In between his entertainment of the French ambassadors at Whitehall, his conferences with his Council, and all the routine of government, His Highness would take his coach and drive to Hampton, and sit for a while in his child's darkened chamber and pray with tears that her agony might be lessened.
His own health began to suffer. Those about him noticed that the deep gloom which had settled on his spirits was affecting his strength; he still looked and seemed in every way younger, much younger than his years; he had a great appearance of strength; he gave the impression of being firmly built, and set, and able to endure for a great while yet the powerful winds which buffeted his high and glorious pinnacle of splendour.
Yet those most with him, especially Thurloe, his ardent and faithful secretary, thought that underneath this calm and strong exterior he was much shaken in mind and health. His domestic sorrows were known to affect him sorely, his nerves were strained to breaking-point by the constant apprehension of assassination, the future was believed to weigh on him, for there was no settlement of the country for any period longer than his life, and it became daily more apparent how the whole fabric of Puritan government depended on that life, on his unique position and influence with the army, on the dominating force of his personality, on the glory of his prestige and the glamour of his genius.
He had always seemed so vigorous, and glowing with the light and the fire of an immortal spirit that no one associated him with age or death or thought about his successor; but it was possible that to himself, as the atmosphere of death chilled his home, might come the reflection that the England of his making was as baseless as the Greece of Alexander, and might as easily fall to pieces at his death—only his captains were not the men to divide the spoils. What, then, would follow?
He may well have asked himself that question and pondered over it in these dark days.
The Lord Richard, his eldest surviving son, was a mere country gentleman, with neither strength nor talents—nay, rather of an indolent turn and a certain softness; to set him to hold together the various elements which controlled the nation would be to invite certain failure.
The Lord Henry, his second son, was as able a man as any about him and already of much distinction in his military and diplomatic career; but he was not the man to step into another's place: ambition did not spur his noble qualities. Then there were the Lord Fleetwood, his son-in-law, the Lord Lambert, Disbrowe, many fine, fearless soldiers, Blake, Monck. But where was the man—the one pre-eminently marked out to continue the work of His Highness?
No one could point to such an one. The Lord-Protector had the right of naming his successor, but as yet had not done so; the new-founded Constitution (the last attempt to frame a civil government on the foundations of arbitrary military power) was scarcely complete, and after these last glorious successes in the Spanish War there was further persistent talk of a kingship for the Protector. Many said this title was a certain thing; but it was a thing yet pending, and with it the question of the succession.
There were many jars and confusions, too, in the inner state of England that might well weigh on the spirit of the Protector. His body was worn with gout and a slight but lingering aguish fever. He might neglect none of his business, and maintain the appearance of mental and physical strength, but John Thurloe, his constant companion, was not deceived.