Chapter XXXI (2)

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.