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

two great Cardinals who

had ruled the nation during forty years. The government was now a

despotism, but, at least in its dealings with the upper classes,

a mild and generous despotism, tempered by courteous manners and

chivalrous sentiments. The means at the disposal of the sovereign

were, for that age, truly formidable. His revenue, raised, it is

true, by a severe and unequal taxation which pressed heavily on

the cultivators of the soil, far exceeded that of any other

potentate. His army, excellently disciplined, and commanded by

the greatest generals then living, already consisted of more than

a hundred and twenty thousand men. Such an array of regular

troops had not been seen in Europe since the downfall of the

Roman empire. Of maritime powers France was not the first. But,

though she had rivals on the sea, she had not yet a superior.

Such was her strength during the last forty years of the

seventeenth century, that no enemy could singly withstand her,

and that two great coalitions, in which half Christendom was

united against her, failed of success.


The personal qualities of the French King added to the respect

inspired by the power and importance of his kingdom. No sovereign

has ever represented the majesty of a great state with more

dignity and grace. He was his own prime minister, and performed

the duties of a prime minister with an ability and industry which

could not be reasonably expected from one who had in infancy

succeeded to a crown, and who had been surrounded by flatterers

before he could speak. He had shown, in an eminent degree, two

talents invaluable to a prince, the talent of choosing his

servants well, and the talent of appropriating to himself the

chief part of the credit of their acts. In his dealings with

foreign powers he had some generosity, but no justice. To unhappy

allies who threw themselves at his feet, and had no hope but in

his compassion, he extended his protection with a romantic

disinterestedness, which seemed better suited to a knight errant

than to a statesman. But he broke through the most sacred ties of

public faith without scruple or shame, whenever they interfered

with his interest, or with what he called his glory. His perfidy

and violence, however, excited less enmity than the insolence

with which he constantly reminded his neighbours of his own

greatness and of their littleness. He did not at this time

profess the austere devotion which, at a later period, gave to

his court the aspect of a monastery. On the contrary, he was as

licentious, though by no means as frivolous and indolent, as his

brother of England. But he was a sincere Roman Catholic; and both

his conscience and his vanity impelled him to use his power for

the defence and propagation of the true faith, after the example

of his renowned predecessors, Clovis, Charlemagne, and Saint

Lewis.


Our ancestors naturally looked with serious alarm on the growing

power of France. This feeling, in itself perfectly reasonable,

was mingled with other feelings less praiseworthy. France was our

old enemy. It was against France that the most glorious battles

recorded in our annals had been fought. The conquest of France

had been twice effected by the Plantagenets. The loss of France

had been long remembered as a great national disaster. The title

of King of France was still borne by our sovereigns. The lilies

of France still appeared, mingled with our own lions, on the

shield of the House of Stuart. In the sixteenth century the dread

inspired by Spain had suspended the animosity of which France had

anciently been the object. But the dread inspired by Spain had

given place to contemptuous compassion; and France was again

regarded as our national foe. The sale of Dunkirk to France had

been the most generally unpopular act of the restored King.

Attachment to France had been prominent among the crimes imputed

by the Commons to CIarendon. Even in trifles the public feeling

showed itself. When a brawl took place in the streets of

Westminster between the retinues of the French and Spanish

embassies, the populace, though forcibly prevented from

interfering, had given unequivocal proofs that the old antipathy

to France was not extinct.


France and Spain were now engaged in a more serious contest. One

of the chief objects of the policy of Lewis throughout his life

was to extend his dominions towards the Rhine. For this end he

had engaged in war with Spain, and he was now in the full career

of conquest. The United Provinces saw with anxiety the progress

of his arms. That renowned federation had reached the height of

power, prosperity, and glory. The Batavian territory, conquered

from the waves and defended against them by human art, was in

extent little superior to the principality of Wales. But all that

narrow space was a busy and populous hive, in which new wealth

was every day created, and in which vast masses of old wealth

were hoarded. The aspect of Holland, the rich cultivation, the

innumerable canals, the ever whirling mills, the endless fleets

of barges, the quick succession of great towns, the ports

bristling with thousands of masts, the large and stately

mansions, the trim villas, the richly furnished apartments, the

picture galleries, the summer rouses, the tulip beds, produced on

English travellers in that age an effect similar to the effect

which the first sight of England now produces on a Norwegian or a

Canadian. The States General had been compelled to humble

themselves before Cromwell. But after the Restoration they had

taken their revenge, had waged war with success against Charles,

and had concluded peace on honourable terms. Rich, however, as

the Republic was, and highly considered in Europe, she was no

match for the power of Lewis. She apprehended, not without good

cause, that his kingdom might soon be extended to her frontiers;

and she might well dread the immediate vicinity of a monarch so

great, so ambitious, and so unscrupulous. Yet it was not easy to

devise any expedient which might avert the danger. The Dutch

alone could not turn the scale against France. On the side of the

Rhine no help was to be expected. Several German princes had been

gained by Lewis; and the Emperor himself was embarrassed by the

discontents of Hungary. England was separated from the United

Provinces by the recollection of cruel injuries recently

inflicted and endured; and her policy had, since the restoration,

been so devoid of wisdom and spirit, that it was scarcely

possible to expect from her any valuable assistance


But the fate of Clarendon and the growing ill humour of the

Parliament determined the advisers of Charles to adopt on a

sudden a policy which amazed and delighted the nation.


The English resident at Brussels, Sir William Temple, one of the

most expert diplomatists and most pleasing writers of that age,

had already represented to this court that it was both desirable

and practicable to enter into engagements with the States General

for the purpose of checking the progress of France. For a time

his suggestions had been slighted; but it was now thought

expedient to act on them. He was commissioned to negotiate with

the States General. He proceeded to the Hague, and soon came to

an understanding with John De Witt, then the chief minister of

Holland. Sweden, small as her resources were, had, forty years

before, been raised by the genius of Gustavus Adolphus to a high

rank among European powers, and had not yet descended to her

natural position. She was induced to join on this occasion with

England and the States. Thus was formed that coalition known as

the Triple Alliance. Lewis showed signs of vexation and

resentment, but did not think it politic to draw on himself the

hostility of such a confederacy in addition to that of Spain. He

consented, therefore, to relinquish a large part of the territory

which his armies had occupied. Peace was restored to Europe; and

the English government, lately an object of general contempt,

was, during a few months, regarded by foreign powers with respect

scarcely less than that which the Protector had inspired.


At home the Triple Alliance was popular in the highest degree. It

gratified alike national animosity and national pride. It put a

limit to the encroachments of a powerful and ambitious neighbour.

It bound the leading Protestant states together in close union.

Cavaliers and Roundheads rejoiced in common: but the joy of the

Roundhead was even greater than that of the Cavalier. For England

had now allied herself strictly with a country republican in

government and Presbyterian in religion, against a country ruled

by an arbitrary prince and attached to the Roman Catholic Church.

The House of Commons loudly applauded the treaty; and some

uncourtly grumblers described it as the only good thing that had

been done since the King came in.


The King, however, cared little for the approbation of his

Parliament or of his people. The Triple Alliance he regarded

merely as a temporary expedient for quieting discontents which

had seemed likely to become serious. The independence, the

safety, the dignity of the nation over which he presided were

nothing to him. He had begun to find constitutional restraints

galling. Already had been formed in the Parliament a strong

connection known by the name of the Country Party. That party

included all the public men who leaned towards Puritanism and

Republicanism, and many who, though attached to the Church and to

hereditary monarchy, had been driven into opposition by dread of

Popery, by dread of France, and by disgust at the extravagance,

dissoluteness, and faithlessness of the court. The power of this

band of politicians was constantly growing. Every year some of

those members who had been returned to Parliament during the

loyal excitement of 1661 had dropped off; and the vacant seats

had generally been filled by persons less tractable. Charles did

not think himself a King while an assembly of subjects could call

for his accounts before paying his debts, and could insist on

knowing which of his mistresses or boon companions had

intercepted the money destined for the equipping and manning of

the fleet. Though not very studious of fame, he was galled by the

taunts which were sometimes uttered in the discussions of the

Commons, and on one occasion attempted to restrain the freedom of

speech by disgraceful means. Sir John Coventry, a country

gentleman, had, in debate, sneered at the profligacy of the

court. In any former reign he would probably have been called

before the Privy Council and committed to the Tower. A different

course was now taken. A gang of bullies was secretly sent to slit

the nose of the offender. This ignoble revenge, instead of

quelling the spirit of opposition, raised such a tempest that the

King