The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 - Thomas Babington Macaulay (novel books to read TXT) 📗
- Author: Thomas Babington Macaulay
Book online «The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 - Thomas Babington Macaulay (novel books to read TXT) 📗». Author Thomas Babington Macaulay
And though, by a judicious mixture
of severity and kindness, he succeeded in restoring order, he saw
that it would be in the highest degree difficult and perilous to
contend against the rage of warriors, who regarded the fallen
tyrant as their foe, and as the foe of their God. At the same
time it became more evident than ever that the King could not be
trusted. The vices of Charles had grown upon him. They were,
indeed, vices which difficulties and perplexities generally bring
out in the strongest light. Cunning is the natural defence of the
weak. A prince, therefore, who is habitually a deceiver when at
the height of power, is not likely to learn frankness in the
midst of embarrassments and distresses. Charles was not only a
most unscrupulous but a most unlucky dissembler. There never was
a politician to whom so many frauds and falsehoods were brought
home by undeniable evidence. He publicly recognised the Houses at
Westminster as a legal Parliament, and, at the same time, made a
private minute in council declaring the recognition null. He
publicly disclaimed all thought of calling in foreign aid against
his people: he privately solicited aid from France, from Denmark,
and from Lorraine. He publicly denied that he employed Papists:
at the same time he privately sent to his generals directions to
employ every Papist that would serve. He publicly took the
sacrament at Oxford, as a pledge that he never would even connive
at Popery. He privately assured his wife, that he intended to
tolerate Popery in England; and he authorised Lord Glamorgan to
promise that Popery should be established in Ireland. Then he
attempted to clear himself at his agent's expense. Glamorgan
received, in the Royal handwriting, reprimands intended to be
read by others, and eulogies which were to be seen only by
himself. To such an extent, indeed, had insincerity now tainted
the King's whole nature, that his most devoted friends could not
refrain from complaining to each other, with bitter grief and
shame, of his crooked politics. His defeats, they said, gave them
less pain than his intrigues. Since he had been a prisoner, there
was no section of the victorious party which had not been the
object both of his flatteries and of his machinations; but never
was he more unfortunate than when he attempted at once to cajole
and to undermine Cromwell.
Cromwell had to determine whether he would put to hazard the
attachment of his party, the attachment of his army, his own
greatness, nay his own life, in an attempt which would probably
have been vain, to save a prince whom no engagement could bind.
With many struggles and misgivings, and probably not without many
prayers, the decision was made. Charles was left to his fate. The
military saints resolved that, in defiance of the old laws of the
realm, and of the almost universal sentiment of the nation, the
King should expiate his crimes with his blood. He for a time
expected a death like that of his unhappy predecessors, Edward
the Second and Richard the Second. But he was in no danger of
such treason. Those who had him in their gripe were not midnight
stabbers. What they did they did in order that it might be a
spectacle to heaven and earth, and that it might be held in
everlasting remembrance. They enjoyed keenly the very scandal
which they gave. That the ancient constitution and the public
opinion of England were directly opposed to regicide made
regicide seem strangely fascinating to a party bent on effecting
a complete political and social revolution. In order to
accomplish their purpose, it was necessary that they should first
break in pieces every part of the machinery of the government;
and this necessity was rather agreeable than painful to them. The
Commons passed a vote tending to accommodation with the King. The
soldiers excluded the majority by force. The Lords unanimously
rejected the proposition that the King should be brought to
trial. Their house was instantly closed. No court, known to the
law, would take on itself the office of judging the fountain of
justice. A revolutionary tribunal was created. That tribunal
pronounced Charles a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public
enemy; and his head was severed from his shoulders, before
thousands of spectators, in front of the banqueting hall of his
own palace.
In no long time it became manifest that those political and
religious zealots, to whom this deed is to be ascribed, had
committed, not only a crime, but an error. They had given to a
prince, hitherto known to his people chiefly by his faults, an
opportunity of displaying, on a great theatre, before the eyes of
all nations and all ages, some qualities which irresistibly call
forth the admiration and love of mankind, the high spirit of a
gallant gentleman, the patience and meekness of a penitent
Christian. Nay, they had so contrived their revenge that the very
man whose life had been a series of attacks on the liberties of
England now seemed to die a martyr in the cause of those
liberties. No demagogue ever produced such an impression on the
public mind as the captive King, who, retaining in that extremity
all his regal dignity, and confronting death with dauntless
courage, gave utterance to the feelings of his oppressed people,
manfully refused to plead before a court unknown to the law,
appealed from military violence to the principles of the
constitution, asked by what right the House of Commons had been
purged of its most respectable members and the House of Lords
deprived of its legislative functions, and told his weeping
hearers that he was defending, not only his own cause, but
theirs. His long misgovernment, his innumerable perfidies, were
forgotten. His memory was, in the minds of the great majority of
his subjects, associated with those free institutions which he
had, during many years, laboured to destroy: for those free
institutions had perished with him, and, amidst the mournful
silence of a community kept down by arms, had been defended by
his voice alone. From that day began a reaction in favour of
monarchy and of the exiled house, reaction which never ceased
till the throne had again been set up in all its old dignity.
At first, however, the slayers of the King seemed to have derived
new energy from that sacrament of blood by which they had bound
themselves closely together, and separated themselves for ever
from the great body of their countrymen. England was declared a
commonwealth. The House of Commons, reduced to a small number of
members, was nominally the supreme power in the state. In fact,
the army and its great chief governed everything. Oliver had made
his choice. He had kept the hearts of his soldiers, and had
broken with almost every other class of his fellow citizens.
Beyond the limits of his camps and fortresses he could scarcely
be said to have a party. Those elements of force which, when the
civil war broke out, had appeared arrayed against each other,
were combined against him; all the Cavaliers, the great majority
of the Roundheads, the Anglican Church, the Presbyterian Church,
the Roman Catholic Church, England, Scotland, Ireland. Yet such,
was his genius and resolution that he was able to overpower and
crush everything that crossed his path, to make himself more
absolute master of his country than any of her legitimate Kings
had been, and to make his country more dreaded and respected than
she had been during many generations under the rule of her
legitimate Kings.
England had already ceased to struggle. But the two other
kingdoms which had been governed by the Stuarts were hostile to
the new republic. The Independent party was equally odious to the
Roman Catholics of Ireland and to the Presbyterians of Scotland.
Both those countries, lately in rebellion against Charles the
First, now acknowledged the authority of Charles the Second.
But everything yielded to the vigour and ability of Cromwell. In
a few months he subjugated Ireland, as Ireland had never been
subjugated during the five centuries of slaughter which had
elapsed since the landing of the first Norman settlers. He
resolved to put an end to that conflict of races and religions
which had so long distracted the island, by making the English
and Protestant population decidedly predominant. For this end he
gave the rein to the fierce enthusiasm of his followers, waged
war resembling that which Israel waged on the Canaanites, smote
the idolaters with the edge of the sword, so that great cities
were left without inhabitants, drove many thousands to the
Continent, shipped off many thousands to the West Indies, and
supplied the void thus made by pouring in numerous colonists, of
Saxon blood, and of Calvinistic faith. Strange to say, under that
iron rule, the conquered country began to wear an outward face of
prosperity. Districts, which had recently been as wild as those
where the first white settlers of Connecticut were contending
with the red men, were in a few years transformed into the
likeness of Kent and Norfolk. New buildings, roads, and
plantations were everywhere seen. The rent of estates rose fast;
and soon the English landowners began to complain that they were
met in every market by the products of Ireland, and to clamour
for protecting laws.
From Ireland the victorious chief, who was now in name, as he had
long been in reality, Lord General of the armies of the
Commonwealth, turned to Scotland. The Young King was there. He
had consented to profess himself a Presbyterian, and to subscribe
the Covenant; and, in return for these concessions, the austere
Puritans who bore sway at Edinburgh had permitted him to assume
the crown, and to hold, under their inspection and control, a
solemn and melancholy court. This mock royalty was of short
duration. In two great battles Cromwell annihilated the military
force of Scotland. Charles fled for his life, and, with extreme
difficulty, escaped the fate of his father. The ancient kingdom
of the Stuarts was reduced, for the first time, to profound
submission. Of that independence, so manfully defended against
the mightiest and ablest of the Plantagenets, no vestige was
left. The English Parliament made laws for Scotland. English
judges held assizes in Scotland. Even that stubborn Church, which
has held its own against so many governments, scarce dared to
utter an audible murmur.
Thus far there had been at least the semblance of harmony between
the warriors who had subjugated Ireland and Scotland and the
politicians who sate at Westminster: but the alliance which had
been cemented by danger was dissolved by victory. The Parliament
forgot that it was but the creature of the army. The army was
less disposed than ever to submit to the dictation of the
Parliament. Indeed the few members
of severity and kindness, he succeeded in restoring order, he saw
that it would be in the highest degree difficult and perilous to
contend against the rage of warriors, who regarded the fallen
tyrant as their foe, and as the foe of their God. At the same
time it became more evident than ever that the King could not be
trusted. The vices of Charles had grown upon him. They were,
indeed, vices which difficulties and perplexities generally bring
out in the strongest light. Cunning is the natural defence of the
weak. A prince, therefore, who is habitually a deceiver when at
the height of power, is not likely to learn frankness in the
midst of embarrassments and distresses. Charles was not only a
most unscrupulous but a most unlucky dissembler. There never was
a politician to whom so many frauds and falsehoods were brought
home by undeniable evidence. He publicly recognised the Houses at
Westminster as a legal Parliament, and, at the same time, made a
private minute in council declaring the recognition null. He
publicly disclaimed all thought of calling in foreign aid against
his people: he privately solicited aid from France, from Denmark,
and from Lorraine. He publicly denied that he employed Papists:
at the same time he privately sent to his generals directions to
employ every Papist that would serve. He publicly took the
sacrament at Oxford, as a pledge that he never would even connive
at Popery. He privately assured his wife, that he intended to
tolerate Popery in England; and he authorised Lord Glamorgan to
promise that Popery should be established in Ireland. Then he
attempted to clear himself at his agent's expense. Glamorgan
received, in the Royal handwriting, reprimands intended to be
read by others, and eulogies which were to be seen only by
himself. To such an extent, indeed, had insincerity now tainted
the King's whole nature, that his most devoted friends could not
refrain from complaining to each other, with bitter grief and
shame, of his crooked politics. His defeats, they said, gave them
less pain than his intrigues. Since he had been a prisoner, there
was no section of the victorious party which had not been the
object both of his flatteries and of his machinations; but never
was he more unfortunate than when he attempted at once to cajole
and to undermine Cromwell.
Cromwell had to determine whether he would put to hazard the
attachment of his party, the attachment of his army, his own
greatness, nay his own life, in an attempt which would probably
have been vain, to save a prince whom no engagement could bind.
With many struggles and misgivings, and probably not without many
prayers, the decision was made. Charles was left to his fate. The
military saints resolved that, in defiance of the old laws of the
realm, and of the almost universal sentiment of the nation, the
King should expiate his crimes with his blood. He for a time
expected a death like that of his unhappy predecessors, Edward
the Second and Richard the Second. But he was in no danger of
such treason. Those who had him in their gripe were not midnight
stabbers. What they did they did in order that it might be a
spectacle to heaven and earth, and that it might be held in
everlasting remembrance. They enjoyed keenly the very scandal
which they gave. That the ancient constitution and the public
opinion of England were directly opposed to regicide made
regicide seem strangely fascinating to a party bent on effecting
a complete political and social revolution. In order to
accomplish their purpose, it was necessary that they should first
break in pieces every part of the machinery of the government;
and this necessity was rather agreeable than painful to them. The
Commons passed a vote tending to accommodation with the King. The
soldiers excluded the majority by force. The Lords unanimously
rejected the proposition that the King should be brought to
trial. Their house was instantly closed. No court, known to the
law, would take on itself the office of judging the fountain of
justice. A revolutionary tribunal was created. That tribunal
pronounced Charles a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public
enemy; and his head was severed from his shoulders, before
thousands of spectators, in front of the banqueting hall of his
own palace.
In no long time it became manifest that those political and
religious zealots, to whom this deed is to be ascribed, had
committed, not only a crime, but an error. They had given to a
prince, hitherto known to his people chiefly by his faults, an
opportunity of displaying, on a great theatre, before the eyes of
all nations and all ages, some qualities which irresistibly call
forth the admiration and love of mankind, the high spirit of a
gallant gentleman, the patience and meekness of a penitent
Christian. Nay, they had so contrived their revenge that the very
man whose life had been a series of attacks on the liberties of
England now seemed to die a martyr in the cause of those
liberties. No demagogue ever produced such an impression on the
public mind as the captive King, who, retaining in that extremity
all his regal dignity, and confronting death with dauntless
courage, gave utterance to the feelings of his oppressed people,
manfully refused to plead before a court unknown to the law,
appealed from military violence to the principles of the
constitution, asked by what right the House of Commons had been
purged of its most respectable members and the House of Lords
deprived of its legislative functions, and told his weeping
hearers that he was defending, not only his own cause, but
theirs. His long misgovernment, his innumerable perfidies, were
forgotten. His memory was, in the minds of the great majority of
his subjects, associated with those free institutions which he
had, during many years, laboured to destroy: for those free
institutions had perished with him, and, amidst the mournful
silence of a community kept down by arms, had been defended by
his voice alone. From that day began a reaction in favour of
monarchy and of the exiled house, reaction which never ceased
till the throne had again been set up in all its old dignity.
At first, however, the slayers of the King seemed to have derived
new energy from that sacrament of blood by which they had bound
themselves closely together, and separated themselves for ever
from the great body of their countrymen. England was declared a
commonwealth. The House of Commons, reduced to a small number of
members, was nominally the supreme power in the state. In fact,
the army and its great chief governed everything. Oliver had made
his choice. He had kept the hearts of his soldiers, and had
broken with almost every other class of his fellow citizens.
Beyond the limits of his camps and fortresses he could scarcely
be said to have a party. Those elements of force which, when the
civil war broke out, had appeared arrayed against each other,
were combined against him; all the Cavaliers, the great majority
of the Roundheads, the Anglican Church, the Presbyterian Church,
the Roman Catholic Church, England, Scotland, Ireland. Yet such,
was his genius and resolution that he was able to overpower and
crush everything that crossed his path, to make himself more
absolute master of his country than any of her legitimate Kings
had been, and to make his country more dreaded and respected than
she had been during many generations under the rule of her
legitimate Kings.
England had already ceased to struggle. But the two other
kingdoms which had been governed by the Stuarts were hostile to
the new republic. The Independent party was equally odious to the
Roman Catholics of Ireland and to the Presbyterians of Scotland.
Both those countries, lately in rebellion against Charles the
First, now acknowledged the authority of Charles the Second.
But everything yielded to the vigour and ability of Cromwell. In
a few months he subjugated Ireland, as Ireland had never been
subjugated during the five centuries of slaughter which had
elapsed since the landing of the first Norman settlers. He
resolved to put an end to that conflict of races and religions
which had so long distracted the island, by making the English
and Protestant population decidedly predominant. For this end he
gave the rein to the fierce enthusiasm of his followers, waged
war resembling that which Israel waged on the Canaanites, smote
the idolaters with the edge of the sword, so that great cities
were left without inhabitants, drove many thousands to the
Continent, shipped off many thousands to the West Indies, and
supplied the void thus made by pouring in numerous colonists, of
Saxon blood, and of Calvinistic faith. Strange to say, under that
iron rule, the conquered country began to wear an outward face of
prosperity. Districts, which had recently been as wild as those
where the first white settlers of Connecticut were contending
with the red men, were in a few years transformed into the
likeness of Kent and Norfolk. New buildings, roads, and
plantations were everywhere seen. The rent of estates rose fast;
and soon the English landowners began to complain that they were
met in every market by the products of Ireland, and to clamour
for protecting laws.
From Ireland the victorious chief, who was now in name, as he had
long been in reality, Lord General of the armies of the
Commonwealth, turned to Scotland. The Young King was there. He
had consented to profess himself a Presbyterian, and to subscribe
the Covenant; and, in return for these concessions, the austere
Puritans who bore sway at Edinburgh had permitted him to assume
the crown, and to hold, under their inspection and control, a
solemn and melancholy court. This mock royalty was of short
duration. In two great battles Cromwell annihilated the military
force of Scotland. Charles fled for his life, and, with extreme
difficulty, escaped the fate of his father. The ancient kingdom
of the Stuarts was reduced, for the first time, to profound
submission. Of that independence, so manfully defended against
the mightiest and ablest of the Plantagenets, no vestige was
left. The English Parliament made laws for Scotland. English
judges held assizes in Scotland. Even that stubborn Church, which
has held its own against so many governments, scarce dared to
utter an audible murmur.
Thus far there had been at least the semblance of harmony between
the warriors who had subjugated Ireland and Scotland and the
politicians who sate at Westminster: but the alliance which had
been cemented by danger was dissolved by victory. The Parliament
forgot that it was but the creature of the army. The army was
less disposed than ever to submit to the dictation of the
Parliament. Indeed the few members
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