From hence began that plot, the nation's curse;
Bad in itself, but represented worse:
Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried;
With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied.—P. [220.]
The Papist plot, like every criminal and mysterious transaction, where accomplices alone can give evidence, is involved in much mystery. It is well known, that the zeal for making proselytes, with all its good and all its evil consequences, is deeply engrafted upon the catholic faith. There can be no doubt, from Coleman's correspondence, that there was in agitation, among the Catholics, a grand scheme to bring about the conversion of the British kingdoms to the Romish religion. Much seemed to favour this in the reign of Charles II. The king, though a latitudinarian, was believed addicted to the religion of those countries which had afforded him refuge in his adversity, and the Duke of York was an open and zealous Papist. From the letters of his secretary Coleman, it is obvious, that hopes were entertained of eradicating the great northern heresy; and the real existence of intrigues carried on with this purpose, unfortunately gave a colour to the monstrous and absurd falsehoods which the witnesses of the plot contrived to heap together. It is probable, that Oates, by whom the affair was first started, knew nothing, but by vague report and surmise, of the real designs of the Roman catholic party; since he would otherwise have accommodated his story better to their obvious interests. The catholics might gain much by the life of Charles; but a plot to assassinate him, would have been far from placing them an inch nearer their point, even supposing them to escape the odium of so horrible a crime. The Duke, it was true, was nearest in blood; but his succession to the throne, had the king been taken off by those of his sect, would have been a very difficult matter, since the very suspicion of such a catastrophe had nearly caused his exclusion. But when the faction involved the king also in the plot, which Oates positively charges upon him in his last publication, and thereby renders him an accessory before the fact to an attempt on his own life, the absurdity is fully completed. Even according to the statement of those who suppose that Charles had irritated the Roman catholics, by preferring his ease and quiet to their interest and his own religious feelings, his situation appears ludicrously distressing. For, on the one hand, he incurred the hatred of those who called themselves the Protestant party, for his obstinacy in exposing himself to be murdered by the papists; and, on the other hand, he was to be assassinated by the catholics, for not doing what, according to this supposition, he himself most wished to do. It would be far beyond our bounds, to notice the numberless gross absurdities to which Oates and the other witnesses deposed upon oath. It may appear almost incredible, in the present day, how such extravagant fictions should be successfully palmed upon the deluded public; but at that time there was not the same ready communication by the press, which now allows opportunity to canvass an extraordinary charge as soon as it is brought forward. The public at large had no means of judging of state matters, but from the bribed libellers of faction, and the haranguers in coffee-houses, who gave what colour they pleased to the public news of the day.[307] Besides, the catholics had given an handle against themselves, by their own obscure intrigues; and it was impossible to forget the desperate scheme of the Gunpowder Plot, by which they had resolved to cut off the heresy in the time of King James. The crime of the fathers was, in this case, visited on the children; for no person probably would, or could, have believed in the catholic plot of 1678, had not the same religious sect meditated something equally desperate in 1606. It is true, the gunpowder conspiracy was proved by the most unexceptionable testimony; and the plot in Charles' time rested on the oaths of a few boldfaced villains, who contradicted both themselves and each other; but still popular credulity was prepared to believe any thing charged on a sect, who had shown themselves so devoted to their religious zeal, and so little scrupulous about means to gratify it. Another main prop of the Catholic plot was the mystery in which it was involved. If inconsistencies were pointed out, or improbabilities urged, the answer was, that the discovery had not yet reached the bottom of the plot. Thus the disposition of the vulgar to believe the atrocious and the marvellous, was heightened by the stimulus of ungratified curiosity, and still impending danger. "Every new witness," says North, "that came in, made us start—now we shall come to the bottom. And so it continued from one witness to another, year after year, till at length it had no bottom but in the bottomless pit."[308] Thus, betwixt villainy and credulity, the spirits of the people were exasperated and kept afloat, till the bloodhounds of the plot, like those formerly used in pursuit of marauders, had drenched their scent, and annihilated their powers of quest in the best blood in the kingdom.
The unfortunate victims, whose lives were sworn away by Oates and his accomplices, died averring their innocence; but the infuriated people for some time gave little credit to this solemn exculpation; believing that the religion of the criminals, or at least the injunctions of their priests, imposed on them the obligation of denying, with their last breath, whatever, if confessed, could have prejudiced the catholic cause. As all high wrought frenzies are incapable of duration, that of the Roman catholic plot decayed greatly after the execution of the venerable Stafford. The decent and manly sobriety of his demeanour on the scaffold, the recollection of how much blood had been spilled, and how much more might be poured out like water, excited the late and repentant commiseration of the multitude: His protestations of innocence were answered by broken exclamations of "God bless you, my lord! we believe you." And after this last victim, the Popish plot, like a serpent which had wasted its poison, though its wreaths entangled many, and its terrors held their sway over more, did little effectual mischief. Even when long lifeless, and extinguished, this chimera, far in the succeeding reigns, continued, like the dragon slain by the Red-cross Knight, to be the object of popular fear, and the theme of credulous terrorists:
Some feared, and fled; some feared, and well it fained.
One, that would wiser seem than all the rest,
Warned him not touch; for yet, perhaps, remained