Life of Edward Earl of Clarendon — Volume 02

by Sir Henry Craik

THE TRIUMPH OF FACTION

Just as peace had been cemented amongst his enemies, in preparation for a final attack, Clarendon was struck by a heavy blow of domestic bereavement. Throughout all the vicissitudes of his life, amidst the hardships of exile, and in the still heavier anxieties that surrounded his later years of seeming prosperity, Clarendon had ever found in his family a centre of affection, and a source of consolation—broken only for a season when his eldest daughter was raised, by her marriage with the Duke, to a position which Clarendon knew well involved danger, both for her and for himself. His wife had proved an affectionate helpmate, and it is to her credit that in these Court circles which jealousy had rendered vigilant of any trace of scandal, and keen to note any assumption of arrogance, the wife of the Chancellor provoked the attacks of no enemies, and managed to elude the wrangles and bickerings of the Palace. In the summer of 1667, after a brief illness, she who had been his life's companion was taken from him, when, deprived of all his early friends, he was most in need of the comfort of a loving heart. Belonging, by birth, to the higher grade of the squirearchy, Lady Clarendon had married in her own rank, with every promise of all the comfort and dignity of honoured station, and in the first years had enjoyed a rare felicity of happy wedded life. When the career of politics absorbed her husband, she submitted without murmur to the interruption of that happiness, and in after years, without repining, she accepted the burden of the breaking up of her home, long years of anxiety, and the trials and privations of exile. She carried her later elevation to high rank without pride or ostentation. She does not lose her right to our respect because she earned what the Greek historian pronounces to be woman's highest glory, the least noisy echo either of praise or blame. That helpmate he lost just at the moment when all the forces of factious bitterness, of meanness, and of ingratitude, were preparing to vent their venom upon him.

The loss fell upon one already sorely tried by long and painful illness, against which he fought with courageous manliness. He was well aware that the weight of ill-will was rapidly accumulating against him. He had opposed the summoning of Parliament for the purpose of securing supplies to meet the exigencies of the war, on the ground that such anticipation of the day fixed for the resumption of its business was illegal. The expedient he had contemplated was a temporary loan, and this had been easily twisted, by the perverseness of his enemies, into a suggestion of raising funds without the consent of Parliament, in order to maintain a standing army. His advice had been set aside, and Parliament had been summoned for July 25th. But peace had already been secured, and immediate supply was no longer necessary. The King prorogued Parliament on July 29th, but not before the House had passed a resolution against a standing army. This abrupt dismissal of Parliament, when its presence was no longer called for, inflamed the anger against Clarendon. Those who had hoped to find an opportunity of pressing home their attack upon him in Parliament were indignant at the loss of this opportunity. Even the moderate men desired an explanation, and wished to be relieved of suspicions that arbitrary taxation was once more to be attempted. Those who were scandalized by the proceedings of the Court were prepared to make their anger felt, and had no mind to be silenced. The country members had trooped to Westminster from all parts of England, when long journeys were no easy matter. They returned home in no pleasant humour, grudging at once the expense which they had borne, and the muzzling to which they were subjected; [Footnote: See Pepys' Diary, under July 29,1667.] and the murmuring all fell upon Clarendon's devoted head. It was just as it grew most threatening that his wife's death plunged him into mourning.

"Within a few days after his wife's death, the King vouchsafed to come to his house to condole with him, and used many gracious expressions to him." [Footnote: Life, iii. 282.] When Charles had a scheme on foot that was peculiarly shabby or selfish, he knew how to conceal his intention under a gracious manner. The limit of his patience to suffer Clarendon's scoldings, or of his power to resist the pressure of his boon companions, was nearly reached; but he could yet hope that a solution might be found that would save any vexatious upbraidings. Clarendon might surely be persuaded to retire, and the peace of the Court would not then be broken by these troublesome wranglings. Less than a fortnight afterwards, the Duke of York was made the bearer of an astounding message. The King, he told Clarendon, had asked after him, and had been told by the Duke that "he was the most disconsolate man he ever saw;" that not only was he grieved for the loss of his wife, but that he feared he had lost the favour of his master, who seemed of late to have "withdrawn his countenance from him." Charles had made an evasive answer; but on a later day he explained himself more fully to the Duke. He knew, he said, from sure information that the Chancellor was "very odious" to the Parliament, and that at its next meeting an impeachment would certainly be moved. "Not only had he opposed them in all those things upon which they had set their hearts, but he had proposed and advised their dissolution." For the good of his Majesty's service, and for his own preservation, it was imperatively necessary that he should deliver up the seal. He might choose himself what should be the manner of doing so—whether it should be done personally, or through an intermediary. The Duke did not deny the danger, but he lamented the resolution of the King.

Clarendon was profoundly astonished. That the plainness of his criticism and advice had come to irritate the King, and that a persistent plotting against his influence was on foot, could hardly have been news to him. Strong as were his reasons for distrusting Charles, he can hardly have failed to have measured the depths of his dissimulation, or to have realized his readiness to yield to pressure. But his confidence in his own rectitude made him bold. He refused to believe that the majority of the House distrusted him, or that his enemies had that commanding influence which they claimed in order to intimidate the King. He was confident that, be their malice what it might, the Parliament was not of their mind. In that belief he demanded to speak with the King, before he delivered up the seal. He could not, indeed, go to the King, as gout disabled him, and the usages of the day did not permit of his being seen abroad so soon after the death of his wife; but the Duke did not doubt that he could prevail with the King to do as he had often done before, and come to Clarendon House. That hope was not fulfilled; the King declined to visit Clarendon, but was prepared to see him at Whitehall.

It may well be doubted whether Clarendon would not have served his own cause better, and that with no injury to public interests, had he complied with the request. His health was now broken; the phalanx of his enemies was overwhelmingly strong; and even had he been allowed to breast the storm for a few years more, and had he found that courageous support which it was not in Charles's nature to give, in maintaining the fight, he must have carried on his work in the face of increasing petulance on the part of his master, and increasing bitterness of venom from his enemies. The hopes that had inspired him, when he saw the Restoration accomplished, had long vanished; it could have been with only a shadow of his old courage that he would still have continued to guide the ship of the State. Charles was shrewd enough in judging the temper of the nation, and could form a good estimate of the force of the opposition; and there is no reason to think that he was wrong in supposing that a timely surrender would have saved his Minister from anything more than the loss of office—a loss to which Clarendon would not have attached much importance. The very fact that his enemies were obnoxious to the darts of scandal, and that the nation was watching them jealously; the very probability that many would have resented the fall of a Minister who had notoriously fought against the flagrant indecencies of the Court—these were additional reasons why Arlington and his faction would have been content with the removal of the object of their hatred, and would perhaps have foregone further persecution. Clarendon's voluntary retirement, upon the private suggestion conveyed from the King, might have saved him from the hardships that darkened his closing years, and might have prevented his feeling, in its full force, the poison of the King's ingratitude.

But we must remember other considerations that could not be absent from Clarendon's mind. History had not yet many instances to show of a Minister who had fallen from high place, and yet was suffered to lead a private life in peace. It was just a quarter of a century since Essex had used the menacing words in regard to Strafford, "Stone-dead hath no fellow." Arlington's ill-gotten influence might have felt itself threatened, if an ex-Chancellor with Clarendon's unrivalled prestige had been ready to permit his mansion in Piccadilly to be the resort of all who sought to form a powerful parliamentary opposition. The instinct of self- preservation may well have suggested to Clarendon that there might be few steps between his abdication and the Tower and scaffold. But still more, the central principles of his life forbade Clarendon to desert his post. He might not infrequently be prejudiced; he certainly was often sternly obstinate; he took too little account of the views of other men, and failed to adapt himself to the changed circumstances of the day. But never, in all his career, did he compromise with his duty, or give way to threats of personal danger. Adversity and he had long been familiar, and it may be doubted whether he would not have preferred to accept those few last years of banishment, rather than have yielded one jot of his own relentless resolution, or given occasion to his enemies to boast that they had made him shrink before them. We may doubt the wisdom of his decision; we cannot refuse our homage to his undaunted courage.

But the breach between the King and the Chancellor, and Clarendon's threatened fall, were already the theme of Court gossip. The Duchess learned that his resignation had been demanded, and she, with his old friend Archbishop Sheldon, and the Duke of Albemarle, joined in remonstrating with the King in no measured terms. Other lesser persons followed their example, and Charles soon found that the change was not to be carried out without seriously impinging on his own cherished ease. He protested that he sought nothing but Clarendon's safety, and that he had believed from what he had heard "of the extreme agony the Chancellor was in upon the death of his wife, that he had himself desired to be dismissed from his office." Albemarle was sent to require Clarendon's presence at Whitehall, and seems both to have believed, and to have desired, that what was but a passing misunderstanding might be easily arranged. The interview, at which the Duke of York was present, took place upon August 26th. Charles received him graciously and protested his sense of his high services, and his earnest desire to preserve him from the malice of his enemies. He did not scruple to add that he "had verily believed" that the demand for his resignation "had his own consent and desire." He had fancied that his brother concurred, however much he now protested. It is not impossible to believe that James may have found it convenient not to speak in exactly the same tone to his father-in-law and to his brother.

But apart from all mistakes as to personal feeling, the King was positive not only as to the intention of impeachment, but that the fate of Strafford would be the probable result for Clarendon, if he did not yield to the storm. If he did so yield, Charles was confident that he could preserve him, and that he could in this way best provide for his own business. He added a consideration which really gave the lie to what he had just said. "He was sorry that the business had taken so much air, and was so publicly spoken of, that he knew not how to change his purpose." He had surely a better reason for not changing his purpose, if he was persuaded that no change could be made without hazard to the Chancellor's life.

Clarendon's reply to Charles's shuffling was firm and dignified. He had no desire that the King should change his resolution. But he would not suffer it to be believed that his delivery of the seal was his own willing act. "He should not think himself a gentleman, if he were willing to depart, and withdraw himself from office, in a time when he thought his Majesty would have need of all honest men." Neither was he ready to acknowledge that the deprivation was "in order to do him good." It was "the greatest ruin he could undergo," and instead of saving him, it would deliver him, a discredited man, to the malice and vengeance of his enemies. His last declaration was the most scornful of all.