1640, November.
Perhaps there is not on record another great debate in which such unanimity found expression, and such volleys of grape-shot rattled into a regiment of abuses. No question, however, affecting the fundamental principles of the Establishment was at present raised; but the corruptions which had covered and choked it were unsparingly threatened. Towards them nothing but indignation was shown.
When the debate had closed with the appointment of a Committee to prepare a remonstrance, the House, well knowing that the right way to obtain a blessed issue was to implore the divine assistance, resolved to desire the Lords to join with them in requesting his Majesty to allow so holy a preparation, and, further, to appoint a general fast.
What the next day witnessed is most memorable for its political consequences, yet it also involved ecclesiastical results of the greatest importance. The Earl of Strafford, though suffering from the gout to which he was a martyr, had hastened to London, and reached it on the 10th of November; fully comprehending the state of affairs, and meditating measures for stopping the tide of revolution. People believed he had a project for accusing the patriots of a share in the Scotch invasion; and that, failing other schemes, there remained the old expedient of dissolving Parliament.
The Earl, the morning after his arrival in London, went down to the House and took his seat; being received with all the "expressions of honour and observance, answerable to the dignity of his place, and the esteem and credit which he had with the King as the chief Minister of State. But this day's sun was not fully set before his power and greatness received such a diminution as gave evident symptoms of his approaching ruin."[101]
Debates on Religion.
His fellow-counsellor and trusty adherent, Archbishop Laud, moved that from a Committee of the two Houses, to be held that afternoon, he and four other bishops might be spared their attendance, on account of a meeting of Convocation. The Prime Minister and the Archbishop left the House, little dreaming of what would happen before sunset on that November day.
Pym had heard of Strafford's arrival. Knowing the man, regarding his return as ominous, and with a keen eye piercing into the heart of his policy, he felt that he must grapple with him at once. Not merely for himself had it come to be a question of life or death, but all reform in Church and State depended on an immediate defeat of Strafford. If suffered to do what he pleased but for another day, he might render all the work of the last few months abortive, and bring back absolutism in triumph. Men said of him, "he had much more of the oak than the willow about his heart." To bend the oak was impossible, and therefore Pym resolved to cut it down. Another such instance of timely sternness there is not in English history.
1640, November.
Twelve years before, at Greenwich,—when Strafford, faithless to his party, thought of accepting a coronet,—Pym had said to him, "You are going to leave us, but I will never leave you while your head is upon your shoulders." Did those words cross the mind of the patriotic statesman as he passed through the lobby to take his accustomed seat on the morning of the most memorable day of his life? Suddenly he rose, looked round on the well-filled benches, and said he had matter great importance to bring forward. "Let the strangers' room be cleared," he went on to ask, "and the outer doors be locked, and the keys laid on the clerk's table." This done, breathless silence followed. Before the Parliament of England, now sitting in secret conclave, Pym spoke out boldly what was in his heart. The kingdom had fallen into a miserable condition. "Waters of bitterness" were flowing through the land; he must enquire, he said, "from what fountain? what persons they are who have so far insinuated themselves into the royal affections, as to be able to pervert His Majesty's excellent judgment, to abuse his name, and apply his authority to support their own corrupt designs?"