The refusal naturally increased the bitterness of his adversaries, and Harley especially, who rose in arms against him.
William, with all his predilection for the Chancellor, was at length persuaded of the expediency of removing him, and Lord Som̅ers received a hint to that effect, ‘which determined him to wait on his Majesty at Kensington, in order to know his real mind.’ The King told him plainly that the time had come when it was necessary for the Seals to pass into other hands, at the same time expressing a wish that Som̅ers himself would resign.
The Chancellor begged his Majesty’s pardon for following the advice of numerous friends, who had warned him against such a step, which would be ascribed to guilt or fear; adding that he well knew the designs of his enemies; that the Great Seal was his greatest crime, and if permitted to keep it, in spite of their malice, he would do so, being well aware what a bad use they would make of it. He had no fear of them, but he would be firm to his friends, with more in that style; but the King only shook his head, and said, ‘It must be so.’ And thus was Lord Som̅ers discharged from the great office which he had held for so many years, ‘with the highest reputation for capacity, integrity, and diligence.’
Strangely enough, this ever-coveted post was offered to and refused by several men ‘high in the law,’ possibly from the fear of comparison with such an illustrious predecessor. The Seals were at length delivered to Sir Nathan Wright, ‘in whom,’ says Burnet, ‘there was nothing equal to the post, much less to the man who had lately filled it.’
Wright represented a dark shadow between two such shining lights as Som̅ers and Cowper.
After a short residence at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of the waters, the ex-Chancellor retired to his villa, and, resuming his literary pursuits, strove to forget all the mortification and humiliation to which he had lately been exposed. Louis XIV., breaking through the conditions imposed by the Tradition Treaty, took advantage of a will made by the Spanish king on his deathbed, in which the imbecile Charles had been made to bequeath his dominions to the French king’s grandson, Philip of Anjou; and the young prince was despatched to Madrid with a splendid and exulting Court. A violent outcry ensued in England against the Whigs, and Lord Som̅ers in particular, to whom this public catastrophe was in a great measure attributed. Parliament was dissolved, and on the reassembling of the new House, the Commons proposed to impeach the ex-Chancellor for the part he had taken in concluding these treaties, and for other high crimes and misdemeanours. Prior thus alludes to the circumstance in writing to the Duke of Manchester: ‘I congratulate you on being out of this noise and tumult, where we are tearing and destroying every man his neighbour. To-morrow is the great day, when we expect my Lord Chancellor to be fallen upon, though God knows of what crime he is guilty, but that of being a great man and an upright judge.’ Som̅ers begged to be heard in his own defence, and his demeanour was so dignified, and his explanation so clear, as to enlist many members on his side, notably Robert Walpole, a young senator, afterwards Prime Minister, who took the warmest interest in Lord Som̅ers’s cause, and voted in his behalf. Notwithstanding, the motion for the impeachment (with that of four other noblemen) was carried in the House of Commons—a measure which caused tremendous indignation in the Upper House, ‘at the infringement of their privileges;’ while the King’s reply to the Lower House conveyed a rebuke (though couched in mild terms) for the irregularity of their proceedings. In spite of King and Peers the impeachment commenced, and fourteen articles were exhibited against Lord Som̅ers. The six first concerned his share in carrying out the Partition Treaties; the next five accused him of passing illegal grants of Crown property in his own favour; the thirteenth, of giving a commission to William Kid, pirate; ‘while the last,’ says Lord Campbell, ‘was a frivolous charge of judicial delinquency.’
A violent altercation now took place between the two Houses of Parliament regarding the time and manner of the trial, the Whig element at that time being paramount among the Lords, while the Tories preponderated in the Commons. So it came to pass, when the Peers were seated in great state in Westminster Hall, and Lord Som̅ers placed within the bar, the Commons were summoned to make good their indictment, but in vain. A long pause ensued, but not one member appeared, and after another solemn procession to and from their own House, their Lordships decided the question by themselves.
John Lord Som̅ers was acquitted by a majority of his peers, and the impeachment dismissed. ‘The following comparison between his demeanour and that of a former Chancellor, Lord Verulam, on a similar occasion, is thus drawn by Joseph Addison: ‘The conduct of these extraordinary persons under the same circumstances was vastly different. One, as he had given just occasion for his impeachment, sank under it, and was reduced to such abject submission as diminished the lustre of so exalted a character. But Lord Som̅ers was too well fortified in his integrity to fear the impotence of an attack on his reputation, and though his accusers would gladly have dropped their impeachment, he was instant for the prosecution, and would not let the matter rest till it was brought to an issue.’
The two Houses fell to fighting once more, and fierce and bitter hatred was fostered by the late proceedings. The Duke of Shrewsbury, Som̅ers’s early and faithful friend, alluding to these squabbles, thus writes to him from Rome: ‘I cannot help referring to my old opinion, and wonder that a man can be found in England, who has bread, that will be concerned in public business. Had I a son I would sooner breed him a cobbler than a courtier, and a hangman than a statesman.’
In 1701 James II. died, and Louis XIV. astonished Europe in general, and England in particular, by recognising the Pretender as King of England,—a step which even incensed the Jacobites, jealous of foreign interference, and set the Whig party in a flame. A reaction now took place in favour of the latter faction: the King dismissed his Tory Ministers, and it was confidently believed that in the formation of a new Cabinet Lord Som̅ers would resume office. But William’s days were numbered. His health had long been a source of anxiety to his friends and the nation at large, when a fatal accident hurried the crisis. He had not yet relinquished his favourite exercise of riding, and even occasionally hunted, but neither his seat nor his hand was what it had been. Riding one day through his favourite haunt of the Home Park at Hampton Court, mounted on ‘Grey Sorrel,’ the horse, having just broken into a gentle canter, stumbled at a molehill, and fell on his knees, throwing his rider, who broke his collar-bone, and otherwise injured himself. The bone was set; William proceeded in his coach to Kensington, but he never rallied. ‘His last days,’ says his enthusiastic admirer Macaulay, ‘were worthy of his life.’ He transacted business calmly, took an affectionate leave of his friends, joined in prayer with the two Bishops who attended him, and breathed his last. Round his neck was found, suspended to a black riband, the locket which contained the hair of his beloved wife.