On May 8th, the King was proclaimed at Westminster Hall and in the city; and bonfires and rejoicings took place, on a scale more prodigious even than when Monk had declared for a free Parliament. The happy news soon spread, and the exiled court was the resort of those who came post-haste to renew old bonds of loyalty, or to lay the foundations of a reputation for new-born zeal for their King. It was not long before those very lukewarm allies, Spain and France, broke down the barriers of their selfish caution, and vied with one another in protestations of friendship and offers of help that was no longer necessary. The unaccustomed warmth of their congratulations adds a new touch of comedy to the surprising scene. The Marquis of Carracena, Governor of Flanders, who had turned a deaf ear to all suggestions of alliance, and had not been slow to hint the inconvenience of the King's prolonged stay in Flanders, now craved his return to Brussels, and when the invitation was politely declined, could only vent his rage on Cardenas, whose dense stupidity had left him so ignorant of all English affairs, after a residence there of sixteen years. Cardinal Mazarin persuaded Queen Henrietta to send Jermyn (now Earl of St. Albans) to invite the King to France. Against that suggestion also, good excuse was pleaded—"the King had declined to return to Brussels, and could not therefore pass through Flanders in order to go to France." The mockery of these shameless overtures of belated friendship might well add to that cynicism which his experiences had done so much to imprint on Charles's heart and brain.
Crowds now came to Breda, no longer as disguised fugitives, but in eager rivalry to have their loyalty published and recognized. Their money offerings were welcome, as they enabled the King to pay his servants their arrears of wages and clear himself from the burden of debt to which he had been long accustomed. The States-General of Holland besought him "to grace the Hague with his royal presence," and received him with all the honour that an anxious ally could display, and all the pomp of magnificence which their wealth enabled them to lavish on the festivities with which they marked his visit. A few days later, letters were brought from Montague, who commanded the fleet, to announce his presence on the Dutch coast, and to ask the orders of the King. The Duke of York assumed the supreme command, and a day was passed in receiving the catalogue of the Fleet, and renaming those ships which recalled dismal memories of the Commonwealth. Soon after, the deputation from the Lords and Commons arrived at the Hague, bearing the supplication of both Houses "that his Majesty would be pleased to return, and take the Government of the kingdom into his hands," and as an earnest of their loyal duty they presented £50,000 to the King, £10,000 to the Duke of York, and £5000 to the Duke of Gloucester. A deputation from the City attended at the same time, to tender their loyalty to the King, and to make an offering of £10,000. It was little wonder that the King, who a few weeks before was hard put to it to borrow a few pistoles, and was deep in debt for the maintenance of his household, should receive such messengers with overflowing welcome. The citizens of London were sent home rejoicing in the honour of knighthood—in abeyance for twenty years, and now conferred on the whole of the deputation.
At the same time there arrived a deputation of the Presbyterian clergy who had different aims in view. They could lay no lavish offerings at the King's feet, and could bring no contribution to the tide of spontaneous loyalty. But they could plead that they had had no lot or part in the fight against the monarchy or in the murder of the King, and that they had given some effective aid in the resistance to the Commonwealth. Could they not manage to secure beforehand some compliance with their religious views, some concessions to tender consciences, some hope that the ceremonies, which their souls hated, would be dispensed with? The Book of Common Prayer had been long disused; might it not be relegated to permanent abeyance, like the feudal tenures, which all agreed should be swept away? Might not, at least, only parts of it be revived, to be mingled with more edifying forms of extempore prayer?
This was precisely what Hyde was not prepared to concede, and Charles answered in the spirit that he would have wished, and must have prompted. The King was ready to give toleration to tender consciences, but he claimed liberty also for himself. In his own presence and by his own chaplain, the Common Prayer Book should certainly be restored. "He would never discountenance the good old order of the Church in which he had been bred." We can have little doubt by whom this answer was inspired. The Presbyterian ambassadors were forced to return with the consciousness that the day of their triumph was gone, and that the Church would oppose to their pretensions a front of resistance as determined as that of the Independents.
On May 24th, Charles sailed in the ship, lately named the Protector, but now rechristened as The Prince. On the 26th he landed at Dover, and on May 29th, he was back in the Palace of his fathers, and the universal acclaim evinced the heartfelt joy with which his people hailed the restoration of their King. The ship which Hyde had steered so long and warily was safe in port. A new and perhaps harder task awaited the pilot.
CHAPTER XV
PROSPECT FOR THE RESTORED MONARCHY
The task which fell to Hyde during the early months of 1660, in gauging the various influences at work in the country from which he had been banished for fourteen years, was one of acute difficulty. He had been, it is true, in constant correspondence with men whom he could trust; but the letters which reached him from Sheldon, from Lord Mordaunt, from Grenville, and from Brodrick—to name only a few of those who gave him their impressions from week to week—had spoken in various degrees of hope and fear, and given him very different accounts of the state of parties. These parties had greatly shifted their attitude during the years of his banishment. Many of those upon whom dependence had to be placed—such, for instance, as Morrice, the close adherent of Monk, and now Secretary of State—were personally unknown to him. Some of the strongest supporters of a restoration were men who had been conspicuous as adherents of Cromwell, and yet it became increasingly clear to him that their support was even more valuable than that of some whose loyalty was of older date. The Presbyterians and the Roman Catholics had specious claims to advance for consideration; and even the Levellers, the Anabaptists, and the Independents had motives, which dexterous manipulation might foster, and which might make them ready to support the cause of the King, especially now that it was in the ascendant. Amidst the strong tides which were running under the influence of shifting currents of popular opinion, principles were thrust to the wall, and each party, like each individual, was chiefly occupied in looking after personal interests, and adjusting views so as to suit the change of the national situation. No one was sure of anything except that the political quicksands were moving rapidly, and that it behoved them not to be behind others in forming advantageous alliances.
The mood of the time could not be painted in more impressive words than those which Hyde uses, after the manner of Thucydides in describing the moral effects of the Peloponesian war.
"In a word, the nation was corrupted from that integrity, good nature, and generosity, that had been peculiar to it, and for which it had been signal and celebrated throughout the world; in the room whereof the vilest craft and dissembling had succeeded. The tenderness of bowels, which is the quintessence of justice and compassion, the very mention of good nature, was laughed at and looked upon as the mark and character of a fool; and a roughness of manners, or hardheartedness and cruelty, was affected. In the place of generosity, a vile and sordid love of money was entertained as the truest wisdom, and anything lawful that would contribute towards being rich. There was a total decay, or rather a final expiration of all friendship; and to dissuade a man from anything he affected, or to reprove him for anything he had done amiss, or to advise him to do anything he had no mind to do, was thought an impertinence unworthy a wise man, and received with reproach and contempt. These dilapidations and ruins of the ancient candour and discipline were not taken enough to heart, and repaired with that early care and severity that they might have been, for they were not then incorrigible; but by the remissness of applying remedies to some, and the unwariness in giving a kind of countenance to others, too much of that poison insinuated itself into minds not well fortified against such infection, so that much of the malignity was transplanted, instead of being extinguished, to the corruption of many wholesome bodies, which, being corrupted, spread the diseases more powerfully and more mischievously." [Footnote: Life, i. 360.]