all deductions, the sum
of forty thousand pounds was paid into the
Chamber of London. Perhaps none of
the munificent subscriptions of our own age has
borne so great a proportion to the means
of the nation.
The King was bitterly mortified by the
large amount of the collection
which had been made in obedience to his own call. He
knew, he said, what all this liberality
meant. It was mere Whiggish spite
to himself and his religion.78 He had already
resolved that the money should be of no
use to those whom the donors wished
to benefit. He had been, during some weeks, in
close communication with the French
embassy on this subject, and had,
with the approbation of the court of Versailles, determined
on a course which it is not very easy to
reconcile with those principles of
toleration to which he afterwards pretended to be
attached. The refugees were zealous for
the Calvinistic discipline and
worship. James therefore gave orders that none
should receive a crust of bread or a
basket of coals who did not first
take the sacrament according to the Anglican ritual. It
is strange that this inhospitable rule
should have been devised by a
prince who affected to consider the Test Act as an outrage
on the rights of conscience: for, however
unjustifiable it may be to
establish a sacramental test for the purpose of ascertaining
whether men are fit for civil and military
office, it is surely much more
unjustifiable to establish a sacramental test for the
purpose of ascertaining whether, in their
extreme distress, they are fit
objects of charity. Nor had James the plea which may be
urged in extenuation of the guilt of
almost all other persecutors: for
the religion which he commanded the refugees to
profess, on pain of being left to starve,
was not his own religion. His
conduct towards them was therefore less excusable
than that of Lewis: for Lewis oppressed
them in the hope of bringing them over from a damnable heresy to the
true Church: James oppressed them
only for the purpose of forcing them to
apostatize from one damnable heresy to
another.
Several Commissioners, of whom the
Chancellor was one, had been
appointed to dispense the public alms. When they met for the
first time, Jeffreys announced the royal
pleasure. The refugees, he said,
were too generally enemies of monarchy and episcopacy.
If they wished for relief, they must
become members of the Church of
England, and must take the sacrament from the hands of his
chaplain. Many exiles, who had come full
of gratitude and hope to apply for
succour, heard their sentence, and went brokenhearted
away.
May was now approaching; and that month
had been fixed for the meeting of
the Houses: but they were again prorogued to
November. It was not strange that the King
did not wish to meet them: for he
had determined to adopt a policy which he knew to
be, in the highest degree, odious to them.
From his predecessors he had
inherited two prerogatives, of which the limits had never
been defined with strict accuracy, and
which, if exerted without any
limit, would of themselves have sufficed to overturn the
whole polity of the State and of the
Church. These were the dispensing
power and the ecclesiastical supremacy. By means of
the dispensing power the King purposed to
admit Roman Catholics, not merely
to civil and military, but to spiritual, offices. By
means of the ecclesiastical supremacy he
hoped to make the Anglican clergy
his instruments for the destruction of their own
religion.
This scheme developed itself by degrees.
It was not thought safe to begin by
granting to the whole Roman Catholic body a
dispensation from all statutes imposing
penalties and tests. For nothing
was more fully established than that such a dispensation
was illegal. The Cabal had, in 1672, put
forth a general Declaration of
Indulgence. The Commons, as soon as they met, had
protested against it. Charles the Second
had ordered it to be cancelled in
his presence, and had, both by his own mouth and by
a written message, assured the Houses that
the step which had caused so much
complaint should never be drawn into precedent. It
would have been difficult to find in all
the Inns of Court a barrister of
reputation to argue in defence of a prerogative
which the Sovereign, seated on his throne
in full Parliament, had solemnly
renounced a few years before. But it was not quite so
clear that the King might not, on special
grounds, grant exemptions to individuals by name. The first object of
James, therefore, was to obtain
from the courts of common law an
acknowledgment that, to this extent at least, he possessed the
dispensing power.
But, though his pretensions were moderate
when compared with those which he
put forth a few months later, he soon found that
he had against him almost the whole sense
of Westminster Hall. Four of the
Judges gave him to understand that they could not, on
this occasion, serve his purpose; and it
is remarkable that all the four
were violent Tories, and that among them were men who
had accompanied Jeffreys on the Bloody
Circuit, and who had consented to
the death of Cornish and of Elizabeth Gaunt. Jones,
the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, a
man who had never before shrunk
from any drudgery, however cruel or servile, now held in
the royal closet language which might have
become the lips of the purest
magistrates in our history. He was plainly told that he
must either give up his opinion or his
place. "For my place," he answered,
"I care little. I am old and worn out in the service of
the crown; but I am mortified to find that
your Majesty thinks me capable of
giving a judgment which none but an ignorant or a
dishonest man could give." "I am
determined," said the King, "to
have twelve Judges who will be all of my mind as to this matter."
"Your Majesty," answered Jones, "may find
twelve Judges of your mind, but
hardly twelve lawyers." He was dismissed together
with Montague, Chief Baron of the
Exchequer, and two puisne Judges,
Neville and Charlton. One of the new Judges was
Christopher Milton, younger brother of the
great poet. Of Christopher little
is known except that, in the time of the civil
war, he had been a Royalist, and that he
now, in his old age, leaned towards
Popery. It does not appear that he was ever
formally reconciled to the Church of Rome:
but he certainly had scruples about
communicating with the Church of England, and had
therefore a strong interest in supporting
the dispensing power.
The King found his counsel as refractory
as his Judges. The first barrister
who learned that he was expected to defend the
dispensing power was the Solicitor
General, Heneage Finch. He
peremptorily refused, and was turned out of office on the
following day. The Attorney General,
Sawyer, was ordered to draw
warrants authorising members of the Church of Rome to hold
benefices belonging to the Church of
England. Sawyer had been deeply
concerned in some of the harshest and most unjustifiable
prosecutions of that age; and the Whigs
abhorred him as a man stained with
the blood of Russell and Sidney: but on this occasion he showed no
want of honesty or of resolution. "Sir,"
said he, "this is not merely to dispense
with a statute; it is to annul the
whole statute law from the accession of Elizabeth to
this day. I dare not do it; and I implore
your Majesty to consider whether
such an attack upon the rights of the Church be
in accordance with your late gracious
promises."85 Sawyer would have been
instantly dismissed as Finch had been, if the
government could have found a successor:
but this was no easy matter. It was
necessary for the protection of the rights of the
crown that one at least of the crown
lawyers should be a man of
learning, ability, and experience; and no such man was willing to
defend the dispensing power. The Attorney
General was therefore permitted to
retain his place during some months. Thomas Powis,
an insignificant man, who had no
qualification for high employment
except servility, was appointed Solicitor.
The preliminary arrangements were now
complete. There was a Solicitor
General to argue for the dispensing power, and twelve
Judges to decide in favour of it. The
question was therefore speedily
brought to a hearing. Sir Edward Hales, a gentleman of
Kent, had been converted to Popery in days
when it was not safe for any man of
note openly to declare himself a Papist. He had
kept his secret, and, when questioned, had
affirmed that he was a Protestant
with a solemnity which did little credit to his
principles. When James had ascended the
throne, disguise was no longer
necessary. Sir Edward publicly apostatized, and was
rewarded with the command of a regiment of
foot. He had held his commission
more than three months without taking the sacrament.
He was therefore liable to a penalty of
five hundred pounds, which an
informer might recover by action of debt. A menial
servant was employed to bring a suit for
this sum in the Court of King's
Bench. Sir Edward did not dispute the facts alleged
against him, but pleaded that he had
letters patent authorising him to
hold his commission notwithstanding the Test Act. The
plaintiff demurred, that is to say,
admitted Sir Edward's plea to be
true in fact, but denied that it was a sufficient answer. Thus
was raised a simple issue of law to be
decided by the court. A barrister,
who was notoriously a tool of the government, appeared
for the mock plaintiff, and made some
feeble objections to the
defendant's plea. The new Solicitor General replied. The Attorney
General took no part in the proceedings.
Judgment was given by the Lord
Chief Justice, Sir Edward Herbert. He announced that he
had submitted the question to all the
twelve Judges, and that, in the
opinion of eleven of them, the King might lawfully dispense
with penal statutes in particular cases,
and for special reasons of grave importance. The single dissentient,
Baron Street, was not removed from
his place. He was a man of morals so bad that
his own relations shrank from him, and
that the Prince of Orange, at the
time of the Revolution, was advised not to see him. The
character of Street makes it impossible to
believe that he would have been
more scrupulous than his brethren. The character of
James makes it impossible to believe that
a refractory Baron of the Exchequer
would have been permitted to retain his post. There
can be no reasonable doubt that the
dissenting Judge was, like the
plaintiff and the plaintiff's counsel, acting collusively. It
was important that there should be a great
preponderance of authority in
favour of the dispensing power; yet it was important
that the bench, which had been carefully
packed for the occasion, should
appear to be independent. One Judge, therefore, the least
respectable of the twelve, was permitted,
or more probably commanded, to give
his voice against the prerogative.
The power which the courts of law had thus
recognised was not suffered to lie
idle. Within a month after the decision of the
King's Bench had been pronounced, four
Roman Catholic Lords were sworn of
the Privy Council. Two of these, Powis and Bellasyse,
were of the moderate party, and probably
took their seats with reluctance
and with many sad forebodings. The other two, Arundell
and Dover, had no such misgivings.
The dispensing power was, at the same
time, employed for the purpose of
enabling Roman Catholics to hold ecclesiastical
preferment. The new Solicitor readily drew
the warrants in which Sawyer had
refused to be concerned. One of these warrants was in
favour of a wretch named Edward Sclater,
who had two livings which he was
determined to keep at all costs and through all
changes. He administered the sacrament to
his parishioners according to the
rites of the Church of England on Palm Sunday
1686. On Easter Sunday, only seven days
later, he was at mass. The royal
dispensation authorised him to retain the emoluments of
his benefices. To the remonstrances of the
patrons from whom he had received
his preferment he replied in terms of insolent
defiance, and, while the Roman Catholic
cause prospered, put forth an
absurd treatise in defence of his apostasy. But, a very
few weeks after the Revolution, a great
congregation assembled at Saint
Mary's in the Savoy, to see him received again into the
bosom of the Church which he had deserted.
He read his recantation with tears
flowing from his eyes, and pronounced a
bitter invective against the Popish
priests whose arts had seduced him.
Scarcely less infamous was the conduct of
Obadiah Walker. He was an aged
priest of the Church of England, and was well known in
the University of Oxford as a man of
learning. He had in the late reign
been suspected of leaning towards Popery, but had outwardly
conformed to the established religion, and
had at length been chosen Master of
University College. Soon after the accession of
James, Walker determined to throw off the
disguise which he had hitherto
worn. He absented himself from the public worship of the
Church of England, and, with some fellows
and undergraduates whom he had
perverted, heard mass daily in his own apartments. One of
the first acts performed by the new
Solicitor General was to draw up an
instrument which authorised Walker and his proselytes to
hold their benefices, notwithstanding
their apostasy. Builders were
immediately employed to turn two sets of rooms into an
oratory. In a few weeks the Roman Catholic
rites were publicly performed in
University College. A Jesuit was quartered there as
chaplain. A press was established there
under royal license for the
printing of Roman Catholic tracts. During two years and a
half, Walker continued to make war on
Protestantism with all the rancour
of a renegade: but when fortune turned he showed that he
wanted the courage of a martyr. He was
brought to the bar of the House of
Commons to answer for his conduct, and was base enough
to protest that he had never changed his
religion, that he had never
cordially approved of the doctrines of the Church of Rome,
and that he had never tried to bring any
other person within the pale of
that Church. It was hardly worth while to violate the
most sacred obligations of law and of
plighted faith, for the purpose of
making such converts as these.
In a short time the King went a step
further. Sclater and Walker had
only been permitted to keep, after they became Papists, the
preferment which had been bestowed on them
while they passed for Protestants.
To confer a high office in the Established Church on
an avowed enemy of that Church was a far
bolder violation of the laws and of
the royal word. But no course was too bold for James.
The Deanery of Christchurch became vacant.
That office was, both in dignity
and in emolument, one of the highest in the University
of Oxford. The Dean was charged with the
government of a greater number of
youths of high connections and of great hopes than
could then be found in any other college.
He was also the head of a
Cathedral. In both characters it was necessary that he should
be a member of the Church of England.
Nevertheless John Massey, who was
notoriously a member of the Church of Rome, and who had
not one single recommendation, except that
he was a member of the Church of Rome, was appointed by virtue of the
dispensing power; and soon within
the walls of Christchurch an altar was decked, at
which mass was daily celebrated. To the
Nuncio the King said that what had
been done at Oxford should very soon be done at
Cambridge.
Yet even this was a small evil compared
with that which Protestants had
good ground to apprehend. It seemed but too
probable that the whole government of the
Anglican Church would shortly pass
into the hands of her deadly enemies. Three
important sees had lately become vacant,
that of York, that of Chester, and
that of Oxford. The Bishopric of Oxford was given to
Samuel Parker, a parasite, whose religion,
if he had any religion, was that of
Rome, and who called himself a Protestant
only because he was encumbered with a
wife. "I wished," the King said to
Adda, "to appoint an avowed Catholic: but the time is not
come. Parker is well inclined to us; he is
one of us in feeling; and by
degrees he will bring round his clergy." The Bishopric
of Chester, vacant by the death of John
Pearson, a great name both in
philology and in divinity, was bestowed on Thomas
Cartwright, a still viler sycophant than
Parker. The Archbishopric of York
remained several years vacant. As no good
reason could be found for leaving so
important a place unfilled, men
suspected that the nomination was delayed only till the King
could venture to place the mitre on the
head of an avowed Papist. It is
indeed highly probable that the Church of England was saved
from this outrage by the good sense and
good feeling of the Pope. Without a
special dispensation from Rome no Jesuit could be a
Bishop; and Innocent could not be induced
to grant such a dispensation to
Petre.
James did not even make any secret of his
intention to exert vigorously and
systematically for the destruction of the
Established Church all the powers which he
possessed as her head. He plainly
said that, by a wise dispensation of Providence, the
Act of Supremacy would be the means of
healing the fatal breach which it
had caused. Henry and Elizabeth had usurped a dominion
which rightfully belonged to the Holy See.
That dominion had, in the course of
succession, descended to an orthodox prince, and
would be held by him in trust for the Holy
See. He was authorised by law to
repress spiritual abuses; and the first spiritual abuse
which he would repress should be the
liberty which the Anglican clergy
assumed of defending their own religion and of attacking
the doctrines of Rome.
But he was met by a great difficulty. The
ecclesiastical supremacy which had
devolved on him, was by no means the same
great and terrible prerogative which
Elizabeth, James the First, and
Charles the First had possessed. The enactment which annexed
to the crown an almost boundless
visitatorial authority over the
Church, though it had never been formally repealed, had really
lost a great part of its force. The
substantive law remained; but it
remained unaccompanied by any formidable sanction or by any
efficient system of procedure, and was
therefore little more than a dead
letter.
The statute, which restored to Elizabeth
the spiritual dominion assumed by
her father and resigned by her sister, contained a
clause authorising the sovereign to
constitute a tribunal which might
investigate, reform, and punish all ecclesiastical
delinquencies. Under the authority given
by this clause, the Court of High
Commission was created. That court was, during many
years, the terror of Nonconformists, and,
under the harsh administration of
Laud, became an object of fear and hatred even
to those who most loved the Established
Church. When the Long Parliament
met, the High Commission was generally regarded as the
most grievous of the many grievances under
which the nation laboured. An act
was therefore somewhat hastily passed, which not
only took away from the Crown the power of
appointing visitors to superintend
the Church, but abolished all ecclesiastical courts
without distinction.