CHAPTER VI
James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde, was born at Clerkenwell on October 19, 1610. For political reasons he was brought up in London under the immediate influence of the court. The boy, who was known as Viscount Thurles, was as popular as he was handsome, and in his early manhood he was one of the most famous 'bucks' about town. The story of his marriage is a romantic one, and much has been written about it. The facts are that the young Lord Thurles saw Elizabeth Preston, only daughter and heiress of the Earl of Desmond, in church. She was very beautiful and wealthy, and Thurles resolved to wed her. Whether it was a case of love at first sight or not depends upon the sentiment of the reader. We know that the lady's fortune did much towards restoring that of the house of Ormonde.
James Butler, first Duke of Ormonde
Lord Ormonde's marriage
Elizabeth Preston, however, was already reserved for someone else, and under the watchful and jealous guardianship of Lord Holland she was hidden from Lord Thurles. Realizing that his attentions would not be displeasing, Lord Thurles disguised himself as a pedlar, and carried his pack to the back-door of Lord Holland's Kensington residence. Happily for the course of true love, the ladies of the house were not above opening the door to pedlars, and Lord Holland's daughters performed that service for the lover. They made a few purchases, and then hastened to Elizabeth, to tell her that the handsomest pedlar in England was at the back-door, and to beg her to come and patronize him. The girl recognized Thurles, and when he pressed a pair of gloves upon her, she asked him to wait while she went for some money, although her companions offered to save her the trouble by lending her the necessary amount. This she declined, guessing that one of the gloves contained a love-letter. In the safety of her own room she read Thurles' impassioned address, and then, having penned a suitable and favourable reply, came down again and returned the gloves, declaring that they smelt abominably, and could not be worn by a lady. Never did a pedlar accept the cancellation of a bargain so gleefully as this one did. The message the gloves contained settled his doubts and fears, and later Viscount Thurles and Elizabeth Preston were wedded. Lord Holland's consent was purchased for £15,000, and when he succeeded to the Earldom of Ormonde, Butler took his bride to Ireland.
The coming of the Earl of Ormonde to the country of his ancestors was hailed as a welcome sign by the leading Irish families. By his marriage Ormonde had united two of the greatest and ended a bitter feud, and the native party looked to him to lead them against the English. His only disadvantage was his religion. He was a Protestant, the result of his education in England, but the question of religion was ignored by the Irish, and the handsome and chivalrous earl was called upon to take his stand in the forefront of the Irish army. Lord Strafford was viceroy at the time, and upon him lay the responsibility of influencing Ormonde's choice. The viceroy acted wisely. Personally he disliked the young earl, but he realized that to make an enemy of the most powerful nobleman amongst the Irish families of distinction would be fatal to his own chances of success as Viceroy of Ireland, and so he immediately made overtures of friendship to the man whom he had known as a boy in London. Lord Ormonde responded, and the two noblemen became fast friends, a friendship not forgotten to the last by Wentworth. When the latter had been sentenced to death for treason against the State, he implored Charles to give Ormonde the garter left vacant by his death, and also warned that monarch that the only loyal servant he had in Ireland was the Earl of Ormonde, advising the king to appoint him Lord-Deputy. The king, whose principal weakness was a tardiness of judgment, granted neither request at the time. But in 1644 he made Ormonde viceroy, and later bestowed the garter, though at a time when that emblem of royal favour was little better than a brilliant mockery.
Ormonde served an apprenticeship as Commander-in-Chief of the troops during Wentworth's viceroyalty, and on his own appointment to the latter position he combined the two offices. His duties as viceroy were, however, merely nominal, and believing that he could be of more service to the royal cause in England, he resigned his post—inspired, no doubt, by the fact that Parliament had appointed Philip Sidney, Lord Lisle, Lord-Lieutenant, under its jurisdiction—in 1647. Ormonde went at once to Charles at Hampton Court, and acquainted him with the news that it was the intention of the Parliamentary leaders to seize his person and bring him to trial. Charles, of course, declined to believe the existence of the Parliamentary plot, and the ex-viceroy, again appointed Lord-Lieutenant, but armed with a worthless commission, returned to Ireland. Lord Lisle was not in residence, and the Government that represented the Commons consisted of five commissioners—Arthur Annesley, Sir R. King, Sir R. Meredith, Colonel John Moor, and Colonel Michael Jones—a quintette scarcely likely to impress Ormonde with a sense of their dignity, or inspire in the country a feeling of security.
Dublin, however, was in the hands of the Parliamentarians, and Ormonde chose to assert what authority he possessed from the provinces. Had Charles's cause been the strongest in the world, it could not have survived the adverse verdict of the series of great and decisive battles that temporarily ended the monarchy. Ormonde was not dismayed, however, and even the execution of the king found him dauntless and fearless. He proclaimed the son of the murdered monarch king, and wrote entreating him to come to Ireland, assuring the prince that his troops could hold that country for him. Meanwhile Ormonde attacked Dublin, captured Drogheda, suffered defeat at Rathmines, where Colonel Jones, the Parliamentary leader, with that strange inspiration for successful fighting and generalship which inspired the leaders of the democracy, outpointed him, and drove him and his army from the field.
Oliver Cromwell
The Cromwellian campaign
Whatever hopes Ormonde may have entertained of recovering his position, they were soon extinguished by the arrival of Oliver Cromwell. It was an unexpected move on the part of Parliament, but now that Charles was dead, and the royal family in exile, it was considered safe to send the strongest man of his generation to cope with the Irish rebellion. In 1642 Cromwell had subscribed £600 towards the cost of an expedition for avenging the massacres of the previous year, and this act showed that he took a practical interest in Irish affairs, and realized the country's importance to England. Ormonde was a resourceful, determined leader, and a man of unquestioned courage, but Cromwell was his superior in the field and in the council-room, and he had the advantage also of a united army. Twelve thousand picked soldiers, their courage exalted by a fanaticism that combined psalm-singing with murder, took the field under Cromwell against Lord Ormonde, who had to depend for the greater part upon ill-trained troops officered by men who were not the less incompetent because the Protestants among them refused to be led by Catholics, and Catholics declined to recognize the authority of Protestants. Ormonde strove frantically to unite his forces, but without success, and Drogheda, Wexford, Ross, and other towns were left to the cruel mercies of Cromwell.
The English leader came to Ireland as Commander-in-Chief and Lord-Lieutenant at a combined salary of £13,000 a year. His first act, characteristic of the man, was to issue a proclamation against swearing, and he discouraged plunder and looting by hanging even those of his own soldiers who transgressed his rules. Inspired by a sense of his own rectitude, Cromwell marched on Drogheda. The massacre has stained his memory almost as much as it stained the streets of the town, and after it Wexford's tragedy seems light in comparison.
Ormonde, suspected by the native leaders, was in no enviable position. Waterford, besieged by Cromwell, declined to allow his army to enter because its leader was 'English.' There was thus no work for him to do, but he remained on, contemptuously rejecting Cromwell's offer of a passport to the Continent.
In the great Cromwellian campaign the ex-viceroy took no part. The English leader, encouraged by a series of victories, was suddenly disconcerted by the successful resistance of the citizens of Waterford, and his failure to take Clonmel ended his enthusiasm for the task of conquering Ireland. In a pessimistic letter to the House of Commons he warned the Speaker not to imagine that by his victories at Drogheda and Wexford he had subdued Ireland. He knew too well that in reality he had not conquered a square foot of the land.
The outwitting of Cromwell by Hugh O'Neill, the gallant defender of Clonmel, is one of the lighter episodes of an era of tragedy. The English leader had restarted his campaign following a rest after the setback at Waterford. He besieged Kilkenny, and was compelled to stoop to an honourable treaty to secure the town, and then he marched on Clonmel, where O'Neill, the Irish idol who had supplanted Ormonde as the national hero, was performing wonders at the head of a small and badly-armed garrison. And this garrison withstood the flower of Cromwell's soldiery, fighting for their country without any hope of gain, and repeatedly defeating the invaders. Cromwell, sick at heart, was considering the advisability of abandoning the siege which had brought him so many rebuffs, when he was agreeably surprised to hear that the Mayor of Clonmel, Mathew White, wished to see him. The mayor's object was to surrender the town on certain terms, and Cromwell was, of course, only too glad to save his face by granting any concessions so long as they brought him the town of Clonmel. A treaty was hastily drawn up, guarding against the atrocities that had distinguished Drogheda and Wexford, and then the English General inquired if Hugh O'Neill was aware of the mayor's action. Mathew White replied with well-assumed diffidence that O'Neill and his army had left the town some hours before! Cromwell stormed and raged, and demanded his treaty back, but White played upon the Puritan's vanity of reputation, and Cromwell kept his word.
Death of Henry Ireton
Despite his reverses, Cromwell had hopes of firmly establishing English authority by means of the Protestant religion in Ireland. He drew up a series of recommendations on the subject, but by now there was more important work for him to do. England required his services, and on May 29, 1650, his son-in-law, Henry Ireton, was appointed Lord-Deputy and Commander-in-Chief, and instructed to carry out the Cromwellian policy. Ireton did not spare himself or others. He besieged Limerick, and in four months starved the garrison out, but it was his last effort, and on November 26, 1651, he died of the prevailing plague.
The rest of the Commonwealth deputies were undistinguished so far as their Irish careers were concerned. Major-General Lambert was chosen to succeed Ireton, but he was more suited for the camp than the council board, being a bluff soldier with a partiality for the rough pleasures of the average campaign. Cromwell did not care for 'Honest John' Lambert, and having in mind a scheme whereby Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Fleetwood, who had wisely married Ireton's widow and the Protector's daughter, should be made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, he induced Parliament to abolish the post. Lambert was enraged, for the prospect of ruling a country had excited his imagination, and he made great preparations to inaugurate his term of office. The Protector gave him two thousand pounds as compensation, and offered him the post of Commander-in-Chief, which he declined angrily. Fleetwood was thereupon given the post, and after a couple of years of government by commissioners, he was created Lord-Deputy.
Fleetwood distinguished himself by priest-baiting and an attempt to revive the 'plantation' methods of Sidney and Perrott. Henry Cromwell, fourth son of Oliver, who had been given command of an army in Ireland, in order to amuse himself and learn the arts of war, replaced Fleetwood. This Cromwell was unambitious, something of a poltroon, and only kept in the forefront by the personality of his father. Nepotism nourishes even in democracies, and Henry, a Colonel at twenty-two and Lord-Deputy before he was thirty, was not the man to carry on the traditions of the Protector. The Restoration found Henry Cromwell pitiably anxious to submit to the new order of things, and when the new reign opened and Lord Ormonde returned to resume his duties at Dublin Castle, Cromwell was grateful for being allowed to retire into private life.
The Restoration
During the years of the Commonwealth Lord Ormonde had resided abroad, stanchly faithful to the discredited cause of the Stuarts. When others grew faint-hearted, and deserted, Ormonde spoke the encouraging word, and he spent all his revenues in the royal service. Recalling a promise made by Cromwell that his wife's fortune would not be confiscated, he sent her to the Protector, and she succeeded in getting five hundred pounds in cash and two thousand a year for life. In 1658, six years after his wife's visit, Ormonde entered England disguised, charged with a mission from the Royalist party to ascertain if the times were rife for a rising. The ex-viceroy returned with a pessimistic report, and on his advice Charles waited. Two years later came the Restoration, and with it Ormonde's fortunes rose to a dazzling height.
In the first flush of gratitude King Charles showered honours upon the Irish nobleman. He was created Duke of Ormonde in the Irish peerage, Earl of Brecknock in the English, appointed Chancellor of Dublin University, Lord Steward, Lord-Lieutenant of Somerset, and High Steward of Kingston, Westminster, and Bristol. At the coronation of Charles II. he carried the crown. The restoration of his Irish estates followed as a matter of course, and the king added a promise to pay him a large sum of money. This promise was never kept, but the Irish Parliament, anxious to curry favour with Ormonde and the king, voted him thirty thousand pounds. At the close of his career Ormonde declared that he had spent nearly a million of money in the king's service, and although this is an obvious exaggeration, yet it is a fact that he lost heavily pecuniarily and otherwise by his adherence to the Stuart cause.
Ultra-patriotic writers, with that passion for obscure data which characterizes the partisan historian in his search of an argument, have chosen to regard the first Duke of Ormonde as the friend of England and the enemy of Ireland. They shed inky tears over the fate of men like Hugh O'Neill and Shane of that family, but the success of either of these would have meant a return to the absurd state of affairs which made Ireland a nation of kingdoms and traitors. O'Neill represented only his own followers, and his success would have bred rivals and imitators. There was no hope of peace or prosperity if the country came under the dominion of men brave on the battlefield and foolish and quarrelsome in their councils. Mere bravery is not statesmanship; victories on the battlefield have to be supported by wisdom in the council, or all their benefits are lost.
Ormonde and Lady Castlemaine
The Duke of Ormonde was the first of the great race of Irishmen, worthily descended from famous persons in the two countries, who aimed at a united Ireland in honourable federation with England. To a man of his breeding and education the civilization of Pall Mall was more pleasing than the semi-barbarous condition of provincial Ireland, but he accepted again the thankless position of viceroy, and, hampered by the new school of politics that had arisen in London, he did his utmost for Ireland. He was the best man for the task, and Charles knew it, and although his enemies never lost an opportunity for damaging his reputation, he retained the post until March 14, 1669, having conducted the government in person for nearly seven years. Ormonde was one of the first to realize the fact that Charles was endangering his throne by his profligacy. Almost every decree that emanated from Whitehall was inspired by the whims and vagaries of one of the mistresses of the 'Merry Monarch,' and even Ormonde, attached as he was to the person of the king, could not submit to the insolent demand on the part of Lady Castlemaine that her lover should grant her Phoenix Park as a private demesne. Lady Castlemaine, however, ascribed her defeat to Ormonde's jealousy, and it was mainly through her that the viceroy's enemies continued their plottings and secured his recall. The charges against him were that he had billeted soldiers on civilians and had executed martial law, charges so ridiculous that there was never any serious attempt to investigate them after Ormonde's return to London.
He was not without honour, however, even in England, for Oxford University elected him her Chancellor, and in 1670 the city of Dublin presented an address to Lord Ossory, the duke's son, which consisted of complimentary references to the late viceroy and ignored the then holder of the post, Lord Robarts. Lord Ossory had acted as deputy for his father in 1664-65, and gave promise of a brilliant career.
Eight years of court life followed, during which Ormonde, who knew more about Ireland than any other living person, was seldom called in to advise Charles. Robarts, a stolid nobleman of no accomplishments beyond a little pride, managed to last a year—1669-70. On the Restoration, Robarts, the son of a tin merchant and a usurer, was appointed deputy to General Monck, whom he considered an upstart, but he declined to represent such a man, and Charles, who was heavily in his debt, made him Lord Privy Seal, and thus enabled him to avoid the indignity of occupying an inferior position to General Monck.
The next viceroy was a distinguished survivor of the Civil War in the person of John Berkeley, first Lord Berkeley of Stratton. He was a nobleman of elaborate tastes, who took full advantage of Charles II.'s indebtedness to him for services rendered during the great exile. This he supplemented by marrying three times, the third wife bringing him an immense fortune. She was plain and old, but Berkeley overcame his natural repugnance to the ugly in this particular case. In Ireland he was a success mainly because his sympathies inclined towards the Catholic religion, and he left well alone. The country would have welcomed a longer viceroyalty than two years, but Berkeley was not the man to waste his energies in Dublin, and he was glad to return to London and to the court.
The Duchess of Cleveland
Ireland did not, of course, escape altogether from the evil consequences of Charles's partiality for frail femininity. His illegitimate children had to be provided with money as well as with titles, and their mothers' anxiety for the future dispelled. When there were murmurings in England against the king's extravagant methods in satisfying the cupidity of his creatures, these latter asked for something out of Ireland. The Duchess of Portsmouth wanted Phoenix Park, and Charles was quite willing that she should have it, but the Duke of Ormonde and the Earl of Essex, who knew the fatal stupidity of the Stuarts, managed to convince Charles that he would run the risk of losing his crown if he lost his head over the woman who made the title of duchess as cheap as water while she flaunted it in Whitehall. It was not to be expected that an illiterate woman would be able to understand the reasons that made the gift of Phoenix Park impracticable, and she plotted with all the feline spite that she was capable of to injure the men who had defeated her ambitions. Ormonde, however, was too strong, but when Arthur Capel, Earl of Essex, was appointed to succeed Lord Berkeley in 1672, she carried on an intrigue against him, and did not cease until his recall in 1677. Lord Essex was the son of the Lord Capel who had been executed in 1649, and Charles owed him and his family something. That debt was never repaid fully, and had it not been for a sudden revulsion of feeling in Ormonde's favour Lord Essex might never have gone to Ireland. The new viceroy was not popular among the king's coterie of duchesses and countesses. When at the Treasury he had declined to pay the Duchess of Cleveland £25,000 out of the public funds, and, of course, the duchess was furious. Essex was not dismayed. He knew that Charles dare not quarrel with a man of his position on the question of the subsidies he considered his mistresses ought to have. Publicity was the last thing he desired. Essex was not the man to send to Ireland to represent the Duchess of Cleveland or the Duchess of Portsmouth, and Ormonde persuaded Charles that in Ireland he was regarded as king, and that the people in that benighted country were so unacquainted with the manners of polite society as to be quite unable to appreciate the delicate position of duchess without a duke.
Earl of Essex
Lord Essex found Ireland as peaceful as he could expect. Fortunately for him, he lacked the ambition that had attacked so many former viceroys like a disease, and did not wish to conquer Ireland. He realized that beyond Dublin and a few provincial cities the rule of England did not extend, but provided he was allowed to remain in peace at Dublin Castle, he did not worry. And in fact Dublin was the only habitable place. Centuries of warfare had left the land in a terrible state. Education and all the arts were at a standstill, while the traders had not yet raised themselves to a position of independence, and the resident nobility dwelt in their strongholds or emigrated to fight under foreign flags. If we are to believe the records of the times, Lord Essex confined himself to Dublin and the Castle, and all his entertainments were for the benefit of the officials and occasional visitors from London. He did something to make Dublin worthier of its position as the capital city. Highway and street robberies were punished severely and building improvements encouraged.
Lady Essex took her part in the work of her husband, being really the first of the 'vicereines'—to use an apt if technically incorrect description of the wives of the viceroys—to enter into the social life of the people her husband governed. She entertained as a great hostess, and was charming and popular. It was her accessibility which led to an incident which rendered the last few months of Essex's viceroyalty painful. The times were ripe for the propagation of scandal. The king's patronage of vice gave it an appearance of virtue, and certainly many rewards. The chivalry of the time was an elaborate ritual in honour of free love, and, of course, the influence spread to Dublin. Personally Lord Essex was almost a little better than his contemporaries, but he held the honour of his wife to be something very sacred, and when he heard that it was the talk of Dublin that she was carrying on an intrigue with a Captain Brabazon he was greatly embittered. It was fashionable to be vicious, but Essex would not believe that his wife was guilty, although Captain Brabazon swore that she was. According to the laws of honour, a duel with Brabazon was the viceroy's only court of appeal, but as the king's representative he could not issue a challenge or accept one, and he was therefore compelled to affect a haughty indifference to the covert insults heaped upon himself and Lady Essex. Fortunately for the viceroy and his wife, Captain Brabazon, rejoicing in his immunity, became too precise; he offered details of times and places, and once he had sworn to these it was easy to prove them wicked and malicious falsehoods.
The viceroy was not sorry to yield up office to Ormonde, although, as is always the case, popular feeling turned in his favour, and even gossip admitted nothing but good of the countess. The whole plot had been hatched by the Duchess of Cleveland in revenge for his refusal to rob the Treasury on her behalf. On his return to London, Lord Essex immediately sought out Charles and complained of the scandalous treatment he had received. The king was sympathetic—weak-minded persons find in sympathy their only virtue—but he would do nothing, and the ex-viceroy, disappointed and enraged, flung himself out of the royal presence. He was a marked man now, and all his sayings were improved upon and reported to Charles. The Rye House plot ended his career. He was arrested and committed to the Tower, where he was said to have taken his own life in a fit of depression. Whether true or not scarcely matters, for his act merely saved his head from the executioner's axe.