In August 1679 the chance of the Green Ribbon Club seemed to have arrived. After a hard game of tennis the king took a chill in walking by the river-side at Windsor. Fever ensued, and a horrible fear that Charles lay on his death-bed struck at men’s hearts. The cry rose everywhere that he had been poisoned. The Duchess of Portsmouth was accused of having done the black deed. Amazement and horror were universal. People looked upon any ill that should happen to the king, said Sir William Temple, as though it were the end of the world. The privy council was obliged to take action to prevent an overwhelming rush of inquirers into the royal bedchamber. Algernon Sidney returning to town found the general apprehension such that, had the king died, there was no extremity of disorder that might not be expected. “Good God!” wrote Henry Savile from Paris, “what a change such an accident would make! the very thought of it frights me out of my wits. God bless you and deliver us all from that damnable curse,”[423] There were indeed good grounds for the fears so poignantly expressed. The Duke of York, who had been sent from the country in February, was still beyond seas. Monmouth had returned from Scotland, puffed with success in having pacified the Covenanters. Shaftesbury divided the court and seemed to have the nation at his back. If the king died, he was prepared to make a bold push for fortune. The second declaration of Monmouth, published in the following reign, made mention of a consult held at this time “for extraordinary remedies.” No copy of the declaration can now be traced, but it was seen and the fact noted by David Hume. That consult decided upon notable measures. Early in the course of the next year Sir Robert Peyton was accused by Mrs. Cellier and Gadbury the astrologer of treasonable practices, and was examined before the privy council. Though he denied his guilt, he let it be understood that the charge was not baseless and confessed to the House of Commons that he had been intriguing with the Duke of York. His old associates turned against him, and Peyton was expelled the House; but his object was accomplished and he went over to the court side, to find a reward for his perfidy in the favour of James. No definite accusation was made against the heads of the popular party, but the extent of the Whig plans became vaguely known. On the news of the king’s illness preparations had been quickly made for insurrection. Money was collected and old Cromwellian officers engaged. A large force would have been in the field at a few days’ notice. Had Charles died at Windsor the leaders of the movement were ready to seize the Tower, Dover Castle, and Portsmouth, and to arrest the Lord Mayor and those privy councillors who should offer to proclaim the Duke of York king.[424]
The government was not idle in face of the danger. With the consent of the king Sunderland, Halifax, and Essex, most unstable of triumvirates, summoned the duke from Brussels. Leaving his wife and children, James set out in disguise and reached Windsor on September 2 without being recognised by more than two persons on the way. Charles received him with admirably feigned surprise. The danger was past; Jesuits’ powder, the modern quinine, had already restored the king to the point of eating mutton and partridges, and within ten days he was again discussing important business with the French ambassador. Another issue of events had been expected. If the worst had taken place, the Lord Mayor and aldermen had concerted means to declare the duke their sovereign. Fortunately for the nation the Whigs were deprived of the chance to decide whether they or the government held the stronger hand. On the contrary the hopes raised by the king’s illness brought on them a serious rebuff. Once in England James, who had continually pressed for his recall and thought his brother’s behaviour was driving the country to ruin, shewed no desire to depart again. It was represented to him that his absence was for the king’s advantage, and he consented to leave; but on conditions, for Sunderland suggested that Monmouth, whom his father’s danger made yet more arrogant and his uncle’s unexpected arrival sulky and furious, should quit the country too. James after a brief visit to Brussels took coach for Scotland, but Monmouth, to the delight of the court party deprived of his office of captain-general of the forces and his command of the horse guards, for Holland. There was some thought of his attempting to refuse, but milder counsels prevailed and he was persuaded that a willing submission would serve to invest him in the eyes of the people with the character of a martyr. The generalship was abolished and the business of the office handed over to Sunderland. Yet another slight was put upon the Whig party. Sir Thomas Armstrong, the intimate agent of Monmouth and a fierce opponent of the Duke of York, was banished from the king’s presence and court for ever.[425]
As the year 1679 wore away the disturbance of the kingdom seemed to increase. A rising had been expected as the result of James’ return to England, and alarms of the same nature were raised when the king paid a visit to London after his recovery. Guards were set in Covent Garden and Lincoln’s Inn Fields; barges and an escort two hundred strong were in readiness to carry the royal party to the Tower in case of a tumult; but no stir was made and the day passed quietly. Fears of the vaguest character were abroad. “I am very confident,” wrote Charles Hatton, “you will suddenly hear very surprising news, but what I am unable to inform you as yet.” At the back of men’s minds the feeling was growing that the Whigs could not attain their object except by plunging the country into civil war.[426] The agitation became greater than ever when at the end of November the Duke of Monmouth returned without leave to England. He entered London at midnight to the sound of ringing bells and by the light of a thousand bonfires, crackling almost at the palace doors. His popularity seemed unbounded. Crowds followed him in the streets and stopped passers to drink his health. Nell Gwyn, cheered by the crowd as “the Protestant whore,” entertained him at supper. He struck from his arms the bar sinister, which denoted the maimed descent: it was a fashion among the royal bastards, for the Duke of Richmond, Charles’ son by Louise de Kéroualle, who was thought to have intentions on the queen’s throne for herself, had done the same, and displayed the lions of England without diminution.[427] The king was incensed, refused to see the pretender, deprived him of all his offices, ordered him to quit London. Monmouth at length obeyed, but it was to make a royal progress through the west of England, captivating the people and laying the foundations of the support for his hapless attempt against his uncle’s crown.[428]
Meanwhile the question arose when Parliament should meet. The elections had not much altered the complexion of the House of Commons, but it was noted that while the Whigs held their own in the counties and great corporations, the court began to gain in many small boroughs.[429] On the appointed day in October Charles first prorogued and then adjourned Parliament till the following January. Shaftesbury attempted to force the king’s hand by appearing in company with sixteen other peers to present a petition that set forth the danger in which the monarch, the religion, and the government of England lay, and their prayer that his Majesty would make effectual use of the great council of the realm. Charles replied he would consider it, and heartily wished that all others were as solicitous as himself for the good and peace of the nation. Three days later he shewed the meaning of his answer by proroguing Parliament, without the advice of the council, to November 1680. He followed the stroke by summoning the Lord Mayor and aldermen to his presence to enforce on them their duty of preserving the peace and preventing ill-disposed persons from pursuing the ends of discord under cover of petitioning. The surprise of the Whigs was intense. Only one thing was left for them to do. They went on petitioning. Petitions, prepared in accordance with Shaftesbury’s instructions, bombarded the king from all over the country. A proclamation issued to denounce merely had the effect of redoubling them. Charles’ own answers were far more effective. The men of Wiltshire presented a petition as from their county, but lacking the sanction of the grand jury were rated as a company of loose and disaffected persons. The petitioners from London and Westminster were told by Charles that he was the head of the government and would do as he thought best; while to the Berkshire gentlemen he replied, “We will argue the matter over a cup of ale when we meet at Windsor, though I wonder my neighbours should meddle with my business.” In one case alone Charles had the worst of a passage of arms. When a citizen of Taunton offered him a petition, the king asked how he dared do so? To which the man replied, “Sir, my name is Dare.” The government was not behindhand in dealing with the situation. To shew that the petitioners did not represent the country, an immediate flood of counter addresses poured in, expressing confidence in the king’s wisdom and abhorrence of the petitioners. Petitioners and abhorrers divided the nation, and it was by no other godfather than Titus Oates that the latter party, by a name famous in English history, was christened Tory.[430] In this clamorous contest the king gained an undeniable success. But success did not bring repose. Watchfulness was more severely needed than ever. To calm suspicion the penal laws were once more sharpened against the Catholics. Additional garrisons were thrown into the Tower and Tilbury Fort. Portsmouth and Sheerness were strengthened. London remained quiet, but the Christmas festivities were suspected of unfortunate possibilities. There was talk of threatening Shaftesbury with a prosecution.[431]
Instead of a prosecution Shaftesbury was drawn into a negotiation with the court. The French ambassador learned with agitation that the earl went secretly by night to Whitehall to discuss terms of settlement with the king. Shaftesbury offered to let drop the Exclusion bill and assure Charles an ample revenue for the rest of his life if he would consent to a divorce and to marry a Protestant. The king should make a show of resistance, to be overborne by apparently irresistible pressure, the country would be satisfied, and peace return to the land. Charles made believe that he viewed the notion with favour. Only Lord Holles and very few others were admitted to knowledge of what was passing. Soon Lauderdale, whose character and career were particularly displeasing to the Presbyterians, was added to their number. Holles drew back, then fell ill, and the scheme languished. Nevertheless Shaftesbury hoped for success. Suddenly his hopes were shattered. On January 29, 1680 Charles brought the matter to an end by declaring to the council that, since the Duke of York’s absence had not produced the desired effect, he was about to recall him to England. A royal yacht left immediately for Edinburgh to convey him thence. On February 24 James arrived in London. The recorder of the city presented him with a complimentary address. A sumptuous banquet was given the royal brothers by the Lord Mayor. To crown the display a grand illumination was arranged to testify the extraordinary joy all good subjects were supposed to feel.[432] Shaftesbury might well harbour resentment at the artifice of which he had been a victim.
In the “Appeal from the Country to the City” the Duke of Monmouth was recommended by name to be the saviour of the people, since he who had the worst title was like to make the best king. Between that, the project of the queen’s divorce, and the pretence that Monmouth was in fact the legitimate heir to the throne the minds of Whig politicians wavered. The last idea had already risen to such prominence that, when the Duke of York left the kingdom in March, a solemn declaration was drawn from Charles that he had never married or made any contract of marriage with any other woman than his wife, Queen Catherine, then living.[433] For greater security the king’s signature was attested by his councillors and the deed enrolled in Chancery. Shaftesbury had no sooner emerged from his defeat of the midnight meetings at Whitehall than the fable sprang into renewed life. Mysterious tales were bruited abroad of a certain black box, which, if found, should contain the contract of marriage between the king and Lucy Walters, mother of the Duke of Monmouth. The box was said to be in the possession of Sir Gilbert Gerard. If it did not contain the actual contract, at any rate there lay in it a certificate from the hand of Dr. Cosens, late Bishop of Durham, who had solemnised the marriage. Others had it that one Dr. Clare, an eminent royalist parson, had read the service. At least the ceremony had been witnessed by a judge and three other persons of quality. The story attained such proportions that an extraordinary meeting of the council was held. Sir Gilbert Gerard was called to state what he knew. It appeared that he knew nothing. He had never seen either contract or box, and had no knowledge whatever of anything of the sort. The rumour was traced to a maternal aunt of the late Lucy Walters: who had set her on could only be conjectured. It cannot be doubted that the tale emanated from the office of the Whig party. The authors of it were men of versatility. Sir Gilbert Gerard’s statement seemed to have dissolved the myth, but within a few weeks the appearance of a pamphlet entitled “A Letter to a Person of Honour concerning the Black Box” brought the facts again into question.[434] The whole account of the black box, affirmed the letter, was a mere romance, an ingenious device of the Duke of York to sham and ridicule the marriage, which indeed had no relation to it, for with the exposure of the box the true history would at the same time fall into discredit. It was notorious that assurance of Monmouth’s legitimacy had been given to the Countess of Wemyss before she disposed her daughter in marriage to him. In a letter from the king to Mrs. Walters, intercepted by Cromwell’s officers, he had addressed her as wife. And it was beyond doubt that she had actually received homage from many of the royalist party. Many copies of this pamphlet were scattered in the Exchange and dispersed throughout the kingdom. It had an instant effect. On June 7 another declaration was published by the king, condemning the libel, denouncing its falsehood, and forbidding all subjects on pain of the utmost rigour of the law to utter anything contrary to the royal pronouncement. The result was a second “Letter to a Person of Honour,” in which Charles’ word was contradicted and his motives traduced. All the former statements were repeated, some arguments added, and the pamphlet ended by the modest proposals, “That Parliament, being admitted to sit, may examine this affair, whereof they alone are competent judges; and that the Duke of York may be legally tried for his manifold treasons and conspiracies against the king and kingdom,” which treasons were set out at length in thirty-four articles.[435] To carry the war still further into the enemies’ camp, on June 26 Shaftesbury appeared in Westminster Hall in company with the Earl of Huntingdon, Lord Grey, Lord Gerard, Lord Russell, Lord Cavendish, and nine commoners to present the Duke of York to the grand jury as a popish recusant and to indict the Duchess of Portsmouth for a national nuisance. With them went Titus Oates, invested as it were with a representative authority on behalf of the Whig party. That both charges were true is certain; but the action of the Whigs was dictated by a purely partisan spirit, and Chief Justice Scroggs, judging the fact so, discharged the jury before they could find a bill. Four days later the attack was repeated in another court, and with the same result. The judges only followed their chief’s example. James appeared downcast and knew well what danger he ran. His adversaries seemed to be throwing off the mask, strong in the support of which they were assumed to be conscious. When it was told to Shaftesbury that the king had railed at him and his party as seditious rebels, he replied aloud and in public, “The king has nothing to do but take the pains to punish rebels and seditious persons. We will keep with the bounds of the law, and we shall easily find means by the law to make him walk out of the kingdom.” There were not many who could boast of having the last laugh in a game with Charles. Not many months after, when the law by which he held was put into operation against the Whig leader, Charles heard that Shaftesbury had accused him of suborning perjurers, and thereupon very pleasantly quoted a Scotch proverb. Veiled in the decency of a learned language it ran: “In die extremi judicii videbimus cui podex nigerrimus sit.”[436]
Violent distempers were now feared on all sides. Partisans of the Prince of Orange were intriguing keenly on his behalf. In the spring of the year Charles was ill again, and the several parties hastily met to concert action. “God keep the nation,” wrote Dorothy Sidney, “from the experiment what they could have done.” The danger may be gauged by the fact that, had the king’s illness continued, three hundred members of the Commons were determined to remain sitting despite the prorogation. A considerable movement was detected among the London prentices. The date of May 29 had been fixed for a large meeting to be held under pretence of burning the Rump; four or five thousand men had pledged themselves to attend, but information was laid, the leaders arrested, and the outbreak apprehended by the court did not take place.[437] Those of the opposite party were no less alarmed. Their chief enemy, James, was holding a brilliant court and still maintained himself against them. Shaftesbury left town for Easter, fearing a personal attack. Mr. William Harbord looked abroad to spy some safe retreat. Sir William Waller fled to Holland, thence to Italy, pursued by the watchful eye of the government. On the pretext of Catholic intrigues, the city guards were doubled.[438] A penetrating observer might have perceived a change drawing over the spirit of the times. While the Whig attack, far from having spent itself, grew only the more fierce, and a final struggle with authority seemed imminent, the nation had begun to reflect upon the turn of events. If passion was exasperated by the last bold step against the Duke of York, it shewed too the extremity to which his opponents were driving. Thereafter could be no thought of reconciliation: they must either ruin him or themselves end in ruin. It was not without some justice that Charles I called the English sober. As the future was dimly shaped to men in shadows of high misfortune, the fear of open strife and loss of all they had given so much to gain in recalling Charles II to the throne of his fathers weighed more heavily upon them. Innate reverence for authority, standing to the letter of its rights, returned in some of its ancient force. Though they were willing to see the royal prerogative curbed, there was no sympathy for those who would strike against its existence. And in the party which fostered terror and maddened the nation by the Popish Plot were not a few to whom this was the object, Independents and other sectaries, fierce republicans who had fought through the Civil War and might not be sorry at the chance of fighting through another. It was felt that the least accident might throw everything into confusion. People began at length to test the stories circulated for their consumption. Tales “that Holborn should be burnt down and the streets run with blood” were no longer accepted on the mere statement. The Irish Plot, loudly denounced about this time by Shaftesbury, found small credence except from the London mob, and even in London the busy merchants who feared disorder exercised an influence of restraint. At the end of July Sir Leoline Jenkins was able to write: “Letters from several parts beyond the seas do tell us that we are represented there as if we were already in a flame. God be praised! ’tis no such matter. All things are as still and peaceable as ever they were, only we are pelted at with impudent, horrid libels.” Evidently the English nation was in no humour for a second civil war.[439]
The king met Parliament on October 21, 1680. James was again on his way to Edinburgh, induced to withdraw himself by a promise of full support, but inwardly persuaded that he was lost. Seven of the council had favoured the journey, eleven were against it. “Since he has so many friends for him,” said Charles, “I see he must go.” In spite of gay hearts the royal prospect was not bright. The king had tried a bout with the Whigs over the city elections, and was forced to accept their choice; and the Duchess of Portsmouth, fearful of an attack on herself and with a heavy bribe in her purse, had gone over to the side of his enemies.[440] The session opened with turbulence almost unexampled even in the hot times that had passed. For discrediting the Plot in the last parliament, a member had been expelled by the Commons. He was now followed by two others. Petitioning was voted to be the right of the subject. Abhorrers were violently attacked. Charles had long expressed his willingness for any compromise that should leave his brother the title of king when he came to the throne, and offered Expedients, the effect of which would be to take all power from the hands of the sovereign. Similar proposals were made by others also. Halifax suggested that the duke should be banished for five years, Essex an association in defence of the Protestant religion, Shaftesbury would still be satisfied by a divorce. Otherwise he stood firm for Exclusion. James viewed the Expedients alike with horror, and the Commons rejected them with insult. Once let a popish king have the title, it was said, and he would take the power too. “Expedients in politics are like mountebanks’ tricks in physic,” cried Sir William Jones. The bill, the bill, and nothing but the bill, was the cry. Colonel Titus summed the matter up neatly. “You shall have the Protestant religion,” he said, “you shall have what you will to protect you, but you must have a popish king who shall command your armies and your navies, make your bishops and judges. Suppose there were a lion in the lobby, one cries: Shut the door and keep him out. No, says another, open the door and let us chain him when he comes in.” The metaphor became popular in verse:—
I hear a lion in the lobby roar;
Say, Mr. Speaker, shall we shut the door