Constitutional History of England, Henry VII to George II. Volume 2 of 3

by Henry Hallam

He was almost equally provoked by the licence of his people's tongues. A court like that of Charles is the natural topic of the idle, as well as the censorious. An administration so ill-conducted could not escape the remarks of a well-educated and intelligent city. There was one method of putting an end to these impertinent comments, or of rendering them innoxious; but it was the last which he would have adopted. Clarendon informs us that the king one day complaining of the freedom, as to political conversation, taken in coffee-houses, he recommended either that all persons should be forbidden by proclamation to resort to them, or that spies should be placed in them to give information against seditious speakers.[656] The king, he says, liked both expedients; but thought it unfair to have recourse to the latter till the former had given fair warning, and directed him to propose it to the council; but here, Sir William Coventry objecting, the king was induced to abandon the measure, much to Clarendon's disappointment, though it probably saved him an additional article in his impeachment. The unconstitutional and arbitrary tenor of this great minister's notions of government is strongly displayed in this little anecdote. Coventry was an enlightened, and, for that age, an upright man, whose enmity Clarendon brought on himself by a marked jealousy of his abilities in council.

Those who stood nearest to the king were not backward to imitate his discontent at the privileges of his people and their representatives. The language of courtiers and court-ladies is always intolerable to honest men, especially that of such courtiers as surrounded the throne of Charles II. It is worst of all amidst public calamities, such as pressed very closely on one another in a part of his reign; the awful pestilence of 1665, the still more ruinous fire of 1666, the fleet burned by the Dutch in the Medway next summer. No one could reproach the king for outward inactivity or indifference during the great fire. But there were some, as Clarendon tells us, who presumed to assure him, "that this was the greatest blessing that God had ever conferred on him, his restoration only excepted; for the walls and gates being now burned and thrown down of that rebellious city, which was always an enemy to the Crown, his majesty would never suffer them to repair and build them up again, to be a bit in his mouth and a bridle upon his neck; but would keep all open, that his troops might enter upon them whenever he thought it necessary for his service; there being no other way to govern that rude multitude but by force."[657] This kind of discourse, he goes on to say, did not please the king. But here we may venture to doubt his testimony; or, if the natural good temper of Charles prevented him from taking pleasure in such atrocious congratulations, we may be sure that he was not sorry to think the city more in his power.

It seems probable that this loose and profligate way of speaking gave rise, in a great degree, to the suspicion that the city had been purposely burned by those who were more enemies to religion and liberty than to the court. The papists stood ready to bear the infamy of every unproved crime; and a committee of the House of Commons collected evidence enough for those who were already convinced, that London had been burned by that obnoxious sect. Though the house did not proceed farther, there can be no doubt that the enquiry contributed to produce that inveterate distrust of the court, whose connections with the popish faction were half known, half conjectured, which gave from this time an entirely new complexion to the parliament. Prejudiced as the Commons were, they could hardly have imagined the catholics to have burned the city out of mere malevolence; but must have attributed the crime to some far-spreading plan of subverting the established constitution.[658]

The retention of the king's guards had excited some jealousy, though no complaints seem to have been made of it in parliament; but the sudden levy of a considerable force in 1667, however founded upon a very plausible pretext from the circumstances of the war, lending credit to these dark surmises of the court's sinister designs, gave much greater alarm. The Commons, summoned together in July, instantly addressed the king to disband his army as soon as peace should be made. We learn from the Duke of York's private memoirs that some of those who were most respected for their ancient attachment to liberty, deemed it in jeopardy at this crisis. The Earls of Northumberland and Leicester, Lord Hollis, Mr. Pierrepont, and others of the old parliamentary party, met to take measures together. The first of these told the Duke of York that the nation would not be satisfied with the removal of the chancellor, unless the guards were disbanded, and several other grievances redressed. The duke bade him be cautious what he said, lest he should be obliged to inform the king; but Northumberland replied that it was his intention to repeat the same to the king, which he did accordingly the next day.[659]

This change in public sentiment gave warning to Charles that he could not expect to reign with as little trouble as he had hitherto experienced; and doubtless the recollection of his father's history did not contribute to cherish the love he sometimes pretended for parliaments. His brother, more reflecting and more impatient of restraint on royal authority, saw with still greater clearness than the king, that they could only keep the prerogative at its desired height by means of intimidation. A regular army was indispensable; but to keep up an army in spite of parliament, or to raise money for its support without parliament, were very difficult undertakings. It seemed necessary to call in a more powerful arm than their own; and, by establishing the closest union with the King of France, to obtain either military or pecuniary succours from him, as circumstances might demand. But there was another and not less imperious motive for a secret treaty. The king, as has been said, though little likely, from the tenor of his life, to feel very strong and lasting impressions of religion, had at times a desire to testify publicly his adherence to the Romish communion. The Duke of York had come more gradually to change the faith in which he was educated. He describes it as the result of patient and anxious enquiry; nor would it be possible therefore to fix a precise date for his conversion, which seems to have been not fully accomplished till after the Restoration.[660] He however continued in conformity to the church of England; till, on discovering that the catholic religion exacted an outward communion, which he had fancied not indispensable, he became more uneasy at the restraint that policy imposed on him. This led to a conversation with the king, of whose private opinions and disposition to declare them he was probably informed, and to a close union with Clifford and Arlington, from whom he had stood aloof on account of their animosity against Clarendon. The king and duke held a consultation with those two ministers, and with Lord Arundel of Wardour, on the 25th of January 1669, to discuss the ways and methods fit to be taken for the advancement of the catholic religion in these kingdoms. The king spoke earnestly, and with tears in his eyes. After a long deliberation, it was agreed that there was no better way to accomplish this purpose than through France; the house of Austria being in no condition to give any assistance.[661]

Secret treaty of 1670.—The famous secret treaty, which, though believed on pretty good evidence not long after the time, was first actually brought to light by Dalrymple about half a century since, began to be negotiated very soon after this consultation.[662] We find allusions to the king's projects in one of his letters to the Duchess of Orleans, dated 22nd March 1669.[663] In another of June 6, the methods he was adopting to secure himself in this perilous juncture appear. He was to fortify Plymouth, Hull, and Portsmouth, and to place them in trusty hands. The fleet was under the duke, as lord admiral; the guards and their officers were thought in general well affected;[664] but his great reliance was on the most christian king. He stipulated for £200,000 annually, and for the aid of 6000 French troops.[665] In return for such important succour, Charles undertook to serve his ally's ambition and wounded pride against the United Provinces. These, when conquered by the French arms, with the co-operation of an English navy, were already shared by the royal conspirators. A part of Zealand fell to the lot of England, the remainder of the Seven Provinces to France, with an understanding that some compensation should be made to the Prince of Orange. In the event of any new rights to the Spanish monarchy accruing to the most christian king, as it is worded (that is, on the death of the King of Spain, a sickly child), it was agreed that England should assist him with all her force by sea and land, but at his own expense; and should obtain, not only Ostend and Minorca, but, as far as the King of France could contribute to it, such parts of Spanish America as she should choose to conquer.[666] So strange a scheme of partitioning that vast inheritance was never, I believe, suspected till the publication of the treaty; though Bolingbroke had alluded to a previous treaty of partition between Louis and the Emperor Leopold, the complete discovery of which has been but lately made.[667]

Differences between Charles and Louis as to the mode of the execution of the treaty.—Each conspirator, in his coalition against the protestant faith and liberties of Europe, had splendid objects in view; but those of Louis seemed by far the more probable of the two, and less liable to be defeated. The full completion of their scheme would have re-united a great kingdom to the catholic religion, and turned a powerful neighbour into a dependent pensioner. But should this fail (and Louis was too sagacious not to discern the chances of failure), he had pledged to him the assistance of an ally in subjugating the republic of Holland, which, according to all human calculation, could not withstand their united efforts; nay, even in those ulterior projects which his restless and sanguine ambition had ever in view, and the success of which would have realised, not indeed the chimera of an universal monarchy, but a supremacy and dictatorship over Europe. Charles, on the other hand, besides that he had no other return to make for the necessary protection of France, was impelled by a personal hatred of the Dutch, and by the consciousness that their commonwealth was the standing reproach of arbitrary power, to join readily in the plan for its subversion. But, looking first to his own objects, and perhaps a little distrustful of his ally, he pressed that his profession of the Roman catholic religion should be the first measure in prosecution of the treaty; and that he should immediately receive the stipulated £200,000, or at least a part of the money. Louis insisted that the declaration of war against Holland should precede. This difference occasioned a considerable delay; and it was chiefly with a view of bringing round her brother on this point, that the Duchess of Orleans took her famous journey to Dover in the spring of 1670. Yet, notwithstanding her influence, which passed for irresistible, he persisted in adhering to the right reserved to him in the draft of the treaty, of choosing his own time for the declaration of his religion, and it was concluded on this footing at Dover, by Clifford, Arundel, and Arlington, on the 22nd of May 1670, during the visit of the Duchess of Orleans.[668]

A mutual distrust, however, retarded the further progress of this scheme; one party unwilling to commit himself till he should receive money, the other too cautious to run the risk of throwing it away. There can be no question but that the King of France was right in urging the conquest of Holland as a preliminary of the more delicate business they were to manage in England; and, from Charles's subsequent behaviour, as well as his general fickleness and love of ease, there seems reason to believe that he would gladly have receded from an undertaking of which he must every day have more strongly perceived the difficulties. He confessed, in fact, to Louis's ambassador, that he was almost the only man in his kingdom who liked a French alliance.[669] The change of religion, on a nearer view, appeared dangerous for himself, and impracticable as a national measure. He had not dared to intrust any of his protestant ministers, even Buckingham, whose indifference in such points was notorious, with this great secret; and, to keep them the better in the dark, a mock negotiation was set on foot with France, and a pretended treaty actually signed, the exact counterpart of the other, except as to religion. Buckingham, Shaftesbury, and Lauderdale were concerned in this simulated treaty, the negotiation for which did not commence till after the original convention had been signed at Dover.[670]

The court of France having yielded to Charles the point about which he had seemed so anxious, had soon the mortification to discover that he would take no steps to effect it. They now urged that immediate declaration of his religion, which they had for very wise reasons not long before dissuaded. The King of England hung back, and tried so many excuses, that they had reason to suspect his sincerity; not that in fact he had played a feigned part from the beginning, but his zeal for popery having given way to the seductions of a voluptuous and indolent life, he had been led, with the good sense he naturally possessed, to form a better estimate of his resources and of the opposition he must encounter. Meanwhile the eagerness of his ministers had plunged the nation into war with Holland; and Louis, having attained his principal end, ceased to trouble the king on the subject of religion. He received large sums from France during the Dutch war.[671]