The History of England, from the Accession of James the Second - Volume 1 - Thomas Babington Macaulay (novel books to read TXT) 📗

/> destitute of the wisdom and civil courage which had been

conspicuous in their deceased leader. Some of them were honest,

but fanatical, Independents and Republicans. Of this class

Fleetwood was the representative. Others were impatient to be

what Oliver had been. His rapid elevation, his prosperity and

glory, his inauguration in the Hall, and his gorgeous obsequies

in the Abbey, had inflamed their imagination. They were as well

born as he, and as well educated: they could not understand why

they were not as worthy to wear the purple robe, and to wield the

sword of state; and they pursued the objects of their wild

ambition, not, like him, with patience, vigilance, sagacity, and

determination, but with the restlessness and irresolution

characteristic of aspiring mediocrity. Among these feeble copies

of a great original the most conspicuous was Lambert.


On the very day of Richard's accession the officers began to

conspire against their new master. The good understanding which

existed between him and his Parliament hastened the crisis. Alarm

and resentment spread through the camp. Both the religious and

the professional feelings of the army were deeply wounded. It

seemed that the Independents were to be subjected to the

Presbyterians, and that the men of the sword were to be subjected

to the men of the gown. A coalition was formed between the

military malecontents and the republican minority of the House of

Commons. It may well be doubted whether Richard could have

triumphed over that coalition, even if he had inherited his

father's clear judgment and iron courage. It is certain that

simplicity and meekness like his were not the qualities which the

conjuncture required. He fell ingloriously, and without a

struggle. He was used by the army as an instrument for the

purpose of dissolving the Parliament, and was then contemptuously

thrown aside. The officers gratified their republican allies by

declaring that the expulsion of the Rump had been illegal, and by

inviting that assembly to resume its functions. The old Speaker

and a quorum of the old members came together, and were

proclaimed, amidst the scarcely stifled derision and execration

of the whole nation, the supreme power in the commonwealth. It

was at the same time expressly declared that there should be no

first magistrate, and no House of Lords.


But this state of things could not last. On the day on which the

long Parliament revived, revived also its old quarrel with the

army. Again the Rump forgot that it owed its existence to the

pleasure of the soldiers, and began to treat them as subjects.

Again the doors of the House of Commons were closed by military

violence; and a provisional government, named by the officers,

assumed the direction of affairs.


Meanwhile the sense of great evils, and the strong apprehension

of still greater evils close at hand, had at length produced an

alliance between the Cavaliers and the Presbyterians. Some

Presbyterians had, indeed, been disposed to such an alliance even

before the death of Charles the First: but it was not till after

the fall of Richard Cromwell that the whole party became eager

for the restoration of the royal house. There was no longer any

reasonable hope that the old constitution could be reestablished

under a new dynasty. One choice only was left, the Stuarts or the

army. The banished family had committed great faults; but it had

dearly expiated those faults, and had undergone a long, and, it

might be hoped, a salutary training in the school of adversity.

It was probable that Charles the Second would take warning by the

fate of Charles the First. But, be this as it might, the dangers

which threatened the country were such that, in order to avert

them, some opinions might well be compromised, and some risks

might well be incurred. It seemed but too likely that England

would fall under the most odious and degrading of all kinds of

government, under a government uniting all the evils of despotism

to all the evils of anarchy. Anything was preferable to the yoke

of a succession of incapable and inglorious tyrants, raised to

power, like the Deys of Barbary, by military revolutions

recurring at short intervals. Lambert seemed likely to be the

first of these rulers; but within a year Lambert might give place

to Desborough, and Desborough to Harrison. As often as the

truncheon was transferred from one feeble hand to another, the

nation would be pillaged for the purpose of bestowing a fresh

donative on the troops. If the Presbyterians obstinately stood

aloof from the Royalists, the state was lost; and men might well

doubt whether, by the combined exertions of Presbyterians and

Royalists, it could be saved. For the dread of that invincible

army was on all the inhabitants of the island; and the Cavaliers,

taught by a hundred disastrous fields how little numbers can

effect against discipline, were even more completely cowed than

the Roundheads.


While the soldiers remained united, all the plots and risings of

the malecontents were ineffectual. But a few days after the

second expulsion of the Rump, came tidings which gladdened the

hearts of all who were attached either to monarchy or to liberty:

That mighty force which had, during many years, acted as one man,

and which, while so acting, had been found irresistible, was at

length divided against itself. The army of Scotland had done good

service to the Commonwealth, and was in the highest state of

efficiency. It had borne no part in the late revolutions, and had

seen them with indignation resembling the indignation which the

Roman legions posted on the Danube and the Euphrates felt, when

they learned that the empire had been put up to sale by the

Praetorian Guards. It was intolerable that certain regiments

should, merely because they happened to be quartered near

Westminster, take on themselves to make and unmake several

governments in the course of half a year. If it were fit that the

state should be regulated by the soldiers, those soldiers who

upheld the English ascendency on the north of the Tweed were as

well entitled to a voice as those who garrisoned the Tower of

London. There appears to have been less fanaticism among the

troops stationed in Scotland than in any other part of the army;

and their general, George Monk, was himself the very opposite of

a zealot. He had at the commencement of the civil war, borne arms

for the King, had been made prisoner by the Roundheads, had then

accepted a commission from the Parliament, and, with very slender

pretensions to saintship, had raised himself to high commands by

his courage and professional skill. He had been an useful servant

to both the Protectors, and had quietly acquiesced when the

officers at Westminster had pulled down Richard and restored the

Long Parliament, and would perhaps have acquiesced as quietly in

the second expulsion of the Long Parliament, if the provisional

government had abstained from giving him cause of offence and

apprehension. For his nature was cautious and somewhat sluggish;

nor was he at all disposed to hazard sure and moderate advantages

for the chalice of obtaining even the most splendid success. He

seems to have been impelled to attack the new rulers of the

Commonwealth less by the hope that, if he overthrew them, he

should become great, than by the fear that, if he submitted to

them, he should not even be secure. Whatever were his motives, he

declared himself the champion of the oppressed civil power,

refused to acknowledge the usurped authority of the provisional

government, and, at the head of seven thousand veterans, marched

into England.


This step was the signal for a general explosion. The people

everywhere refused to pay taxes. The apprentices of the City

assembled by thousands and clamoured for a free Parliament. The

fleet sailed up the Thames, and declared against the tyranny of

the soldiers. The soldiers, no longer under the control of one

commanding mind, separated into factions. Every regiment, afraid

lest it should be left alone a mark for the vengeance of the

oppressed nation, hastened to make a separate peace. Lambert, who

had hastened northward to encounter the army of Scotland, was

abandoned by his troops, and became a prisoner. During thirteen

years the civil power had, in every conflict, been compelled to

yield to the military power. The military power now humbled

itself before the civil power. The Rump, generally hated and

despised, but still the only body in the country which had any

show of legal authority, returned again to the house from which

it had been twice ignominiously expelled.


In the mean time Monk was advancing towards London. Wherever he

came, the gentry flocked round him, imploring him to use his

power for the purpose of restoring peace and liberty to the

distracted nation. The General, coldblooded, taciturn, zealous

for no polity and for no religion, maintained an impenetrable

reserve. What were at this time his plans, and whether he had any

plan, may well be doubted. His great object, apparently, was to

keep himself, as long as possible, free to choose between several

lines of action. Such, indeed, is commonly the policy of men who

are, like him, distinguished rather by wariness than by

farsightedness. It was probably not till he had been some days in

the capital that he had made up his mind. The cry of the whole

people was for a free Parliament; and there could be no doubt

that a Parliament really free would instantly restore the exiled

family. The Rump and the soldiers were still hostile to the House

of Stuart. But the Rump was universally detested and despised.

The power of the soldiers was indeed still formidable, but had

been greatly diminished by discord. They had no head. They had

recently been, in many parts of the country, arrayed against each

other. On the very day before Monk reached London, there was a

fight in the Strand between the cavalry and the infantry. An

united army had long kept down a divided nation; but the nation

was now united, and the army was divided.


During a short time the dissimulation or irresolution of Monk

kept all parties in a state of painful suspense. At length he

broke silence, and declared for a free Parliament.


As soon as his declaration was known, the whole nation was wild

with delight. Wherever he appeared thousands thronged round him,

shouting and blessing his name. The bells of all England rang

joyously: the gutters ran with ale; and, night after night, the

sky five miles round London was reddened by innumerable bonfires.

Those Presbyterian members of the House of Commons who had many

years before been expelled by the army, returned to their seats,

and were hailed with acclamations by great multitudes, which

filled Westminster Hall and Palace Yard. The Independent leaders

no