Chapter II: The Nature of the Designs (1)

For contemporaries the Popish Plot provided a noble field of battle. Between its supporters and its assailants controversy raged hotly. Hosts of writers in England and abroad proved incontestably either its truth or its falsehood.[23] With which of the two the victory lay is hard to determine. Discredit presently fell on the Plot, but the balance was restored by the Revolution, when Oates’ release, pardon, and pension gave again the stamp of authority to his revelations. From this high estate its reputation quickly fell. Hume pronounced belief in it to be the touchstone for a hopelessly prejudiced Whig, Fox declared the evidence offered “impossible to be true,” and before the end of the eighteenth century Dalrymple accused Shaftesbury of having contrived and managed the whole affair. Since that time little serious criticism, with the notable exception of Ranke’s luminous account, has been attempted. Historians have generally contented themselves with relying on the informers’ certain mendacity to prove the entire falsehood of the plot which they denounced. The argument is patently unsound. As Charles II himself declared, the fact that Oates and his followers were liars of the first order does not warrant the conclusion that all they said was untrue and that the plot was wholly of the imagination.[24] The grounds upon which judgment must be based deserve to be more closely considered.

On November 8, 1675 a remarkable debate took place in the House of Commons. Mr. Russell and Sir Henry Goodrick informed the House of an outrage said to have been committed by a Jesuit upon a recent convert from Roman Catholicism. Amid keen excitement they related that one Luzancy, a Frenchman, who, having lately come over to the Church of England, had in the French chapel at the Savoy preached a hot sermon against the errors of Rome, had been compelled at peril of his life to retract all he had said and sign a recantation of his faith. The man guilty of this deed was Dr. Burnet, commonly known as Father St. Germain, a Jesuit belonging to the household of the Duchess of York.[25] The Commons were highly enraged. “This goes beyond all precedents,” cried Sir Charles Harbord, “to persuade not only with arguments but poignards!” He never heard the like way before. Assurance was given by Mr. Secretary Williamson that strict inquiry was being made. The king was busy with the matter. Luzancy had been examined on oath before the council, and a special meeting was now summoned. A warrant was out for St. Germain, but the Jesuit had fled. The House expressed its feeling by moving that the Lord Chief Justice be requested to issue a second warrant for St. Germain’s arrest, and yet another in general terms “to search for and apprehend all priests and Jesuits whatsoever.”[26] It was a strange story that Luzancy told. By Protestants he was said to have been a learned Jesuit, by Catholics a rascally bastard of a disreputable French actress.[27] The two accounts are perhaps not irreconcilable. At least he was a convert and had preached. Thereupon St. Germain, as he said, threatened him and forced a recantation. Before resorting to this extreme the Jesuit had tried persuasion. The Duke of York, he told Luzancy, was a confessed Roman Catholic. At heart the king himself belonged to the same faith and would approve of all he did. Schemes were afoot to procure an act for liberty of conscience for the Catholics. That granted, within two years most of the nation would acknowledge the Pope. It was sometimes good to force people to heaven; and there were in London many priests and Jesuits doing God very great service. Others besides Luzancy had been threatened with tales of Protestant blood flowing in the London streets; and these, being summoned to the council, attested that the fact was so. Lord Halifax rose and told the king that, if his Majesty would allow that course to Protestants for the conversion of Papists, he did not question but in a very short time it should be effected.[28] Two days later a proclamation was issued signifying that Luzancy was taken into the royal protection, and St. Germain, with a price of £200 on his head, fled to France, there to become one of the most active of Jesuit intriguers.[29] Though the brandished dagger was likely enough an embellishment of Luzancy’s invention, it is probable that his story was in substance true. In December St. Germain found himself in Paris and in close correspondence with Edward Coleman, the Duchess of York’s secretary. Such a man writing within a month from the catastrophe would certainly, had he been falsely charged, be loud in vindication of his innocence and denunciation of the villain who had worked his ruin. St. Germain merely wrote that his leaving London in this fashion troubled him much. He had done all that a man of honesty and honour could; an ambiguous phrase. It was absolutely necessary, more for his companions and the Catholics’ sake than for his own, that his conduct should be justified.[30] Evidently St. Germain was less troubled at the injustice of the charge against him than incensed at its results. What he wanted was not that his character might be cleared from a false accusation, but that the tables might be turned on his accuser.[31]

The conduct of St. Germain illustrates well the aims of the Roman Catholic party in England about the year 1675. Their policy, already undergoing modification, had root deep in the history of the times.

For the first thirteen years of his reign Catholics looked for the advancement of their cause to the king. During the Civil War none had shown a more steadfast loyalty than they, and none hailed the Restoration with greater eagerness. Half a century earlier a considerable number of the squires of England had been Catholic. They were a class bound closely to the royal cause both by tradition and by personal inclination, and though the operation of the penal laws effectively prevented their ranks from swelling, they rendered conspicuous service to the crown in the day of trouble. With their strength further diminished by death and by confiscation of estates under the Commonwealth government, their hopes rose higher at the king’s return. There was much justification for their sanguine view. The promise of religious liberty contained in the declaration of Breda was known to be in accord with Charles’ own desires. He was the son of a Catholic mother and of a father suspected, however unjustly, of Catholic tendencies. He was himself not free from the same suspicion. He was under the deepest obligations to his Catholic subjects. They had risked their persons and squandered their fortunes for him. They had fought and intrigued for him, and succoured him in distress. He owed them life and liberty. They had done so much for him that it was not unreasonable to hope that, as it was not averse to his wishes, he would do something for them.

The disappointment of the Catholic expectations was not long delayed. Whatever promises Charles had made, and whatever hopes he had fostered, were dependent upon others, and not upon himself, for fulfilment. The Restoration was a national work, and it was not in the power of the king to act openly in opposition to the nation that had restored him. Since he was not a Catholic, he was impelled to run no great risk for the interest of those who were. And it became increasingly clear that by far the greater part of the nation was in no mind to tolerate any change which would make for freedom of life and opinion for the maintainers of a religion which was feared and fiercely hated by the governing classes and by the church which aspired to govern in England. Fear of Roman Catholicism was a legacy of the dreadful days of Queen Mary and of her sister’s Protestant triumph. That legacy was a possession not of one sect or of one party alone. Cavaliers and Roundheads, Puritans and high churchmen shared it alike. So long as the Church of Rome was of a warring disposition, it was vain to expect that the English people would see in it other than an enemy. The Protestant religion was too insecurely established in the land and the memory of sudden changes and violent assaults too recent for Englishmen to harbour a spirit of liberal charity towards those who disagreed from them in matters of faith. The Catholic, who cried for present relief from an odious tyranny, appeared in their eyes as one who, were relief granted, would seize any future chance to play the tyrant himself.

No less than twelve penal statutes, of tremendous force, existed to prevent Roman Catholics from exercising influence in the state.[32] Had they been strictly executed, the Catholic religion must have been crushed out of England; but they were generally allowed to remain dormant. Even so they were a constant menace and an occasional source of more or less annoyance, varying infinitely according to time and place and the will of the authorities from an insulting reminder of Catholic inferiority to cruel and deliberate persecution. The tenor of these laws was so stringent that among moderate Protestants there were many who believed that the more obnoxious and unjust might be removed without placing a weapon of serious strength in the hands of their opponents. In the House of Lords a party was formed in favour of the Catholic and Presbyterian claims and opposed to the arrogant pretensions of the Earl of Clarendon and his followers. Clarendon’s wish was for the supremacy of his own church, but there were already not a few who had begun to view his position with jealousy. In June 1661 a committee of prominent Catholics met at Arundel House to consider their position. They presented a petition to the Lords protesting against the penalties on the refusal of Catholics to take the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, but after several debates and the lapse of more than eighteen months it was resolved that “nothing had been offered to move their lordships to alter anything in the oaths.” Nevertheless Colonel Tuke of Cressing Temple was admitted to the bar and heard against the “sanguinary laws,” and papers on the subject were laid on the table of the House. The petitioners disclaimed the Pope’s temporal authority and offered to swear “to oppose with their lives and fortunes the pontiff himself, if he should ever attempt to execute that pretended power, and to obey their sovereign in opposition to all foreign and domestic power whatsoever, without restriction.” A committee was appointed to deal with the matter, and acting on its report the Lords resolved to abolish the writ _de haeretico inquirendo_ and the statutes making it treason to take orders in the Roman Church, as well as those making it felony to harbour Catholic priests and præmunire to maintain the authority of the Bishop of Rome.

At this point, when all seemed going well, misfortune intervened and the hopes of success were dashed to the ground. It was suggested that on account of its known activity and powers of intrigue the Society of Jesus should be excepted from the scope of the proposed measure. A heated controversy was instantly aroused. While Protestants and many Catholics demanded that the Jesuits should accept the situation and retire gracefully to win advantages for their brothers in religion, members of the society retorted that a conspiracy was on foot to divide the body Catholic against itself, and that it was not for the general good to accept favours at the price of sacrificing the most able and flourishing order of the church. It soon became evident that the Jesuits were not to be moved. Their struggle in England had been hard. Their position among English Catholics was one of great importance. They would not now surrender it for the sake of a partial and problematical success from the enjoyment of which they were themselves to be excluded. The time when affairs were still unsettled was rather one at which they should be spurred to greater efforts.

Without the compliance of the Jesuits the moderate Catholics could do nothing. A feeling of disgust at the selfish policy of the society found free expression. It seemed that its members would never consider the interest of others before their own. Nevertheless there was no remedy; the committee at Arundel House was dissolved; at the request of the Catholic peers the progress of the bill of relief in the House of Lords was suspended, and it was never resumed.[33]

No better fate attended the king’s efforts to make good the promises he had given at Breda. With the assurance of support from the Independents and Presbyterians he had issued late in the year 1662 a Declaration of Indulgence, suspending all penal laws against dissenters, Catholic as well as others, by virtue of the power which he considered inherent in the crown.[34] The move called forth a storm of opposition, both against the dispensing power and against the object for which it was used. To appease the Commons, Lord Ashley, afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury, brought in a bill to define and legalise the royal power to dispense with laws requiring oaths and subscription to the doctrines of the established church. The answer of the Commons was an address against the Declaration,[35] in the House of Lords Ashley’s bill was defeated by Clarendon and the bishops, and on March 31, 1663 Parliament addressed the king for a proclamation ordering all Catholic priests to leave the realm. Charles never forgave his minister, but he was powerless to resist. On April 2 he recanted his declaration by issuing the desired order. A bill to check the growth of popery and nonconformity passed quickly through the House of Commons, but was stopped by the influence of the Catholic peers, and an address for the execution of all laws against dissenters was voted in its place.[36]

Thus the penal laws were retained in their full vigour. And if the enactments against the Catholics were not removed from the statute book, still less were the causes which had produced them removed from men’s minds. Only the establishment of general confidence that the Catholic religion lacked power to menace the cause of Protestantism in England and to invade the rights which were dear to Englishmen could be effective in this; and confidence, so far from becoming general, shrank to limits that became ever narrower. In the years that followed, fear of the advance of Catholicism only increased. Fresh laws were passed to check it. The House of Commons voted address after address that the old might be put in action, petition after petition for the banishment of priests and Jesuits from court and capital. To their alarm and chagrin it appeared that all efforts were in vain, and belief spread that the failure was chiefly due to opposition emanating from the highest quarters. Instead of aiding in the accomplishment of the desired object, the influence of the crown seemed to be directed absolutely to prevent it. For the king’s policy was one which could only inspire the nation with a sense of growing distrust.[37]

Though Charles II had ascended the throne on a wave of popular enthusiasm, his ideas were widely removed from those of his subjects. By birth and education his mind was drawn towards the aims and methods of French politics, and he leaned away from the Church of England. With this bias he inherited for Puritanism and the Presbyterians a dislike strengthened by personal experience. Coming into England without knowledge of parliamentary government, his first trial of it was far from encouraging. He found Parliament intolerant, suspicious, unstatesman-like. The Commons fenced in the Anglican Church with severe penal laws against dissent, and gave the king an income less than the annual expenses of government and the services by half a million pounds. Charles had been restored to a bankrupt inheritance, and with every good intention the Commons failed completely to render it solvent. Soon their good-will ceased. They were jealous of the royal expenditure. They did not perceive the royal wants. They destroyed the existing financial arrangements and did not replace them with better.[38] They desired to carry the Protestant and Parliamentary system to its logical end in controlling the King’s foreign policy and directing it against the influence of the Roman Catholic Church. To Charles this was intolerable. To be forced to act at the bidding of Parliament was odious to him. He would be no crowned do-nothing. And here the fortunes of England touched on those of France. The schemes of Louis XIV for the expansion and consolidation of the French kingdom made it imperative that he should obtain for their prosecution the neutrality, if not the assistance, of England. He could not devote his energy to the settlement of his north-east frontier and the maintenance of his claims on the Spanish empire with a Protestant country ever ready to strike at his back. He was therefore always ready to pay for the concurrence of Charles and with him of England.[39] The establishment of the Roman Catholic religion, could it be effected, would be of material assistance to him. Especially on the religious side of his policy it would be a powerful support. Charles, on the other hand, desired to free himself from the financial control of Parliament and to grant toleration to the Catholics. He was therefore always ready to be bought. He was all the better pleased since co-operation with France brought him into conflict with the Dutch republic, which he disliked upon commercial and detested upon dynastic grounds. Toleration Charles found to be impossible, and he was subjected to constant annoyance by the attempts of the Commons to control his dealings. Thus his aims crystallised into a policy of making the crown supreme in the constitution and establishing the Roman Catholic faith as the state religion upon the approved model in France.[40]

The plan undertaken in concert with his great ally was not the first effort of Charles to give his ideas effect. During his exile on the continent various tenders had been made for papal support; Charles promised in return conversion and favour to his Catholic subjects; and within a few years of the Restoration a serious negotiation was started with Pope Alexander VII. In 1663 Sir Richard Bellings was sent on a mission to Rome to beg the bestowal of a cardinal’s hat on the Abbé d’Aubigny, almoner to the newly-married queen, and cousin to the king. Charles took the opportunity to propose through Bellings the formation of an Anglican Roman Church in England. He was to announce his conversion, the Archbishop of Canterbury was to be patriarch of the three realms, and liberty of conscience should be assured to remaining Protestants. Roman Catholicism would become the state religion and Rome gain the whole strength of the English hierarchy.[41] An understanding was impracticable and the scheme fell through; but the renewed solicitations of the English court on Aubigny’s behalf were successful. In November 1665 he was nominated Cardinal, and died almost immediately after. To the hopes of the Catholics his death was a terrible blow. “The clouds,” wrote the general of the Jesuits on hearing of it, “which are gathering over Holland, Poland, and Constantinople are so dense that every prudent man must see reason to apprehend enormous catastrophes and storms that will not be ended without irreparable disasters. But in my mind all these coming evils are overshadowed by the death of the Abbé Aubigny, which deprives the Church, for a time at least, of the joy of beholding an English cardinal of such illustrious blood, created at the public instances of two queens, and at the secret request of a king, a prodigy which would, without doubt have confounded heresy and inaugurated bright fortunes to the unhappy Catholics.”

Three years later a still more remarkable embassy than Bellings’ took place. It is not even in our own day commonly known that the Duke of Monmouth, reputed the eldest of the sons of Charles II, had an elder brother. So well was the secret kept, that during the long struggle to save the Protestant succession and to exclude the Duke of York from the throne, no man ever discovered that there was another whose claims were better than those of the popular favourite, and who had of his free will preferred the gown of an obscure clerk to the brilliant prospect of favour at court and the chance of wearing the English crown. For this son, born to the king in the Isle of Jersey at the age of sixteen or seventeen years, the child of a lady of one of the noblest families in his dominions, was named by his father James Stuart, and urged to be at hand to maintain his rights should both the royal brothers die without male heirs. He set the dazzling fortune aside and resolved to live and die a Jesuit. In the year 1668, then being some four and twenty years old, he entered the house of novices of the Jesuits at Rome under the name of James de la Cloche. Towards the end of the same year Charles wrote to Johannes Oliva, the general, desiring that his son might be sent to England to discuss matters of religion. Assuming the name of Henri de Rohan, La Cloche made for England. He was received by the queen and the queen mother, and by them secretly taken to the king. What passed between father and son has never transpired. La Cloche was sent back to Rome by the king as his “secret ambassador to the Father General,” charged with an oral commission and orders to return to England as soon as it was fulfilled. The nature of that mission is unknown, and whether or no the young man returned to England. Trace of embassy and ambassador alike is lost, and the young prince disappears from history. Yet it may be that his figure can be descried again, flitting mysteriously across the life of his father. At the height of the turmoil of the Popish Plot a certain gentleman was employed to bring privately from beyond seas a Roman Catholic priest, with whom the king had secret business to transact. The king and the priest stayed long closeted together. At length the priest came out with signs of horror and fear on his face. Charles had been seized with a fit and, when the priest would have called for help, to preserve their secret summoned strength to hold him till the attack had passed. On Charles’ death two papers on religion were found in his cabinet and published in a translation by his brother. The originals were in French, in the form of an argument addressed by one person to another, and it is suggested, not without reason, that their author was the same man as the king’s questionable visitor, and none other than his own son, who had forgotten his native tongue and had surrendered fame and country for the good of his soul and of the Catholic Church.[42]

One more negotiation was undertaken directly with Rome. By command of the pope the papal internuncio at Brussels came to England. He had sent a confidant to prepare the way, and was assured of welcome at court. The Venetian envoy offered the hospitality of his house to the visitor, and arranged an interview with the king. The queen, the Duke of York, and Lord Arlington were also present, and the nuncio received promises of the king’s good intentions towards the Catholics.[43] The fruits of this undertaking, had there been any, were spoiled before the gathering by the intrigue into which Charles had already entered with Louis XIV. Only under a Catholic constitution, said Charles, might a King of England hope to be absolute. He was to live to see the prophecy falsified, and by his own unaided effort to accomplish what he believed impossible, but now he showed the courage of his convictions by attempting to make England Catholic. The scheme was afoot in the summer of 1669. Nearly a year passed in its completion, and on June 1, 1670 “le Traité de Madame” was signed at Dover. Arlington, Clifford, Arundel, and Sir Richard Bellings signed for England, and Colbert for France; and Henrietta of Orleans, to whose skilful management success was due, returned to her husband’s home to die, leaving a potent influence to carry on her work—Louise de Kéroualle. Louis’ object in the treaty was to break the Triple Alliance and carry the war to a successful conclusion; that of Charles to make himself master of England once again under the Catholic banner. The two kings were to aid each other in men and money. “It was in reality,” says Lord Acton, “a plot under cover of Catholicism to introduce absolute monarchy and to make England a dependency of France, not only by the acceptance of French money, but by submission to a French army.”[44] Charles was to declare himself a Catholic when he thought fit. In the event of resistance from his subjects he was to receive from Louis the sum of £150,000 and a force of 6000 men to bring his country under the yoke. Lauderdale held an army 20,000 strong in Scotland, bound to serve anywhere within British dominions. Ireland under Lord Berkeley was steeped in Catholic and loyal sentiment. The garrisons and ports of England were being placed in safe hands. If the scheme succeeded, the Anglican Church would be overthrown, Parliamentary government would be rendered futile, and Charles would be left at the head of a Catholic state and master of his realm.

Success however was so far from attainment that no attempt was made to put “la grande affaire” into effect. It was decided that Charles’ declaration of Catholicism should be preceded by his attack in concert with Louis on the Dutch. War was declared on March 17, 1672. Two days before, the Declaration of Indulgence, suspending all penal laws against dissenters, was issued. It sprang from the desire to obtain the support of dissent for the war and to pave the way for a successful issue of the Catholic policy at its close. Arms alone could determine victory or defeat. If Charles thereafter found himself in a position to dictate to Parliament, the rest might not prove difficult. Otherwise there would be little hope of success. But the war did not justify Charles’ expectations. Dutch tenacity and the growing hostility in England to the alliance with France made it certain that the chief objects for which Charles had sealed the Dover treaty could not be achieved. When on February 19, 1674 he concluded peace with the Republic for 800,000 crowns, the honour of the flag northward from Cape Finisterre, and the retention of all his conquests outside Europe, the king seemed to have emerged successfully from the struggle. In fact he had failed to reach the goal. Unless he gained a commanding position at home by military success abroad, he could not hope to put into practice the English part of the programme drawn up at Dover. It was something that his nephew the Prince of Orange had ousted the odious republican faction from power in Holland, and much that the Republic had been for ever detached from its alliance with France; but even this was hardly sufficient compensation to Charles for the abandonment of his policy in England. He had planned to restore the monarchy to its ancient estate by means of Roman Catholicism. He had failed, and now he turned his back finally upon Catholicism as a political power. He had already been compelled to cancel the Declaration of Indulgence, and on March 29, 1673 clearly marked the change by giving the royal assent to the Test Act. A return to the policy of Anglican Royalism, which in some ways approached that of Clarendon, was shaped. The Cabal had been dissipated, the plans of its Catholic members ruined, its Protestant members driven into opposition. Charles, guiding foreign policy himself, and Danby as Lord Treasurer managing affairs at home, determined to draw all stable elements in the kingdom round the Church and the Crown, and to offer a united opposition to the factions and the dissenters. The famous Non-Resisting Test was the result.[45] Here again Charles failed. The opposition of Shaftesbury rendered abortive the second line of policy by which the king attempted to restore the full majesty of the crown. There was nothing left him now but a policy of resistance. The next move in the game must come from his opponents. Thus the three following years were spent by Charles intriguing first with Louis, then with William, seeming to be on the brink of war and a Protestant policy and always drawing back. No decisive step could be taken until the panic of the Popish Plot gave to the country party an opportunity, which after a three years’ struggle the king turned to his own account with signal triumph.

From the moment when he revoked the Declaration of Indulgence the Catholics had nothing to hope from Charles. Up to that time Roman Catholic policy in England looked to him; thereafter he stood apart from it. Throughout his reign the king had been studying to rise to absolute sovereignty on the ladder of Catholicism. By the treaty of Dover he was actively concerned in a conspiracy to overturn the established church and again to introduce the Roman Catholic religion into England. He had undoubtedly been guilty of an act which in a subject would have been high treason. Although he now dissociated himself from his former policy, it was not abandoned by others. The Catholics had been deceived by Charles. They now fixed their hopes upon his brother, the Duke of York. Since the king would no longer join with the Jesuit party, it was determined to go without him. From that time James became the centre of their intrigues and negotiations. He was the point round which their hopes revolved.

The foundation of the intrigue was laid in the summer of 1673. Some eighteen months before the duke had made known to a small circle his conversion to the Roman Catholic Church.[46] The step was taken in the deepest secrecy, and even at Rome was not recognised as final until some years afterwards, for although James laid down his office of Lord High Admiral in consequence of the Test Act, he still continued to attend service in the royal chapel.[47] But despite all caution, enough suspicion was aroused by James’ marriage at the suggestion of the French court with a Roman Catholic princess, Mary of Modena. It was a definite sign of his attachment to the French and Catholic interest, and paved the way for the correspondence which was afterwards so nearly to procure his downfall. The duke had for secretary a young man named Edward Coleman, whom mysterious doings and a tragic fate have invested with not unmerited interest. Coleman was the son of an English clergyman. At an early age he was converted to the Catholic faith and educated by the Jesuits, and to the furtherance of their schemes devoted the rest of his life. To the good cause he brought glowing ardour and varied talents. He was noted as a keen controversialist and a successful fisherman of souls. The confidence of three ambassadors from the court of France argues versatile ability in the man. With Ruvigny Coleman enjoyed some intimacy; Courtin found him of the greatest assistance; he discussed with Barillon subjects of delicacy on his master’s behalf. The ambassadors found him a man of spirit, adept in intrigue, with fingers on the wires by which parties were pulled. And they valued him accordingly. For Coleman undertook the difficult task of agent between Louis XIV and the mercenary Whigs. More than three thousand pounds can be traced passing through his hands. The leaders of the opposition had their price at some five hundred guineas; but these took their money direct from the ambassador. Coleman dealt with the rank and file, and here the gold, which among the more exalted would have soon been exhausted, probably went far. He kept a sumptuous table for his friends and laid up for himself what he gained by way of commission. Knowledge of foreign languages, a ready pen, and his Jesuit connection marked Coleman as the man for the duke’s service. He had all the talents for the post save one. James’ want of discretion was reflected in his secretary. Twice Coleman was dismissed; the dismissal was apparent only, and he continued work as busily as before. He had occupied himself in writing seditious letters to rouse discontent in the provinces against the government. Complaint was made. Coleman was discharged from his place by the duke. He was immediately taken into the service of the duchess in the same capacity. Some years later his zeal brought him into collision with the Bishop of London. Compton went to the king and obtained an order to the duke to dismiss his wife’s secretary. The French ambassador was much perturbed and pressed James to afford protection, Coleman received his dismissal and took ship to Calais. His Jesuit friends sent the news sadly one to another. His very talents, it was said, had destroyed him. He was too much in the duke’s counsels. His enemies could not countenance the presence of a man of such parts. The duchess chose a new secretary. Within a fortnight Coleman returned, and in secret resumed his office. He was in the duke’s confidence and necessary to him.[48] Altogether Coleman was not quite the innocent lamb that he has often been painted.

At the outbreak of the second Dutch war an English cavalry regiment was sent for the French service under the command of Lord Duras. Among the officers was Sir William Throckmorton, an intimate of Coleman and converted by him to the Catholic faith. Throckmorton left the regiment and settled in Paris as his friend’s agent. The two corresponded at length, and by Throckmorton’s means Coleman was put in communication with Père Ferrier, Louis XIV’s Jesuit confessor. Ferrier was assured by Coleman that parliament would force Charles II to break with France and make peace with the Dutch. The accuracy of his prophecy gained the confessor’s confidence. Letters were exchanged and the means to advance the Duke of York and the Catholic cause in England debated. Ferrier was the first of Louis’ confessors to play an important part in politics, and his alliance was an achievement to be counted to the duke.[49] Coleman proceeded to extend his connection in other quarters. Under the assumed name of Rice the Earl of Berkshire was in communication with him, urging with doleful foreboding the overthrow of parliament and the Protestant party.[50] Berkshire was Coleman’s sole correspondent known in England, but on the continent others took up the thread. In France the Jesuit Sheldon was high in praise of Coleman and his design. From Brussels the papal internuncio Albani discussed it somewhat coolly. Meanwhile Coleman’s relations with Paris had undergone a change. In May 1675 Sir William Throckmorton died disreputably of a wound received in the course of his too eager courtship of a certain Lady Brown, while his wife yet lived,[51] and in December St. Germain, banished from England, took up his place. More important was the death of Père Ferrier in September of the same year, for Louis XIV chose as his confessor Père de la Chaize, the famous Jesuit whose dealings with Coleman subsequently formed the heaviest part of the proof against the unlucky intriguer.[52] Finally to the list of his political correspondents whose names are known Coleman added that of Cardinal Howard, better known as Cardinal Norfolk, at the Roman court.[53]

Of this correspondence nearly two hundred letters have been preserved. The insight which they give into the minds and intentions of their writers is invaluable. They throw a strong light upon the undercurrent of political movement at a time when politics were perhaps more complicated and their undercurrents more potent than at any time before or after. From them might be detailed the tenor of the designs undertaken by a great religious party during a period of fierce struggle. Such reconstruction from a fragmentary correspondence must always be difficult. In the case of the Coleman correspondence the difficulty would be great. That the letters can be read at all is due to the fact that the key to the cipher in which they are written was found with them. Not only were they written in an arbitrary cipher, not to be elucidated without the key, but in such guarded and metaphorical language that the meaning can often be caught only by chance or conjecture.[54] Parables can easily be understood after the events to the arrangements for which they refer; but when no effect follows, the drift is more obscure. When before the Spanish Armada an English agent writes from Spain that bales of wool are being stored in large quantities, muniments of war may be read between the lines. When Jacobites give notice to their exiled king that Mr. Jackson need only appear in Westminster Hall to recover his estate, or that a cargo of the right sort, now in great demand, must be shipped at once, their meaning is transparent. But to the obscure terms used by Coleman and his friends after events afford a slighter clue. No notion discussed by them was ever tested as a practicable scheme in action. Neither success nor exposure sheds light whereby to read their letters. Whatever is in them must be painfully read as intention alone, and as intention abandoned. The general ideas however are plain, and an admirable exposition by Coleman himself saves the necessity of piecing them together from small fragments.

On September 29, 1675 he wrote a long letter to Père de la Chaize relating in some detail the history of the intrigues of the previous years.[55] Catholic ascendency in England and a general peace in favour of France were the objects for which he had worked. For these the dissolution of Parliament and money were necessary, money both to dissolve Parliament and to supply the king’s wants. Next to Parliament Lord Arlington was the Duke of York’s greatest enemy; for Arlington was the supporter, if not the promoter of the Test Act.[56] In response to this beginning Père Ferrier had sent a note to the duke through Sir William Throckmorton. In agreement with James it was Louis XIV’s opinion that Arlington and the Parliament formed a great obstacle to their joint interest; and if the duke could succeed in dissolving the present Parliament, he would lend the assistance of his power and purse to procure another better suited to their purpose. The duke replied to Ferrier in person, and Coleman answered too. Their letters were to the same effect. The French king’s offer was most generous and highly gratifying, but money was needed at the moment as urgently as thereafter, for without money a dissolution could not be obtained, and without a dissolution everything done so far would be nugatory. So far as money went it was possible to consult Ruvigny, the ambassador in England; further not, for Ruvigny was a Protestant. Eulogies of Throckmorton and Coleman passed from Ferrier to James and back, each expressing to the other his confidence in their agents.[57] At this time, said Coleman, Charles II was undecided and felt the arguments for and against dissolution equally strong. But if a large sum such as £300,000 had been offered to him on condition that Parliament should be dissolved, he would certainly have accepted both money and condition. Peace would then be assured, with other advantages to follow. Logic built upon money, wrote Coleman, had more charms at the court of St. James than any other form of reasoning.[58] To obtain this money Coleman and his associates had worked hard. Not only did Coleman write to Ferrier about it and talk to Ruvigny about it in London, but he made Throckmorton press for it in Paris, and press Pomponne, the French secretary of state, as well as the confessor. Twice Throckmorton persuaded Pomponne to speak particularly to Louis on the subject, and once he sent a memoir for the king’s perusal. Louis returned it with expressions of great interest in the duke’s cause and the message “that he should always be ready to join and work with him.” Also Pomponne was bidden to say that he had orders to direct Ruvigny “that he should take measures and directions from the duke,” especially in what concerned the dissolution of Parliament, Louis, he said, was most sensible of the need for energy and caution and gave the greatest consideration to the matter.[59] At the same time Sheldon was pressing the French king’s confessor.[60] Still the money did not come. One excuse after another was made. Pomponne declared that so great a sum as that demanded could not possibly be spared by Louis; and Throckmorton believed that this was so; but he was compelled to admit that another campaign would cost perhaps ten times as much. The foreign secretary also complained that the duke did not appear sufficiently in the movement himself. He was answered by Coleman that James had ceased negotiating with the ambassador as Ruvigny gave so little help, but he was in communication with Ferrier. Coleman thought that Ruvigny’s backwardness was deliberate. Sheldon and Throckmorton were of the same opinion, and Throckmorton suggested as an alternative that a subscription should be raised from the Catholics; £50,000 he thought might be promised from France, and he hoped for twice that sum in England.[61]

While Coleman was begging from the French court and declaring his exclusive devotion to the interests of France, he was at the same time urging the papal nuncio to obtain money from the Pope and the Emperor and renouncing all designs except that of forwarding the Catholic cause in the Pope’s behalf. Albani was moderately enthusiastic. The Emperor commanded him to assure the Duke of York of the passionate zeal he entertained for his service and the Catholic cause. The Pope too would assist in matters in which he might properly appear. But James must himself point the direction of the assistance to be granted. Coleman replied that he had already shewn the way. Money alone was needed to procure the dissolution of Parliament. Dissolution would mean peace abroad and Catholic ascendency in England to the great advantage of the Pope, the Emperor, and the whole Church. It was incumbent on the Emperor and more especially on the Pope to open wide the purse for so fair a prospect.[62] The nuncio was not however to be carried away by emotion. Money could not be expended by the Pope upon such vague expectation. He had others to think of in greater straits than the English Catholics. Before the matter could be submitted to Rome more definite guarantees must be given that the Catholic cause would really be served. In any case what the Pope could afford would be nothing in comparison to what was needed.[63] Coleman continued to press, even to the point of Albani’s annoyance.[64] Repetition of the same arguments merely met the same reply; and when by command of the Duke of York Coleman paid a secret visit to Brussels to interview the nuncio, the result was no better.[65]

So the shuttlecock was beaten backwards and forwards between London, Paris, and Brussels. Writing to La Chaize Coleman naturally made no mention of his correspondence with the nuncio. Different arguments had to be used in the two quarters. To Albani Coleman vowed his undying affection for the Pope, to the Jesuit an extremity of devotion for French interests. Neither the one nor the other had the desired effect. Advice and encouragement were forthcoming, but not pistoles. The bashfulness of Coleman’s correspondents is not hard to understand. Albani gave his reasons brutally enough. Those at the court of Versailles were probably of the same nature. And here they had additional force, for if on general grounds the French were unlikely to pay, they were still less likely to support the Duke of York with doubtful advantages at a time when they could obtain their chief object by subsidising his brother the king. No one of business habits would pour his gold into English pockets without reasonable expectation of a proportionate return. The English pocket had the appearance of being constructed upon a principle contrary to that of Fortunatus’ purse.

The scheme for which support was thus begged from whoever seemed likely to give was not promising to any but an enthusiast. Money was wanted certainly to bring Charles to the dissolution of Parliament, an idea which was constantly in the air at court. The Cavalier Parliament was an uncompromising opponent of Popery, and the Catholics bore it a heavy grudge. But dissolution in itself would hardly improve their own position. The design reached considerably farther than that. It was no less than to bribe the king to issue another declaration of indulgence, appoint the Duke of York again to the office of Lord High Admiral, and leave the whole management of affairs to his hands.[66] In the course of the next year a new parliament should be assembled, bribed to support the French and Catholic interest, and the Catholic position in England would be assured. James was an able and popular officer and enjoyed great authority in the navy. Supposing the stroke could be effected, he would occupy a position not only of dignity but of power to meet any attack that might be made upon his new state. The scheme was so far advanced that Coleman drew up a declaration for the king to issue setting forth his reasons for a dissolution, and solemnly protesting his intention to stand by the Protestant religion and the decisions of the next parliament. That was to be before the end of February 1675.[67]

Although Coleman wrote to the nuncio that the Catholics had never before had so favourable an opportunity, the design was shortly modified and deferred.[68] In its present shape the possibility of putting it to the test depended upon the good-will of the ministers. After the dissolution of Parliament their assistance would be necessary. Without it nothing could be done. If Parliament were dissolved and the ministers stopped the execution of all that was to follow, the last state would be worse than the first. And it now became evident that matters were in just that case. Whatever the Cabal might have done, it was certain that those who followed would have no hand in exalting the Duke of York’s power. Danby, whose watchword was Monarchy and No Toleration, was now firmly fixed in authority. Early in February a proclamation was issued ordering the execution of the penal laws, whetted against Roman Catholics by the promise of reward to informers; young men were to be recalled from Catholic seminaries abroad, subjects were forbidden to hear mass in the chapels of foreign ambassadors, all English priests were banished from the kingdom.[69] The effect of the proclamation was chiefly moral; but the worst consequences might be expected from the Non-Resistance bill, now in active preparation for the April session. Should this be passed, Catholic, Presbyterian, and Whig alike would be excluded from all part in the management of affairs, and the royal Church of England would triumph. The Duke of York’s party veered round and adopted the cause of parliament as a bulwark for themselves against the ministerial attack. The moment was critical for all concerned. A golden age seemed to have arrived for the Commons. Money was showered lavishly on them. Fortune rained every coinage in Europe. Danby, the Bishops, the Dutch, and the Spanish ambassador did battle with their rouleaux against the Catholics, the Nonconformists, the French ambassador and theirs. The scenes in Parliament were unprecedented, and have since scarcely been surpassed. Swords were drawn and members spat across the floor of the House. In the House of Lords the king appeared regularly at the debates to exert a personal influence on his peers, and was likened to the sun, scorching his opponents. Here Charles and Danby had the advantage, and after seventeen days the bill was sent down to the Commons; but Shaftesbury, who had fought with the utmost resolution, seized his opportunity to foment the old dispute between the Houses as to the right of appeal to the Lords, with such success that the session had to be closed before the bill could be introduced, Parliament was prorogued, and the Test vanished for ever.[70] Coleman and his friends breathed again and proceeded to adapt their programme to the new situation. Since dissolution would not help them, they would mould Parliament to their design. At the moment the Duke of York’s position was as precarious as before; but, wrote Coleman to La Chaize, “if he could gain any considerable new addition of power, all would come over to him as the only steady centre of our government, and nobody would contend with him further. Then would Catholics be at rest and his most Christian Majesty’s interest be secured with us in England beyond all apprehensions whatsoever. In order to this we have two great designs to attempt the next sessions. First, that which we were about before, viz. to put Parliament upon making it their humble request to the king that the fleet may be put in his royal highness’ care.[71] Secondly, to get an act for general liberty of conscience.” Coleman had already spoken to Ruvigny on the subject; the ambassador was not enthusiastic, but he admitted the advantages that would ensue to France. Twenty thousand pounds, thought Coleman, would ensure success; and success would be “the greatest blow to the Protestant religion here that ever it received since its birth.”[72] La Chaize answered briefly, promising to give the matter consideration and desiring to hear more from his correspondent.[73] Coleman rejoined in his last letter to the confessor that has been preserved. He engaged to write whenever occasion arose, and sent La Chaize a cipher for use between themselves; and for greater security he would write between lines of trivial import in lemon juice, legible when held to the fire. Only that part of the business not relating to religion could be discussed with Ruvigny, continued Coleman; and then, coming to the point, “We have here a mighty work upon our hands, no less then the conversion of three kingdoms, and by that perhaps the subduing of a pestilent heresy, which has domineered over great part of this northern world a long time; there were never such hopes of success since the death of Queen Mary as now in our days, when God has given us a prince who is become (may I say, a miracle) zealous of being the author and instrument of so glorious a work.... That which we rely upon most, next to God Almighty’s providence and the favour of my master the duke, is the mighty mind of his most Christian Majesty.”[74]

The significance of this is beyond doubt. It has been the custom of historians, quoting the last passage alone, to belittle its importance as the exaggerated outpouring of a zealot’s fancy. Taken with the context it is seen to be something very different. The words only express more clearly what was often hinted at and half outspoken in the correspondence which led up to this point. Jesuit agents and the Duke of York’s confidential secretary, for such in fact Coleman was, had something more to do than to entertain themselves by writing at length and in cipher to all parts of Europe with no other intention than to express their hopes for the propagation of the Catholic faith in a manner quite detached from politics, or to discuss political schemes as matters of speculative interest; such things are not done for amusement. Coleman’s phrases are pregnant with real meaning. They are to be understood literally. The design which his letters sketch was in substance the same as that afterwards put into practice when the Duke of York ascended the throne as James II. Under the guise of a demand for liberty of worship, it was a design to turn England into a Roman Catholic state in the interest of France and the Jesuits, and by the aid of French money. The remark of Halifax that dissenters only plead for conscience to obtain power was eminently true of his own time. No less true was it that those who separated themselves from the religion of the state aimed at the subversion of it.[75]