Monk had now led the country another distinct march along the thorny path he was clearing with such anxious devotion, and Sir William Davenant burst out into a long panegyric on the occasion. But at the same time he reminded the general—
"Yet greater work ensues such as will try
How far three realms may on your strength rely."
The Parliament was gone, but the Council of State remained, and there the patriotic struggle began again! The Presbyterian section was strong, and outside it was backed by a powerful combination, at the head of which were Northumberland, Manchester and the men of the days to which the Self-Denying Ordinance put an end. These saw that a restoration was inevitable, and felt that the only salvation of the country lay in a renewal of the Isle of Wight treaty. Though baulked by Monk's watchfulness in their attempt to get the King recalled by a Presbyterian Parliament, they did not despair of outmarching the Cavaliers and Opportunists. Their last chance was in a restoration through the agency of the Council of State before the new Parliament could meet, and again and again they pressed Monk to openly espouse their cause. He only said he was in the service of the Commonwealth and could not listen. The pressure grew greater, the party more powerful, and he found it necessary to treat their proposals more seriously, but still he gave no hope. In despair, at last, they seized upon some expression he had let fall to send word to the King that they had won him, and that they were prepared to enter into formal negotiations for a restoration. A fortnight before the needy voluptuary, weary of his exile, would have embraced the offer with avidity, but now, to the astonishment of all concerned, the proposition was coldly, almost contemptuously received. Something had happened of which they were in entire ignorance, something so singular as almost to startle us anew into an exaggeration of the personal influence in history.
Up till now Monk's reputation as a Commonwealth man was practically without a spot. By honestly doing his duty he had lived down every suspicion. All but the most sanguine of the Cavalier agents considered him hopelessly loyal to his trust. Best known of these was his cousin Sir John Grenville, who, in spite of his notorious malignancy, was free of St. James's on the ground of his relationship. But he had no better luck than the rest. Fruitlessly he sought a private interview through his old friend Morice. Night after night he stayed till every one was gone, but "Good-night, cousin; 'tis late," was all he got for his pains as the wary old general went off to bed.
Such was Monk's position when the Portuguese ambassador asked for an audience. The recent treaty of the Pyrenees had left Portugal at the mercy of Spain, and she had sent a special envoy to England to seek assistance. For some time past the envoy had been in negotiation with the Council of State for a renewal of Cromwell's alliance, but the action of the Presbyterian leaders seems to have demonstrated to him that its authority was moribund. The power of Monk and the now inevitable recall of the King suggested to him a brilliant piece of diplomacy, and he resolved to flash a dazzling proposal in the eyes of the general. Father Russell, the secretary to the embassy, seems first to have sounded Morice. But at all events, amidst the enormous mass of business with which he exhausted his secretaries, Monk found time for an interview.
The ambassador began by saying that without wishing to pry into the general's intentions with regard to the King, he thought it only right to tell him that Charles Stuart ought at once to get out of Spanish territory. He was then at Brussels, and the envoy assured Monk that the moment the Spaniards got wind of the national reaction in favour of a restoration they would kidnap his person, and hold him as a hostage for the retrocession of Jamaica and Dunkirk. Monk, who already had reason to suspect the Spaniards of intriguing with the Irreconcilables through the Jesuits, was much impressed, and the ambassador was encouraged to explain his solicitude for Charles's safety. In the event of a restoration, he said, his master was prepared, in return for military assistance against Spain, to offer the King the hand of the Infanta, and with her a dowry of an unheard-of sum of money, together with the towns of Tangiers and Bombay. The advantages of the arrangement it was needless to point out. It would give to England the command of the Mediterranean and East Indian trade, and enable her to complete the humiliation of her great rival which the heroes of the Armada had begun.
To a man of Monk's hot patriotism, who remembered Raleigh, who had been moulded into manhood while Drake and Grenville and Hawkins were living memories, the proposal was too dazzling to resist. His passion for the expansion of England had never been quenched. His faith in it as a panacea for all political trouble was as strong as ever. Before him stretched the prospect of a glorious war, in which the fierce ardour of the Fanatic soldiers would find worthy employ, and serve to lift their country out of the slough into which they had plunged it to a greatness beyond the dreams of their fathers. The fires of his youth were rekindled. He may even have dreamed of ending his career in wiping out the disgrace in which it had begun, and at the head of the most powerful navy and the finest army in the world of outshining the greatest of the great Queen's captains.
Whatever was the overmastering cause, the wary strategist suddenly changed front, cast his scruples to the winds, and the Portuguese ambassador immediately applied to the Council for a frigate to carry him and his portentous secret to Lisbon. Monk had determined to communicate with the King. Charles's danger was great and pressing. At any moment a precipitate message from the Presbyterians to the Court might give the Spaniard the signal to act; nor was the anxious general without good ground to suspect that the French ambassador was intriguing with the Manchester cabal, and that Mazarin had a chance, if not an intention, of playing the same game. On the eve of its accomplishment the long-wished-for settlement was in desperate peril of wreck, and calm and swift as ever the old soldier set to work single-handed to thwart the designs of the two most renowned diplomatists in Europe.
Absolute secrecy was essential. The Portuguese negotiations with the Committee of Safety were continued as if nothing had happened, and the general looked round for a messenger on whom he could implicitly rely. Morice could not be spared, and it was clear that Grenville was the only man. After two ineffectual attempts to induce him to disclose his secret mission to Morice, Monk was convinced of his discretion, and granted him an interview. In the dead of night, shortly after the dissolution, he was introduced into Morice's private apartments at St. James's. The general appeared from a secret stairway, and Grenville without preface or apology thrust into his hands the King's letters which his cousin Nicholas had refused to take up to Scotland. Monk started back, and asked him fiercely how he dared so play the traitor.
The Cavalier quietly replied that in the service of the King, his master, danger had grown familiar to him. Overcome with his young kinsman's coolness, and the memories of all he owed to his house, the old general unbent at once and cordially embraced him. Then he read the King's letter. In flattering terms it assured him of Charles's favour, and of his intention to follow Monk's advice implicitly if he would only espouse his cause. Grenville added what he had been authorised to promise—a hundred thousand a year for him and his officers, any title he chose, and the office of Lord High Constable. Monk replied that what he did was for his country's good, and that he would not sell his duty or bargain for his allegiance. Grenville pressed for a written answer, but the wary soldier refused; he had intercepted too many letters himself. Grenville was told he must take his reply by word of mouth, and so was dismissed till the morrow.