A parallel naturally suggests itself here between the two kings; and perhaps if we had to assign their respective places we should not give the preference to the abler or the more powerful. Louis, still young and engrossed, heart and soul, in his projects of greatness and magnificence, was guilty of the grave wrong of making religion entirely subordinate to politics. Charles, no doubt, shows himself through the course of these negotiations just what he always was. Too sagacious not to see the dangers into which each step conducted him, and too timid to confront them; now urged forward by the impatient zeal of the Duke of York, now drawn back by his minister and confidant Arlington—one hardly knows what he wanted to do. His frivolity, his inconstancy, his perpetual wavering, his disingenuousness, all the chief traits of his character, in fine, were displayed in these negotiations of Dover. We are not disposed to deny that he was sensible of the temporal advantages which the friendship of his brother of France seemed to promise him; but, taking all things into consideration, it is he that shows the greater heart, and with him the calculations of selfish humanity are sometimes at least forgotten in the sovereign importance of his eternal interests.
The treaty of Dover concluded, Charles secretly made preparations for the war with Holland, which had now been deferred to a more distant day; but there were other preparations in which he took a much more lively interest. He knew that a terrible storm would break forth whenever he should issue his bill of indulgence in favor of those who disagreed with the state Church. Both French and English writers have often said that the king hoped to accomplish his plans by means of abuse of the royal prerogatives, and unconstitutional measures taken under the protection of that ambitious neighbor across the channel whom the Stuarts had rashly allowed to interfere in the affairs of the United Kingdom. But this is a mistake. Without the slightest violence or transgression of the law, Charles might have anticipated by two hundred years the emancipation of the Catholics of England. The constitution gave him no right to change any of the existing laws; but it gave him power to dispense with the exaction of the penalties prescribed for their violation. Well, he proposed to make use of this prerogative in behalf of all dissenters without exception, whether Protestant sectaries or Catholics, and whenever a fitting opportunity arrived to lay before parliament a new bill of indulgence.
On the 15th of March, 1672, two days before the declaration of war with Holland, he issued a proclamation, in which, after remarking that the experience of twelve years had proved the inutility of coercive measures in matters of conscience, he declared his good pleasure that every penal law against nonconformists and recusants of every description should thenceforth be suspended. Dissenters were authorized to establish places of worship; but Catholics were not permitted to assemble for religious exercises except in private houses. This discrimination against the Catholics was the doing of the Secretary Bridgman, who stoutly refused to sign the document, and threatened to resign, if the same privileges granted to other recusants were also accorded to the Catholics. Bridgman's resignation would have given the alarm to the hostile parties; so, to avoid a greater evil, Charles had to submit to this odious restriction.
There was a diversity of opinions about the declaration of the 15th of March, but at first there was nothing in the state of public opinion to excite alarm. As for the war, if the people looked upon it without much favor, at least no one could assert that it was contrary to the national interests. There were recent injuries to be avenged, glory and profit to be won; above all, immense advantages to accrue to English commerce from the crippling of one of its most formidable rivals: all these considerations kept the minds of the nation in suspense.
But unfortunately one naval engagement after another was fought with no decisive results; and while the French gained brilliant victories on land, the English seemed to be only humble, docile instruments in the hands of their allies. The Protestants eagerly seized upon these circumstances to arouse an undertone of discontent among the masses. The Duchess of York had just died a Catholic. The Duke of York, the heir presumptive to the throne, was strongly suspected of having embraced the Catholic religion. Then there was England in league with Catholic France against Protestant Holland; and the little army which Charles had sent to the continent, though placed under the command of Schomburg, a Calvinist (but for all that a Frenchman), had among its subordinate officers a major-general, Fitzgerald, and many other Catholics. All these things, they said, taken in connection with the recent declaration, boded nothing but evil to the Reformed churches.
Such was the state of public feeling when, after a recess of two years, parliament opened at the beginning of February, 1673. In the troubles [{832}] which he saw were coming, the king relied for assistance in the houses principally upon Clifford, whom he had appointed a lord of the treasury, and the Chancellor Ashley, recently created Earl of Shaftesbury, a man of no principle, but of great ability and value in critical emergencies. At the opening of the session Charles spoke of the French alliance, of the causes of his rupture with the States General, and of the declaration of indulgence, which he declared himself resolved to stand by.
The opposition had already matured their plan of campaign, and their first measure was to deprive the Catholics of their new allies by persuading the dissenting sects to renounce the precarious advantages of the declaration for the toleration, less complete, perhaps, but more assured, which they would infallibly obtain from the favorable dispositions of the Commons. The manoeuvre was perfectly successful. The Catholics were completely isolated. The "Country Party," as they called themselves, then opened fire with more confidence in Parliament. "The attack was made," says Macaulay, "not in the way of storm, but by slow and scientific approaches. The Commons at first held out hopes that they would give support to the king's foreign policy, but insisted that he should purchase that support by abandoning his whole system of domestic policy. Their first object was to obtain the revocation of the declaration of indulgence. Of all the many unpopular steps taken by the government, the most unpopular was the publishing of this declaration." In fact, the annulment of the edict was a matter of life or death for the Protestants. They wanted, however, a constitutional argument, and they had not far to look for one. We quote Macaulay again:
"It must in candor be admitted that the constitutional question was not then quite free from obscurity. Our ancient kings had undoubtedly claimed and exercised the right of suspending the operation of penal laws. The tribunals had recognized that right. Parliaments had suffered it to pass unchallenged. That some such right was inherent in the crown, few even of the Country Party ventured, in the face of precedent and authority, to deny. Yet it was clear that, if this prerogative were without limit the English government could scarcely be distinguished from a pure despotism." A hypocritical fear of despotism and inviolable respect for the law were to be the standard under which the dissenters should fight, and it was agreed that the Anglicans should intrench themselves behind the ramparts of the constitution.
The opposition in parliament did not disapprove of toleration in itself; they only blamed the form of the edict. They were perfectly willing to alleviate the condition of the Protestant nonconformists, provided it could be done through the regular parliamentary channels. Even if the king could remit a penalty, he could not suspend a law in ecclesiastical, any more than in civil, matters. In support of this position they argued at great length, with a good deal of passion and obscurity and a great lack of common sense, for more than a month. The real strength of the party lay in its popularity, and in that irresistible power which the daring aggressors of a declining monarchy always possess, in every country. The partizans of the court, by their injudicious defence of the crown, did their best to aid the opposite party. Instead of defending the prerogative by the precedents afforded by previous reigns, they grounded its exercise upon the necessity for some ad interim power which, during the recess of parliament, might act upon urgent cases, and, if need were, suspend the laws. "An exempting power," they said, "must of necessity exist somewhere; otherwise cases may arise, when parliament is not in session, in which the welfare and even the safety of the state would be sacrificed to impolitic and unreasonable [{833}] fears." This was playing directly into their adversaries' hands. After long discussions, several times interrupted by adjournments, the House of Commons, by a vote of 168 against 116, resolved "that the penal laws touching ecclesiastical matters could not be suspended except by an act of parliament."