CHAPTER VIII.
Charles returned from the North improved in spirits, fancying he had made a favourable impression upon his Scottish subjects, and pondering sanguine schemes for crushing the power of Pym, and of all the patriots. The reaction towards the close of the summer of 1641, which we have already described, was decidedly in his favour—and there seemed room to expect that Parliament, after the course which the King now seemed disposed to pursue, might, in its eagerness for victory, place itself altogether in a false position.
During his stay in Edinburgh, he had been anxious to fill up certain vacant bishoprics, but delayed doing so at the request of Parliament. Soon after his return, he made Williams,—then Bishop of Lincoln,—Archbishop of York; and appointed Dr. Winniffe to succeed Williams. Dr. Duppa was translated from Chichester to Salisbury; King, Dean of Rochester, was promoted to Chichester; Hall had the See of Norwich presented to him in the room of Exeter; where he was followed by Brownrigg, who had been Master of Catherine Hall, Cambridge; Skinner went from Bristol to Oxford; Westfield had the former See conferred on him, and Ussher received the Bishopric of Carlisle in commendam. A conciliatory temper appeared in the episcopal arrangements thus made by His Majesty, inasmuch as all the prelates whom he now appointed and advanced were popular men, and were well esteemed by the Puritan party.
The King's Reception.
Charles, on his arrival in town on the 25th of November, received a welcome which vied in splendour with the renowned receptions given to our Edwards and Henries. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen in their robes; citizens in velvet coats; and noblemen richly apparelled, with a goodly array of trumpeters, pursuivants, equerries, and sheriffs' men, wearing scarlet coats, and silver-laced hats crowned with feathers, marched to meet the Royal party at Moorgate, whence they proceeded—the King on horseback, the Queen in her richly embroidered coach,—by way of Bishopsgate, Cornhill, and Cheapside, to Guildhall; the streets being lined by the livery companies, and adorned with banners, ensigns, and pendants of arms. The conduits in Cheapside ran with claret, and along the line of procession the people shouted "God bless, and long live King Charles, and Queen Mary."[231] A grand banquet followed on the hustings of the Old City Hall; the floor being covered with Turkey carpets, and the walls hung with rich tapestry. Their majesties sat in chairs of state, under a grand canopy, and the royal table was covered with "all sorts of fish, fowl, and flesh, to the number of 120 dishes, of the choicest kinds," with "sweetmeats and confections, wet and dry." After a short repose, at about four o'clock, the Royal party advanced towards Whitehall; and as the evening shadows fell upon the spectacle, the footmen exchanged their truncheons for flambeaux, "which gave so great a light, as that the night seemed to be turned into day." Trumpets, bands of music, and the acclamations of the people,—according to the chroniclers—made the streets ring again.[232]
1641, November.
This exhibition so artistically contrived, which had been a subject of much correspondence with the King, as well as of deliberation on the part of the citizens, had a no less religious than political significancy. A year before, Presbyterians and Sectaries had made themselves conspicuous by "Root and Branch petitions," and since then, their activity had not declined, or their numbers diminished. On the contrary, the sectaries had increased, and had given alarming signs of zeal, in purifying certain Churches from the abominations of idolatry, and in organizing ecclesiastical societies of their own quite apart from the establishment.
In this state of things, the conservative portion of the corporation, and the citizens who sympathized with them, had, for the purpose of a party demonstration, elected a Lord Mayor who was a decided Royalist and a High Churchman. "The factious persons," remarks Sir Edward Nicholas, writing on this subject to the King, "were making a noise, and would not proceed to the election, when the sheriff proposed Alderman Gourney (who I hear is very well-affected and stout) and carried it; and the schismatics who cried 'no election,' were silenced with hisses, and thereupon the Sheriff dismissed the Court."[233] This victory equally gratified Sir Edward and his master, and placed at the head of the costly civic reception, a gentleman in whom the King had the fullest confidence. More indeed was intended, both of loyal and religious demonstration, by the party who now took the lead in the City, than they were able to accomplish. A present of money and an address in favour of Episcopacy had been proposed, but without success.[234] Notwithstanding, the King took care, in answer to the address of the recorder and corporation—as they stood by Moorgate, bare-headed,—to assure them of his determination, at the hazard of his life and of all that was dear to him, to maintain and protect the Protestant religion, as it had been established by his two famous predecessors, Queen Elizabeth and his father King James.
The King's Reception.
Some significancy is to be attached to a little display at the south door of St. Paul's Cathedral, where "the quire in their surplices, with sackbuts, and cornets, sung an anthem of praise to God, with prayers for their Majesties' long lives, that his Majesty was extremely pleased with it, and gave them very particular thanks."[235] For unobjectionable as this kind of music might now-a-days appear even to a staunch nonconformist, it had a look, at that period, of stern, jealous, and watchful controversy, very obvious and very annoying to presbyterians and "sectaries;" so that, altogether, this City affair became a decided success for the King and the Church party, and as such, Royalists and Anglicans greatly rejoiced in it.
1641, December.
"Londoners are a set of disaffected schismatics, bent upon upsetting the godly order of things which they received from their fathers," was the opinion of many a country knight and yeoman, as he turned his attention to the metropolis, and thought of the current stories of the day. "No," said one, who sympathized with the Court, in a letter he wrote to a friend just at that time, "you much mistake, if you think that those insolent and seditious meetings of sectaries, and others ill affected, who have lately been at the Parliament House, to cry for justice against the delinquent bishops, are the representative body of the city. They are not. The representative body of the city is the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common Council, who gave the entertainment to the King, and will stick to him to live and die in his service. As for the rest, when the House of Commons please to give laws to suppress them, we shall quickly see an end of these distractions both in Church and Commonwealth, and, therefore, I pray give no ill interpretation to our actions."[236] These words show what capital the clique, to which the writer belonged, was determined to make out of the grand pageant which had just come off with so much éclat.
The King himself, who was disposed to construe the conduct of the citizens as having a political and ecclesiastical signification, had on the occasion of his entry, knighted the Lord Mayor and Recorder, doubtless with a feeling which made it more than a formal ceremony. He had also conferred a like honour, a few days afterwards, at Hampton Court, upon certain Aldermen, who had come to thank him for accepting their entertainment.
The reception of these civic dignitaries in the old palace of Cardinal Wolsey occurred on the 3rd of December.[237] A very different kind of audience had been held within the same walls two days before.
The Remonstrance.
A committee for presenting the Remonstrance had been appointed by the Commons, composed of persons not likely to be offensive to the King, including Sir Edward Dering, who, in spite of his opposition to the measure, was requested to read and present the document; but, when the time came, he "being out of the way," Sir Ralph Hopton took his place. The deputation started in the afternoon, and their object being well understood by the populace, they would attract much attention, as they travelled along under leafless trees, and a wintry sky, and drew up at last before the old gates at Hampton Court. After they had waited a quarter of an hour in the anteroom, the King sent a gentleman to call them to his presence, with an order that no one besides the deputation should be admitted. He received his "faithful Commons" with some anxiety, but in addition to his other encouragements, at that moment there remained the halo thrown round him by the late entry; and it would not be forgotten by the monarch as the members knelt before him, that the Remonstrance which they brought—(as obnoxious to royalty as it was dear to the patriots)—had been after all carried only by a scant majority. Sir Ralph Hopton, who headed the deputation, commenced reading the document on his bended knees, when his Majesty commanded all the members to rise: and as soon as that passage was reached, which alluded to the desire of the malignants to change the religion of the country, the King exclaimed, "The devil take him, whomsoever he be, that had a design to change religion." Upon reference to the disposal of the estates of the Irish rebels, he added, "We must not dispose of the bear's skin till he be dead." His Majesty proceeding to put some questions, the wary members replied, "We had no commission to speak any thing concerning this business." "Doth the House intend to publish this declaration?" Charles afterwards asked—thus touching the core of the matter. "We can give no answer," persisted the reticent diplomatists. "Well then," he rejoined, "I suppose you do not now expect an answer to so long a petition." A very reasonable remark, looking at the two hundred and more clauses which the petition contained.[238] When the answer did come, it included this carefully-worded paragraph:—
1641, December.
"Unto that clause which concerneth corruptions (as you style them) in religion, in Church government, and in discipline, and the removing of such unnecessary ceremonies as weak consciences might check, that for any illegal innovations, which may have crept in, we shall willingly concur in the removal of them. That if our Parliament shall advise us to call a national synod, which may duly examine such ceremonies as give just cause of offence to any, we shall take it into consideration, and apply ourself to give due satisfaction therein, but we are very sorry to hear in such general terms, corruption in religion objected, since we are persuaded in our conscience, that no church can be found upon the earth that professeth the true religion with more purity of doctrine than the Church of England doth; nor where the government and discipline are jointly more beautified, and free from superstition, than as they are here established by law; which by the grace of God, we will with constancy maintain (while we live) in their purity and glory, not only against all invasions of popery, but also from the irreverence of those many schismatics and separatists, wherewith of late this kingdom and this city abound, to the great dishonour and hazard both of Church and State, for the suppression of whom we require your timely aid and active assistance."[239]
Arrest of the Five Members.
After the Remonstrance had been presented, affairs remained hopeful to the Royal eye; and as the Commons had issued their ordinance touching religious worship, the King on the 10th of December published one of his own, enjoining strict conformity to the form of divine service as by law established. But whatever advantages he might possess at the close of 1641, all were forfeited by the monstrously rash attempt to arrest the five members at the beginning of 1642. That fatal act rung the death-knell of his hopes throughout the country, startling at once friends and foes. A letter by Captain Robert Slingsby to Admiral Pennington gives a Royalist version of the affair, which happened on the 4th of January.
1641, December.
"All parts of the court being thronged with gentlemen and officers of the army, in the afternoon the King went with them all, his own guard and the pensioners, most of the gentlemen armed with swords and pistols. When we came into Westminster Hall, which was thronged with the number, the King commanded us all to stay there; and himself, with a very small train, went into the House of Commons, where never king was (as they say), but once, King Henry VIII." The writer, who remained in the lobby, then proceeds to report what occurred inside the House; depending for his information, it appears, on some member, from whose lips he had eagerly caught up the following account:—"He came very unexpectedly; and at first coming in commanded the Speaker to come out of his chair, and sat down in it himself, asking divers times, whether those traitors were there, but had no answer; but at last an excuse, that by the orders of the House, they might not speak when their Speaker was out of his chair. The King then asked the Speaker, who excused himself, that he might not speak but what the House gave order to him to say, whereupon the King replied, 'it was no matter, for he knew them all if he saw them.' And after he had viewed them all, he made a speech to them very majestically, declaring his resolution to have them, though they were then absent; promising not to infringe any of their liberties of Parliament, but commanding them to send the traitors to him, if they came there again. And after his coming out, he gave orders to the Serjeant-at-arms to find them out and attach them. Before the King's coming, the House were very high; and (as I was informed), sent to the city for four thousand men to be presently sent down to them for their guard: but none came, all the city being terribly amazed with that unexpected charge of those persons; shops all shut, many of which do still continue so. They likewise sent to the trained bands in the Court of Guard, before Whitehall, to command them to disband, but they stayed still."
Arrest of the Five Members.
1641, December.
The same correspondent then relates what he had himself witnessed in London. "Yesterday it was my fortune, being in a coach, to meet the King with a small train going into the City; whereupon I followed him to Guildhall, where the Mayor, all the Aldermen, and Common Council were met. The King made a speech to them, declaring his intention to join with the Parliament in extirpation of popery and all schisms and sectaries; of redressing of all grievances of the subject, and his care to preserve the privileges of the Parliament: but to question these traitors, the reason of his guards for securing himself, the Parliament, and them from those late tumults, and something of the Irish; and at last had some familiar discourse to the Aldermen, and invited himself to dinner to the Sheriff. After a little pause a cry was set up amongst the Common Council, 'Parliament, privileges of Parliament;' and presently another, 'God bless the King'—these two continued both at once a good while. I know not which was louder. After some knocking for silence, the King commanded one to speak, if they had anything to say; one said, 'It is the vote of this Court that your Majesty hear the advice of your Parliament'—but presently another answered—'It is not the vote of this Court, it is your own vote.' The King replied, 'Who is it that says, I do not take the advice of my Parliament? I do take their advice, and will; but I must distinguish between the Parliament and some traitors in it;' and those he would bring to legal trial. Another bold fellow, in the lowest rank, stood up upon a form, and cried, 'The privileges of Parliament;' and another cried out, 'Observe the man, apprehend him.' The King mildly replied, 'I have, and will observe all privileges of Parliament, but no privileges can prevent a traitor from a legal trial'—and so departed. In the outer hall were a multitude of the ruder people, who, as the King went out, set up a great cry, 'The privileges of Parliament.' At the King's coming home, there was a mean fellow came into the privy chamber, who had a paper sealed up, which he would needs deliver to the King himself—with his much importunity he was urged to be mad or drunk, but he denied both. The gentleman usher took the paper from him and carried it to the King, desiring some gentleman there to keep the man. He was presently sent for in, and is kept a prisoner, but I know not where."[240] The arrest, which with its accompanying circumstances is vividly brought before us in this letter by Slingsby, was a fatal crisis in the history of Charles I. He thought by one stroke of policy to crush his enemies, but the avenging deities, shod in felt, were turning round on the infatuated prince, who could not perceive his own danger, but was in a fool's paradise, dreaming of restored absolutism. The liberties of the country having now become more obviously, perhaps more completely, than before, imperilled by the sovereign's misconduct, the national indignation was immediately aroused; and whatever Anglican and Royalist reaction might have set in from Michaelmas to Christmas, the tide turned, and furiously rushed in the opposite direction after New Year's Day. Such a defiance of the Constitution by the King, such a manifestation of despotism, after promising to rule according to law, left no doubt as to his character, his principles, and his motives.
Westminster Riots.
The arrest was interpreted as an assault upon the interests of Puritanism, no less than upon the liberties of the nation; because the one cause had become identified with the other, and the friends of reformation in the Established Church, and the separatists who stood outside of it, saw that their hopes would be entirely cut off if the King were permitted to re-establish his despotic rule, or if he were allowed to perpetrate with impunity such a political crime as the arrest involved.
Other circumstances had helped forward the political reaction in favour of the Puritan cause. Not only had the popular dislike to Bishops continued in London, Southwark, and Lambeth, in spite of all which might appear to the contrary in the civic doings on the King's return, but the revived spirit of ecclesiastical conservation roused afresh the spirit of ecclesiastical revolution. After petitions had flowed in from different parts of the country in favour of Episcopacy, the Aldermen,[241] Common Council, and other inhabitants of London, went down to Westminster in sixty coaches, carrying a counter petition for removing prelates and popish peers from their seats in Parliament. Crowds also assembled on Blackheath for a similar purpose; and the Puritan clergy of London again addressed the House, for taking away whatever should appear to be the cause of those grievances which remained in existence.[242] The Prayer Book—said these ministers—continued to be vexatiously enforced, and what remedy, asked they, for this and other evils could there be but the debate of a free synod, and till that was held some relaxation on matters of ceremony? The London apprentices at such a time could not be quiet, and impelled by their own zeal, and perhaps also guided by their masters' commands, they in large numbers put their hands to a farther "Root and Branch" petition.
1641, December.
Every day the lobbies of the Houses were thronged by people eagerly watching the fate of the documents which expressed their opinions. Every day the area of Westminster Hall echoed with the tramp of jostling crowds and the loud buzz of angry talk touching Church and Bishops. Episcopalians came face to face with Puritans and Separatists. Staid and sober citizens anxious for reform, were elbowed by rollicking country squires, who wished to see things restored to the state in which they had been in the days of Lord Strafford. Cavaliers, full of pride and state, crossed the path of patriots whom they denounced as the enemies of their country. Soldiers, with swords by their side, marched up and down amidst the rabble, who carried staves or clubs. Roistering apprentices, with idlers and vagabonds of all descriptions, putting on a semblance of religious zeal, shouted at the top of their voice favourite watchwords as they went along, and delighted in all sorts of mischief.[243]
Westminster Riots.
December the 27th, being the Monday after Christmas Day, Colonel Lunsford, just appointed Lieutenant of the Tower—much to the disquietude of the Londoners, who denounced him as a Papist, and as being on that account utterly unfit for such a trust—came into the Hall; when some of the citizens beginning to abuse him, he and his companions drew their swords. The same day, Archbishop Williams walked towards the House of Peers with the Earl of Dover, when an apprentice lad, seeing his Grace, vociferated the popular cry of "No Bishop." This so aroused the Welshman's ire, that, leaving his noble friend, he rushed toward the vulgar urchin, and laid hands on him. This unbecoming act,—for "a Bishop should be no striker,"—made the wrath of the populace boil up afresh; and hemming in the prelate so that he could not stir, they continued shouting in his ears, "No Bishop," "No Bishop:" until they proceeded to an act of violence, and tore his gown "as he passed from the stairhead into the entry that leads to the Lords' House."[244] It is also stated that he was beaten by the prentices. A blustering "reformado," named David Hide, mingled in the fray, and looking savagely on the apprentices with their cropped hair, declared that he would cut the throats of "those round-headed dogs that bawled against bishops."[245] "Round-headed,"—the words so aptly fitted to the London lads—took with the Cavalier gentlemen; they forthwith applied it to the whole Puritan party, and so David Hide's impromptu became Court slang, and rose into the dignity of a world-known appellation.
The next day, certain people in the Abbey, who said that they were tarrying there a little while for some friends, who had just brought up a petition, but who were charged with coming to commit depredations in the sacred edifice, were attacked by the retainers of Archbishop Williams—who continued Dean of Westminster—and a sort of siege and assault followed. Amidst the riot and uproar several persons were hurt, and a stone thrown from the battlements[246] fatally injured Sir Richard Wiseman, who appeared conspicuous amongst the anti-episcopal citizens.
1641, December.
Westminster Riots.
On Wednesday, the 29th, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, when "the scum of the people[247]" had floated down to Westminster, there occurred a disturbance which, in a confused way, is apparent in the records of the period, but which becomes more luminous when examined in the light of the depositions of witnesses, still preserved amongst the State papers.[248] The tumult seems to have commenced by Whitehall Gate. Some military gentlemen were walking "within the rails," in the direction of Charing Cross. The difficulty is to make out who commenced the quarrel. One deponent says, the apprentices called the "red coats a knot of Papists," meaning, of course, the Royalist officers. Another declared, the gentlemen within the rails cried, "If they were the soldiers they would charge the mob with pikes and shoot them." Thereupon—so it was affirmed—the people replied, "You had best do it, red coats," and threw at them clots of dry dust. Then the cavalier swordsmen leaped over the rails, and, sword in hand, dashed into the midst of the mob. Other gentlemen came out of the Court gate and joined their friends; upon which the parties fell to, pell-mell. One witness says, that he saw but one sword drawn on the citizens' side, but he saw many of the citizens wounded by the gentlemen. Another affirms, that one of the gentlemen received a wound in the forehead. It is manifest that the disturbance was made the very most of by each party, so as to reflect discredit upon the opposite side: for in a letter written the next morning, the writer, after recording how apprentices were wounded, and how they lost their hats and cloaks, gravely states, "It is feared they will be at Whitehall this day to the number of ten thousand." The City was in an uproar on account of the outrage on the apprentices, and the Court gentry were full of indignation at the abuse which the apprentices had heaped on the Bishops. The High Church Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, who rode about all night to preserve peace, had the City gates shut, the watch set, and the trained-bands called out. By those of a different class in politics this was thought quite unnecessary; as they implicitly believed that the citizens would commit no act of violence if the courtiers would but keep their swords in their scabbards. The majority of the Commons, too, were jealous of interfering with those whom they hailed as friends to reform; while the King, the Court, and the Archbishop, exaggerated the disturbance, and were for coercing the people as enemies of order. The whole story, as it appears from the documents we have mentioned, indicates rudeness and insolence on the part of the populace, but not any disposition in the first instance to proceed to violence. Their opponents sought to bolster up their own cause by highly-coloured reports of the uproar; the irritated pride and hot revenge of a few royalist officers having really brought on the bloodshed, to be followed by the blackest recrimination on the Puritan side.[249] The squabble would be beneath our notice, were it not for the consequences which followed it;[250] and for its significance as illustrating the way in which religious questions became mixed up with political ones, and how both, in some cases, sunk down to the most vulgar level.
Protest of the Bishops.
1641, December.
Bishop Hall relates, in connection with the riot, that in the afternoon of the 28th of December, the Marquis of Hartford came up to the Bishops' bench, and informed their lordships that they were in danger, because the people were watching outside with torches, and would look into every coach to discover them; he adds that a motion made for their safety was received with smiles; and that some sought the protection of certain peers, whilst others escaped home by "secret and far-fetched passages."[251] From the same authority—corroborated by other witnesses—we also learn, that Archbishop Williams, with the cry of "No Bishop" ringing in his ears, with a still more unpleasant recollection of the apprentice's attack, and also alarmed by the Marquis of Hartford's story, determined to protest against this state of things, not simply as a violation of his personal liberty, but as a violation of the freedom and rights of the Upper House. We Bishops, he argued, can no longer perform our Parliamentary duties if this be the case, and without the bishops the House of Lords is a nullity in the legislature. Upon this view being taken, twelve prelates, Williams being one of the number, repaired to the "Jerusalem Chamber in the Dean's lodgings"—that room which has witnessed so many ecclesiastical discussions, and which is so linked to the fortunes of the Church of England—and there drew up a protest against whatever should be done during the absence of their order from the House of Lords.[252]
1641, December.
To this protest signatures were hastily procured. On the 27th, Williams was assaulted; on the 29th, the protest reached the house of the Bishop of Lichfield, between six and seven o'clock at night, he not having heard of it before.[253]
The document had been drawn up without proper deliberation, and after being signed, it was immediately presented to the King.[254] Much as he might sympathize with the prelates, he had prudence enough now to do nothing more than at once refer the matter to the House of Lords, who, in their turn, invited the Commons to a conference on the subject. The Lower House promptly resolved to impeach the prelates;—only one member offering any opposition, and that simply on the ground that he did not believe they were guilty of high treason, but were only stark mad, and ought to be sent to Bedlam. Upon receiving a message, notifying the impeachment, the Upper House immediately despatched Black Rod to summon the accused Spiritual Lords to the bar, where they soon appeared. The same night saw ten of the prelates safe in the Tower.[255]
Protest of the Bishops.
1641, December.
The protest produced an "immense sensation." Unpopular before with the Puritans and the patriots, the bishops now became more unpopular than ever, with the former, on account of their alleged pride and arrogance; with the latter, on account of their esteeming themselves essential to the integrity of Parliament; and with all, on account of their obstinately obstructing the paths of reform. Still, the party most in advance felt rather glad than otherwise at this act of Episcopal imprudence, since it made the bench increasingly odious; and therefore afforded another and still stronger argument for hastening forward its overthrow.[256] Even Episcopalians blamed the protesters, considering they had much hindered the cause they should have helped; and Clarendon pronounces their proceedings to have been ill judged. But an excuse has been offered, on the ground that the conduct of the Bishops if not constitutional was chivalrous. It has been said, "To go out in smoke and smother is but a mean way of coming to nothing." "To creep and crawl to a misfortune is to suffer like an insect." "A man ought to fall with dignity and honour, and keep his mind erect, though his fortune happens to be crushed."[257] Without staying to ask whether there be not concealed under this plea a spirit out of harmony with the religion professed by the prelates, we may remark that no one could have blamed them for courageously defending what they deemed the rights of their order. They might justly have protested against the tumultuous conduct of the people, and have sought protection in attending the House; but to protest against what was done in the Legislature during their absence was quite another thing, and appears to have been as unconstitutional as any violence employed in order to hinder their discharge of Parliamentary duties. An accusation of treason, however, brought against them for their strange proceedings, appears extravagant; although sufficient grounds existed for censure, and the imposition perhaps of some kind of penalty: but the lawyers were spared all trouble with reference to this subject by the abolition of the Episcopal bench, and the political insignificance to which the order had been reduced by their extreme unpopularity. The protesting Bishops remained in confinement until the 5th of May following, when they were dismissed on bail.[258]
