Life of Edward Earl of Clarendon — Volume 02

by Sir Henry Craik

It was this general confusion, and the dangers which it threatened, that formed the theme of the King's Speech to Parliament at the opening of the session in March, 1664. That Speech was doubtless composed by Clarendon, and may be taken as expressing his views. [Footnotes: It is given by Clarendon (Life, ii. 281) with a fullness which proves that he had the notes of it still in his possession.] "The spirits of many of our old enemies," it said, "were still active." Old conspiracies, detected in the capital, had shown themselves once more in the provinces.

"The malcontents were still pursuing the same consultation, and have correspondence with desperate persons in most counties, and a standing council in the metropolis, from which they receive their directions, and by whom they were advised to defer their last intended insurrection." "These desperate men," he proceeded, "have not been all of one mind in the ways of carrying on their wicked resolutions. Some would still insist upon the authority of the Long Parliament, of which, they say, they have members enough willing to meet; others have fancied to themselves by some computation of their own, upon some clause of the Triennial Bill, that this present Parliament was at an end some months since; and that, for want of new writs, they may assemble themselves and choose members of Parliament."

Then follows a passage which has caused much searching of hearts amongst our Whig historians.

"I confess to you, my Lords and Gentlemen, I have often myself read over that Bill; and though there is no colour for the fancy of the determination of this Parliament, yet I will not deny to you, that I have always expected that you would, and even wondered that you have not considered the wonderful clauses of the Bill, which passed in a time very uncareful for the dignity of the Crown, or the security of the people…. I need not tell you how much I love Parliaments. Never King was so much beholden to Parliaments as I have been, nor do I think the Crown can ever be happy without frequent Parliaments. But, assure yourselves, if I should think otherwise, I could never suffer a Parliament to come together by the means prescribed in that Bill." [Footnote: In a note upon this passage, Mr. Lister assumes that it means only that the King pledged himself to summon a Parliament within the prescribed time, rather than allow it to meet by the operation of the Act; but that he did not contemplate anything but submission to the Act, in the event of failure of such summons. He differs—with some hesitation—from Mr. Hallam, who stigmatizes it as "an audacious declaration, equivalent to an avowed design, in certain circumstances, of preventing the execution of the laws by force of arms"— a declaration such as "was never before heard from the lips of an English King." We take the liberty of agreeing with Hallam's interpretation as against Lister's, but of dissenting from Hallam's estimate of the culpability of the avowal.]

It is absurd to think it needful either to explain away such a plain statement of policy, or to attribute to its author any constitutional crime. The King declared his intention to have constant recourse to Parliaments. But he also declared, with good reason, not only that he gave no weight whatever to the baseless assumption that a new Parliament must be elected every three years, but also that he would never feel himself justified, by the provisions of an Act of Parliament passed under evil auspices, in permitting a Parliament to be elected under conditions which necessarily implied a complete subversion of every constitutional principle. There is such a thing as pedantic reverence for statute law. It is perfectly clear that a statute which provided that electors might proceed themselves to elect their representatives, and that sovereign power should be committed to these representatives, virtually assumes a state of anarchy to prevail. No constituted authority could, consistently with its fundamental duty, ever contemplate a case in which it could voluntarily permit such procedure. Far from proclaiming an intention to infringe the constitution, Charles only uttered a commonplace of administrative duty. It is perfectly clear that to permit the course indicated in the Triennial Act would be to bring into being not one Parliament, but as many Parliaments as there were different factions in the country, free to meet together and chose their own representatives as and how they pleased. In such a case effective government would have ceased to exist. The Speech from the Throne had at least the desired effect. The Bill for the repeal of the Triennial Act passed rapidly through both Houses. Parliament was not to be intermitted for more than three years; but the enactment was buttressed by none of the obnoxious provisions of the previous Act, which would have preserved the fiction of a free Parliament by a resort to the methods of anarchy, and by assuming that such methods were consistent with constitutional and settled government.

But further measures appeared necessary to secure the safety of Church and Crown. Alarm had been created by the threatening tone of the addresses in the "congregated churches," where the preachers drew their most effective metaphors from the language of the camp and the battlefield, and where he was heard with most reverence who depicted in the most lurid language the doom which overhung the Court and the Church, and of which it was the duty of every devout enthusiast to make himself the instrument. To check this it was deemed necessary to proscribe Conventicles, and a new Bill was introduced, and rapidly passed, declaring any meeting of more than five persons for religious services, otherwise than in accordance with the Liturgy of the Church, to be "a seditious and unlawful conventicle." The penalty for attendance was, in the case of a first offender, to be a fine of five pounds, or three months' imprisonment; ten pounds, or six months for a second offence; and thereafter transportation, or a fine of one hundred pounds. It is, of course, easy to denounce this Act on the specious and readily accepted principle of religious toleration. But, as it met with no opposition in a Parliament where there was already a party prepared to thwart the measures of the Court, we must assume that the general sense of danger appeared to justify it beyond possibility of contradiction. We must at least not forget, in judging the justification of the Act, that it embodied the same principles which were applied until the last quarter of the eighteenth century, under a succession of Whig administrations, to assemblies of Episcopalian adherents in Scotland, and of Roman Catholics in both countries. If the principle of religious toleration is to be a universal guide, it is difficult to say why the maxims it enjoins should be held to apply only in the case of Presbyterians and Independents. Whatever the blame to be measured out to the promoters of the Act, there is no ground for exempting Clarendon from his share of responsibility. Our estimate of the weight of that responsibility will vary according as we judge the real danger of the situation. That there was widespread and implacable disaffection, there can be no reasonable doubt. That it was fostered to a very large extent by the earnest sympathy, and the stimulating harangues, of the sectarian preachers, admits of just as little doubt. Rumours of plots were thickening day by day. Evidence was forthcoming of a plan for seizing the Tower, and one, Colonel Danvers, who was concerned in it, was rescued from the hands of the King's officers by open force. [Footnote: Pepys, August 5th, 1665.] The Plague not unnaturally increased the panic that prevailed; and the air seemed darkened by vague threatenings, in which war, pestilence, and famine cast their gloomy shadows over the land. It is hard to say how Clarendon, or any other Minister, could have withstood the determination of Parliament to make adequate provision against what it deemed to be impending dangers.

The increasing prevalence of the Plague forced the Court and Parliament once again, in 1665, to move to Oxford; and there legislation followed the same course. Still further security was deemed necessary against the dissenting clergy, and a new Bill was introduced, providing that all non- conforming clergy should take the oath of non-resistance—declaring that it was unlawful on any pretence, to take up arms against the King, and that they would at no time endeavour any alteration of government in Church and State; and providing that those who refused the oath should be incapable of teaching in schools, and should not be permitted to reside within five miles [Footnote: Hence its popular name of "The Five Mile Act.">[ of any city or burgh returning members to Parliament, or of any place where they had acted as ministers of religion.

The Bill was evidently conceived under the influence of a panic. Absurd as were its provisions, they would perhaps not have been so severely condemned, under the high ethical standard of later historians, had they not been accompanied by the almost humorous provision that the penalties should be escaped by an oath, which not the most compliant Nonconformists could possibly have accepted. Sarcastic pleasantries of that sort always bring upon coercive legislation a heavier condemnation than it would otherwise incur.

Whatever its merits or demerits, the Bill was one which the House of Commons was determined to have, and which it passed without a division. It was only in the Lords that it met with opposition. There its chief advocate was Archbishop Sheldon, whose inclination coincided with what he naturally believed to be his duty—to press every advantage for the Church. Sheldon was faithful to his convictions, and frankly desirous of securing the Church against any new efforts of the Nonconformists. His attitude was that of the stalwart ecclesiastical protagonist, whose business it was to avenge the wrongs of the Church, not to conciliate her foes; and considerations of what was prudent in secular politics had no concern for him. Between Sheldon and Clarendon there was the sympathy of old and tried friendship and of comradeship in many a hard fight. But Clarendon, faithful friend of the Church as he was, did not always see eye to eye with ecclesiastics. We have seen how often and how severely he could criticize them; and his sympathy with their general object did not always commend to him their methods. His doubts might not always lead him to assume an attitude of open and direct opposition. Deliberate abstention might be just as effective, and was less liable to be misunderstood by the friends of the Church. As a fact, in this case Clarendon was absent from the debates owing to his persistent enemy, the gout. He expresses no opinion adverse or otherwise upon the Act, of which he omits to make any mention. This sufficiently indicates his attitude towards it; and his own closest political ally, Southampton, offered direct opposition to the Bill in the Lords. Whatever his loyalty to the Church, Southampton declared, he could take no oath to pledge himself against any alteration, which he might even "see cause to endeavour."

We need have little doubt as to which way Clarendon's sympathies went in the dispute between his two old friends. But indeed the passing of the Bill depended upon no individual views and upon the action of no Minister. The House of Commons was more Royalist than the King—more orthodox than the Church. Charles was finding out now what he was to find out more surely as time went on, that the bull-headed obstinacy of his friends might be quite as troublesome as the intrigues and plottings of his foes. It would have been dangerous either for King or Minister to resist the impetuosity of Parliamentary intolerance. We cannot assume sympathy on Clarendon's part with these exaggerations of loyalty to the Church, from his general commendation of the Parliament at Oxford, and its legislation as a whole. It had, he tells us, "preserved that excellent harmony that the King had proposed." "Never Parliament so entirely sympathized with his Majesty;" "It passed more Acts for his honour and security than any other had ever done in so short a session." All this was strictly true; and that Parliament doubtless did not lose favour in Clarendon's eyes, because it met at Oxford, and amidst those congenial surroundings which reminded him of the old days, and the old fights amongst comrades whose aims were purer, and their hearts higher, than the actors on the present stage. Clarendon might, however, be fully persuaded of the honest aims of the Parliamentary Cavaliers, without approving all their methods or being blind to the danger these methods involved.