No More Learning

At
Saint Gregory's the Declaration was read by a divine of the name of
Martin. As soon as he uttered the first words, the whole congregation
rose and withdrew. At Saint Matthew's, in Friday Street, a wretch named
Timothy Hall, who had disgraced his gown by acting as broker for the
Duchess of Portsmouth in the sale of pardons, and who now had hopes of
obtaining the vacant bishopric of Oxford, was in like manner left alone
in his church. At Serjeant's Inn, in Chancery Lane, the clerk pretended
that he had forgotten to bring a copy; and the Chief justice of the
King's Bench, who had attended in order to see that the royal mandate
was obeyed, was forced to content himself with this excuse. Samuel
Wesley, the father of John and Charles Wesley, a curate in London, took
for his text that day the noble answer of the three Jews to the Chaldean
tyrant. "Be it known unto thee, O King, that we will not serve thy gods,
nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up. " Even in the chapel
of Saint James's Palace the officiating minister had the courage to
disobey the order. The Westminster boys long remembered what took place
that day in the Abbey. Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, officiated there as
Dean. As soon as he began to read the Declaration, murmurs and the noise
of people crowding out of the choir drowned his voice. He trembled so
violently that men saw the paper shake in his hand. Long before he had
finished, the place was deserted by all but those whose situation made
it necessary for them to remain. [368]

Never had the Church been so dear to the nation as on the afternoon of
that day. The spirit of dissent seemed to be extinct. Baxter from his
pulpit pronounced an eulogium on the Bishops and parochial clergy. The
Dutch minister, a few hours later, wrote to inform the States General
that the Anglican priesthood had risen in the estimation of the public
to an incredible degree. The universal cry of the Nonconformists,
he said, was that they would rather continue to lie under the penal
statutes than separate their cause from that of the prelates. [369]

Another week of anxiety and agitation passed away. Sunday came
again. Again the churches of the capital were thronged by hundreds
of thousands. The Declaration was read nowhere except at the very few
places where it had been read the week before. The minister who had
officiated at the chapel in Saint James's Palace had been turned out of
his situation, and a more obsequious divine appeared with the paper in
his hand: but his agitation was so great that he could not articulate.
In truth the feeling of the whole nation had now become such as none
but the very best and noblest, or the very worst and basest, of mankind
could without much discomposure encounter. [370]

Even the King stood aghast for a moment at the violence of the tempest
which he had raised. What step was he next to take? He must either
advance or recede: and it was impossible to advance without peril, or to
recede without humiliation. At one moment he determined to put forth a
second order enjoining the clergy in high and angry terms to publish
his Declaration, and menacing every one who should be refractory with
instant suspension. This order was drawn up and sent to the press, then
recalled, then a second time sent to the press, then recalled a second
time. [371] A different plan was suggested by some of those who were
for rigorous measures. The prelates who had signed the petition might be
cited before the Ecclesiastical Commission and deprived of their sees.
But to this course strong objections were urged in Council. It had been
announced that the Houses would be convoked before the end of the
year. The Lords would assuredly treat the sentence of deprivation as a
nullity, would insist that Sancroft and his fellow petitioners should be
summoned to Parliament, and would refuse to acknowledge a new Archbishop
of Canterbury or a new Bishop of Bath and Wells. Thus the session, which
at best was likely to be sufficiently stormy, would commence with a
deadly quarrel between the crown and the peers. If therefore it were
thought necessary to punish the Bishops, the punishment ought to be
inflicted according to the known course of English law. Sunderland
had from the beginning objected, as far as he dared, to the Order
in Council. He now suggested a course which, though not free from
inconveniences, was the most prudent and the most dignified that a
series of errors had left open to the government. The King might with
grace and majesty announce to the world that he was deeply hurt by the
undutiful conduct of the Church of England; but that he could not
forget all the services rendered by that Church, in trying times, to his
father, to his brother, and to himself; that, as a friend to the liberty
of conscience, he was unwilling to deal severely by men whom conscience,
ill informed indeed, and unreasonably scrupulous, might have prevented
from obeying his commands; and that he would therefore leave the
offenders to that punishment which their own reflections would inflict
whenever they should calmly compare their recent acts with the loyal
doctrines of which they had so loudly boasted. Not only Powis and
Bellasyse, who had always been for moderate counsels, but even Dover and
Arundell, leaned towards this proposition. Jeffreys, on the other hand,
maintained that the government would be disgraced if such transgressors
as the seven Bishops were suffered to escape with a mere reprimand.
He did not, however, wish them to be cited before the Ecclesiastical
Commission, in which he sate as chief or rather as sole judge. For the
load of public hatred under which he already lay was too much even
for his shameless forehead and obdurate heart; and he shrank from the
responsibility which he would have incurred by pronouncing an illegal
sentence on the rulers of the Church and the favourites of the nation.
He therefore recommended a criminal information. It was accordingly
resolved that the Archbishop and the six other petititioners should be
brought before the Court of King's Bench on a charge of seditious libel.
That they would be convicted it was scarcely possible to doubt. The
judges and their officers were tools of the court. Since the old charter
of the City of London had been forfeited, scarcely one prisoner whom
the government was bent on bringing to punishment had been absolved by
a jury. The refractory prelates would probably be condemned to ruinous
fines and to long imprisonment, and would be glad to ransom themselves
by serving, both in and out of Parliament, the designs of the Sovereign.
[372]

On the twenty-seventh of May it was notified to the Bishops that on the
eighth of June they must appear before the King in Council. Why so long
an interval was allowed we are not informed. Perhaps James hoped that
some of the offenders, terrified by his displeasure, might submit before
the day fixed for the reading of the Declaration in their dioceses, and
might, in order to make their peace with him, persuade their clergy to
obey his order. If such was his hope it was signally disappointed.

Sunday the third of June came; and all parts of England followed the
example of the capital. Already the Bishops of Norwich, Gloucester,
Salisbury, Winchester, and Exeter, had signed copies of the petition
in token of their approbation. The Bishop of Worcester had refused to
distribute the Declaration among his clergy. The Bishop of Hereford had
distributed it: but it was generally understood that he was overwhelmed
by remorse and shame for having done so. Not one parish priest in fifty
complied with the Order in Council. --In the great diocese of Chester,
including the county of Lancaster, only three clergymen could be
prevailed on by Cartwright to obey the King. In the diocese of Norwich
are many hundreds of parishes. In only four of these was the Declaration
read. The courtly Bishop of Rochester could not overcome the scruples of
the minister of the ordinary of Chatham, who depended on the government
for bread. There is still extant a pathetic letter which this honest
priest sent to the Secretary of the Admiralty. "I cannot," he wrote,
"reasonably expect your Honour's protection. God's will be done. I must
choose suffering rather than sin. " [373]

On the evening of the eighth of June the seven prelates, furnished by
the ablest lawyers in England with full advice, repaired to the palace,
and were called into the Council chamber. Their petition was lying
on the table. The Chancellor took the paper up, showed it to the
Archbishop, and said, "Is this the paper which your Grace wrote, and
which the six Bishops present delivered to his Majesty? " Sancroft looked
at the paper, turned to the King, and spoke thus: "Sir, I stand here a
culprit. I never was so before. Once I little thought that I ever should
be so. Least of all could I think that I should be charged with any
offence against my King: but, since I am so unhappy as to be in this
situation, your Majesty will not be offended if I avail myself of my
lawful right to decline saying anything which may criminate me. " "This
is mere chicanery," said the King. "I hope that your Grace will not do
so ill a thing as to deny your own hand? Sir," said Lloyd, whose studies
had been much among the casuists, "all divines agree that a person
situated as we are may refuse to answer such a question. " The King, as
slow of understanding as quick of temper, could not comprehend what the
prelates meant. He persisted, and was evidently becoming very
angry. "Sir," said the Archbishop, "I am not bound to accuse myself.
Nevertheless, if your Majesty positively commands me to answer, I will
do so in the confidence that a just and generous prince will not suffer
what I say in obedience to his orders to be brought in evidence against
me. " "You must not capitulate with your Sovereign," said the Chancellor.
"No," said the King; "I will not give any such command. If you choose to
deny your own hands, I have nothing more to say to you. "

The Bishops were repeatedly sent out into the antechamber, and
repeatedly called back into the Council room. At length James positively
commanded them to answer the question. He did not expressly engage
that their confession should not be used against them. But they, not
unnaturally, supposed that, after what had passed, such an engagement
was implied in his command. Sancroft acknowledged his handwriting; and
his brethren followed his example. They were then interrogated about the
meaning of some words in the petition, and about the letter which had
been circulated with so much effect all over the kingdom: but their
language was so guarded that nothing was gained by the examination. The
Chancellor then told them that a criminal information would be exhibited
against them in the Court of King's Bench, and called upon them to enter
into recognisances. They refused. They were peers of the realm, they
said. They were advised by the best lawyers in Westminster Hall that no
peer could be required to enter into a recognisance in a case of libel;
and they should not think themselves justified in relinquishing the
privilege of their order. The King was so absurd as to think himself
personally affronted because they chose, on a legal question, to be
guided by legal advice. "You believe everybody," he said, "rather than
me. " He was indeed mortified and alarmed. For he had gone so far that,
if they persisted, he had no choice left but to send them to prison;
and, though he by no means foresaw all the consequences of such a step,
he foresaw probably enough to disturb him. They were resolute. A warrant
was therefore made out directing the Lieutenant of the Tower to keep
them in safe custody, and a barge was manned to convey them down the
river. [374]

It was known all over London that the Bishops were before the Council.
The public anxiety was intense. A great multitude filled the courts
of Whitehall and all the neighbouring streets. Many people were in the
habit of refreshing themselves at the close of a summer day with the
cool air of the Thames. But on this evening the whole river was alive
with wherries. When the Seven came forth under a guard, the emotions of
the people broke through all restraint. Thousands fell on their knees
and prayed aloud for the men who had, with the Christian, courage of
Ridley and Latimer, confronted a tyrant inflamed by all the bigotry of
Mary. Many dashed into the stream, and, up to their waists in ooze and
water, cried to the holy fathers to bless them. All down the river,
from Whitehall to London Bridge, the royal barge passed between lines of
boats, from which arose a shout of "God bless your Lordships. " The King,
in great alarm, gave orders that the garrison of the Tower should be
doubled, that the Guards should be held ready for action, and that two
companies should be detached from every regiment in the kingdom, and
sent up instantly to London. But the force on which he relied as the
means of coercing the people shared all the feelings of the people.
The very sentinels who were under arms at the Traitors' Gate reverently
asked for a blessing from the martyrs whom they were to guard. Sir
Edward Hales was Lieutenant of the Tower. He was little inclined to
treat his prisoners with kindness. For he was an apostate from that
Church for which they suffered; and he held several lucrative posts by
virtue of that dispensing power against which they had protested. He
learned with indignation that his soldiers were drinking the health of
the Bishops. He ordered his officers to see that it was done no more.
But the officers came back with a report that the thing could not be
prevented, and that no other health was drunk in the garrison. Nor was
it only by carousing that the troops showed their reverence for the
fathers of the Church. There was such a show of devotion throughout the
Tower that pious divines thanked God for bringing good out of evil, and
for making the persecution of His faithful servants the means of saving
many souls. All day the coaches and liveries of the first nobles
of England were seen round the prison gates. Thousands of humbler
spectators constantly covered Tower Hill. [375] But among the marks of
public respect and sympathy which the prelates received there was one
which more than all the rest enraged and alarmed the King. He learned
that a deputation of ten Nonconformist ministers had visited the Tower.
He sent for four of these persons, and himself upbraided them. They
courageously answered that they thought it their duty to forget past
quarrels, and to stand by the men who stood by the Protestant religion.
[376]

Scarcely had the gates of the Tower been closed on the prisoners when
an event took place which increased the public excitement. It had been
announced that the Queen did not expect to be delivered till July. But,
on the day after the Bishops had appeared before the Council, it was
observed that the King seemed to be anxious about her state. In
the evening, however, she sate playing cards at Whitehall till near
midnight. Then she was carried in a sedan to Saint James's Palace,
where apartments had been very hastily fitted up for her reception. Soon
messengers were running about in all directions to summon physicians and
priests, Lords of the Council, and Ladies of the Bedchamber. In a few
hours many public functionaries and women of rank were assembled in the
Queen's room. There, on the morning of Sunday, the tenth of June, a day
long kept sacred by the too faithful adherents of a bad cause, was born
the most unfortunate of princes, destined to seventy-seven years of
exile and wandering, of vain projects, of honours more galling than
insults, and of hopes such as make the heart sick.

The calamities of the poor child had begun before his birth. The nation
over which, according to the ordinary course of succession, he would
have reigned, was fully persuaded that his mother was not really
pregnant. By whatever evidence the fact of his birth had been proved,
a considerable number of people would probably have persisted in
maintaining that the Jesuits had practised some skilful sleight of hand:
and the evidence, partly from accident, partly from gross mismanagement,
was open to some objections. Many persons of both sexes were in the
royal bedchamber when the child first saw the light but none of them
enjoyed any large measure of public confidence. Of the Privy Councillors
present half were Roman Catholics; and those who called themselves
Protestants were generally regarded as traitors to their country and
their God. Many of the women in attendance were French, Italian, and
Portuguese. Of the English ladies some were Papists, and some were
the wives of Papists. Some persons who were peculiarly entitled to be
present, and whose testimony would have satisfied all minds accessible
to reason, were absent, and for their absence the King was held
responsible. The Princess Anne was, of all the inhabitants of the
island, the most deeply interested in the event. Her sex and her
experience qualified her to act as the guardian of her sister's
birthright and her own. She had conceived strong suspicions which were
daily confirmed by circumstances trifling or imaginary. She fancied
that the Queen carefully shunned her scrutiny, and ascribed to guilt a
reserve which was perhaps the effect of delicacy. [377] In this temper
Anne had determined to be present and vigilant when the critical day
should arrive. But she had not thought it necessary to be at her post
a month before that day, and had, in compliance, it was said, with her
father's advice, gone to drink the Bath waters. Sancroft, whose great
place made it his duty to attend, and on whose probity the nation placed
entire reliance, had a few hours before been sent to the Tower by
James. The Hydes were the proper protectors of the rights of the two
Princesses. The Dutch Ambassador might be regarded as the representative
of William, who, as first prince of the blood and consort of the King's
eldest daughter, had a deep interest in what was passing. James never
thought of summoning any member, male or female, of the family of Hyde;
nor was the Dutch Ambassador invited to be present.

Posterity has fully acquitted the King of the fraud which his people
imputed to him. But it is impossible to acquit him of folly and
perverseness such as explain and excuse the error of his contemporaries.
He was perfectly aware of the suspicions which were abroad. [378] He
ought to have known that those suspicions would not be dispelled by the
evidence of members of the Church of Rome, or of persons who, though
they might call themselves members of the Church of England, had shown
themselves ready to sacrifice the interests of the Church of England in
order to obtain his favour. That he was taken by surprise is true. But
he had twelve hours to make his arrangements. He found no difficulty in
crowding St. James's Palace with bigots and sycophants on whose word the
nation placed no reliance. It would have been quite as easy to
procure the attendance of some eminent persons whose attachment to the
Princesses and to the established religion was unquestionable.

At a later period, when he had paid dearly for his foolhardy contempt
of public opinion, it was the fashion at Saint Germains to excuse him
by throwing the blame on others. Some Jacobites charged Anne with having
purposely kept out of the way. Nay, they were not ashamed to say that
Sancroft had provoked the King to send him to the Tower, in order that
the evidence which was to confound the calumnies of the malecontents
might be defective. [379] The absurdity of these imputations is
palpable. Could Anne or Sancroft possibly have foreseen that the Queen's
calculations would turn out to be erroneous by a whole month? Had those
calculations been correct, Anne would have been back from Bath, and
Sancroft would have been out of the Tower, in ample time for the birth.
At all events the maternal uncles of the King's daughters were neither
at a distance nor in a prison. The same messenger who summoned the
whole bevy of renegades, Dover, Peterborough, Murray, Sunderland, and
Mulgrave, could just as easily have summoned Clarendon. If they were
Privy Councillors, so was he. His house was in Jermyn Street, not two
hundred yards from the chamber of the Queen. Yet he was left to learn at
St. James's Church, from the agitation and whispers of the congregation,
that his niece had ceased to be heiress presumptive of the crown. [380]
Was it a disqualification that he was the near kinsman of the Princesses
of Orange and Denmark? Or was it a disqualification that he was
unalterably attached to the Church of England?

The cry of the whole nation was that an imposture bad been practised.
Papists had, during some months, been predicting, from, the pulpit and
through the press, in prose and verse, in English and Latin, that a
Prince of Wales would be given to the prayers of the Church; and they
had now accomplished their own prophecy. Every witness who could not
be corrupted or deceived had been studiously excluded. Anne had been
tricked into visiting Bath. The Primate had, on the very day preceding
that which had been fixed for the villainy, been sent to prison in
defiance of the rules of law and of the privileges of peerage. Not a
single man or woman who had the smallest interest in detecting the fraud
had been suffered to be present. The Queen had been removed suddenly and
at the dead of night to St. James's Palace, because that building,
less commodious for honest purposes than Whitehall, had some rooms and
passages well suited for the purpose of the Jesuits. There, amidst a
circle of zealots who thought nothing a crime that tended to promote the
interests of their Church, and of courtiers who thought nothing a crime
that tended to enrich and aggrandise themselves, a new born child had
been introduced into the royal bed, and then handed round in triumph,
as heir of the three kingdoms. Heated by such suspicions, suspicions
unjust, it is true, but not altogether unnatural, men thronged more
eagerly than ever to pay their homage to the saintly victims of the
tyrant who, having long foully injured his people, had now filled up the
measure of his iniquities by more foully injuring his children. [381]

The Prince of Orange, not himself suspecting any trick, and not aware of
the state of public feeling in England, ordered prayers to be said under
his own roof for his little brother in law, and sent Zulestein to London
with a formal message of congratulation. Zulestein, to his amazement,
found all the people whom he met open mouthed about the infamous fraud
just committed by the Jesuits, and saw every hour some fresh pasquinade
on the pregnancy and the delivery. He soon wrote to the Hague that not
one person in ten believed the child to have been born of the Queen.
[382]

The demeanour of the seven prelates meanwhile strengthened the interest
which their situation excited. On the evening of the Black Friday, as it
was called, on which they were committed, they reached their prison just
at the hour of divine service. They instantly hastened to the chapel.
It chanced that in the second lesson were these words: "In all things
approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in
afflictions, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments. " All zealous
Churchmen were delighted by this coincidence, and remembered how much
comfort a similar coincidence had given, near forty years before, to
Charles the First at the time of his death.

On the evening of the next day, Saturday the ninth, a letter came from
Sunderland enjoining the chaplain of the Tower to read the Declaration
during divine service on the following morning. As the time fixed by
the Order in Council for the reading in London had long expired, this
proceeding of the government could be considered only as a personal
insult of the meanest and most childish kind to the venerable prisoners.
The chaplain refused to comply: he was dismissed from his situation; and
the chapel was shut up. [383]

The Bishops edified all who approached them by the firmness and
cheerfulness with which they endured confinement, by the modesty and
meekness with which they received the applauses and blessings of the
whole nation, and by the loyal attachment which they professed for the
persecutor who sought their destruction. They remained only a week in
custody. On Friday the fifteenth of June, the first day of term, they
were brought before the King's Bench. An immense throng awaited their
coming. From the landingplace to the Court of Requests they passed
through a lane of spectators who blessed and applauded them. "Friends,"
said the prisoners as they passed, "honour the King; and remember us
in your prayers.
" These humble and pious expressions moved the hearers,
even to tears. When at length the procession had made its way through
the crowd into the presence of the judges, the Attorney General
exhibited the information which he had been commanded to prepare, and
moved that the defendants might be ordered to plead. The counsel on the
other side objected that the Bishops had been unlawfully committed, and
were therefore not regularly before the Court. The question whether a
peer could be required to enter into recognisances on a charge of libel
was argued at great length, and decided by a majority of judges in
favour of the crown. The prisoners then pleaded Not Guilty. That day
fortnight, the twenty-ninth of June, was fixed for their trial. In the
meantime they were allowed to be at large on their own recognisances.
The crown lawyers acted prudently in not requiring sureties. For Halifax
had arranged that twenty-one temporal peers of the highest consideration
should be ready to put in bail, three for each defendant; and such a
manifestation of the feeling of the nobility would have been no slight
blow to the government. It was also known that one of the most opulent
Dissenters of the City had begged that he might have the honour of
giving security for Ken.

The Bishops were now permitted to depart to their own homes. The common
people, who did not understand the nature of the legal proceedings which
had taken place in the King's Bench, and who saw that their favourites
had been brought to Westminster Hall in custody and were suffered to
go away in freedom, imagined that the good cause was prospering. Loud
acclamations were raised. The steeples of the churches sent forth joyous
peals. Sprat was amazed to hear the bells of his own Abbey ringing
merrily. He promptly silenced them: but his interference caused much
angry muttering. The Bishops found it difficult to escape from the
importunate crowd of their wellwishers. Lloyd was detained in Palace
Yard by admirers who struggled to touch his hands and to kiss the skirt
of his robe, till Clarendon, with some difficulty, rescued him and
conveyed him home by a bye path. Cartwright, it is said, was so unwise
as to mingle with the crowd. Some person who saw his episcopal habit
asked and received his blessing. A bystander cried out, "Do you know
who blessed you? " "Surely," said he who had just been honoured by the
benediction, "it was one of the Seven. " "No," said the other "it is the
Popish Bishop of Chester. " "Popish dog," cried the enraged Protestant;
"take your blessing back again. "

Such was the concourse, and such the agitation, that the Dutch
Ambassador was surprised to see the day close without an insurrection.
The King had been by no means at ease. In order that he might be ready
to suppress any disturbance, he had passed the morning in reviewing
several battalions of infantry in Hyde Park. It is, however, by no means
certain that his troops would have stood by him if he had needed their
services. When Sancroft reached Lambeth, in the afternoon, he found the
grenadier guards, who were quartered in that suburb, assembled before
the gate of his palace. They formed in two lines on his right and left,
and asked his benediction as he went through them. He with difficulty
prevented them from lighting a bonfire in honour of his return to his
dwelling. There were, however, many bonfires that evening in the City.
Two Roman Catholics who were so indiscreet as to beat some boys for
joining in these rejoicings were seized by the mob, stripped naked, and
ignominiously branded. [384]

Sir Edward Hales now came to demand fees from those who had lately been
his prisoners. They refused to pay anything for the detention which
they regarded as illegal to an officer whose commission was, on their
principles, a nullity. The Lieutenant hinted very intelligibly that, if
they came into his hands again, they should be put into heavy irons and
should lie on bare stones. "We are under our King's displeasure," was
the answer; "and most deeply do we feel it: but a fellow subject who
threatens us does but lose his breath. " It is easy to imagine with what
indignation the people, excited as they were, must have learned that a
renegade from the Protestant faith, who held a command in defiance
of the fundamental laws of England, had dared to menace divines of
venerable age and dignity with all the barbarities of Lollard's Tower.
[385]

Before the day of trial the agitation had spread to the farthest corners
of the island. From Scotland the Bishops received letters assuring them
of the sympathy of the Presbyterians of that country, so long and so
bitterly hostile to prelacy. [386] The people of Cornwall, a fierce,
bold, and athletic race, among whom there was a stronger provincial
feeling than in any other part of the realm, were greatly moved by the
danger of Trelawney, whom they reverenced less as a ruler of the Church
than as the head of an honourable house, and the heir through twenty
descents of ancestors who had been of great note before the Normans had
set foot on English ground. All over the county the peasants chanted a
ballad of which the burden is still remembered:

"And shall Trelawney die, and shall Trelawney die? Then thirty thousand
Cornish boys will know the reason why. "

The miners from their caverns reechoed the song with a variation:

"Then twenty thousand under ground will know the reason why. " [387]

The rustics in many parts of the country loudly expressed a strange hope
which had never ceased to live in their hearts. Their Protestant Duke,
their beloved Monmouth, would suddenly appear, would lead them to
victory, and would tread down the King and the Jesuits under his feet.
[388] The ministers were appalled. Even Jeffreys would gladly have
retraced his steps. He charged Clarendon with friendly messages to the
Bishops, and threw on others the blame of the prosecution which he had
himself recommended. Sunderland again ventured to recommend concession.
The late auspicious birth, he said, had furnished the King with an
excellent opportunity of withdrawing from a position full of danger and
inconvenience without incurring the reproach of timidity or of caprice.
On such happy occasions it had been usual for sovereigns to make the
hearts of subjects glad by acts of clemency; and nothing could be more
advantageous to the Prince of Wales than that he should, while still
in his cradle, be the peacemaker between his father and the agitated
nation. But the King's resolution was fixed. "I will go on," he said.
"I have been only too indulgent. Indulgence ruined my father. " [389] The
artful minister found that his advice had been formerly taken only
because it had been shaped to suit the royal temper, and that, from the
moment at which he began to counsel well, he began to counsel in vain.
He had shown some signs of slackness in the proceeding against Magdalene
College. He had recently attempted to convince the King that Tyrconnel's
scheme of confiscating the property of the English colonists in Ireland
was full of danger, and had, with the help of Powis and Bellasyse, so
far succeeded that the execution of the design had been postponed for
another year. But this timidity and scrupulosity had excited disgust and
suspicion in the royal mind. [390] The day of retribution had arrived.
Sunderland was in the same situation in which his rival Rochester had
been some months before. Each of the two statesmen in turn experienced
the misery of clutching, with an agonizing grasp, power which was
perceptibly slipping away. Each in turn saw his suggestions scornfully
rejected. Both endured the pain of reading displeasure and distrust in
the countenance and demeanour of their master; yet both were by their
country held responsible for those crimes and errors from which they had
vainly endeavoured to dissuade him. While he suspected them of trying to
win popularity at the expense of his authority and dignity, the public
voice loudly accused them of trying to win his favour at the expense
of their own honour and of the general weal. Yet, in spite of
mortifications and humiliations, they both clung to office with
the gripe of drowning men. Both attempted to propitiate the King by
affecting a willingness to be reconciled to his Church. But there was a
point at which Rochester was determined to stop. He went to the verge of
apostasy: but there he recoiled: and the world, in consideration of the
firmness with which he refused to take the final step, granted him a
liberal amnesty for all former compliances. Sunderland, less scrupulous
and less sensible of shame, resolved to atone for his late moderation,
and to recover the royal confidence, by an act which, to a mind
impressed with the importance of religious truth, must have appeared to
be one of the most flagitious of crimes, and which even men of the world
regard as the last excess of baseness. About a week before the day fixed
for the great trial, it was publicly announced that he was a Papist. The
King talked with delight of this triumph of divine grace. Courtiers and
envoys kept their countenances as well as they could while the renegade
protested that he had been long convinced of the impossibility of
finding salvation out of the communion of Rome, and that his conscience
would not let him rest till he had renounced the heresies in which he
had been brought up. The news spread fast. At all the coffeehouses it
was told how the prime minister of England, his feet bare, and a taper
in his hand, had repaired to the royal chapel and knocked humbly for
admittance; how a priestly voice from within had demanded who was there,
how Sunderland had made answer that a poor sinner who had long wandered
from the true Church implored her to receive and to absolve him; how the
doors were opened; and how the neophyte partook of the holy mysteries.
[391]

This scandalous apostasy could not but heighten the interest with which
the nation looked forward to the day when the fate of the seven brave
confessors of the English Church was to be decided. To pack a jury was
now the great object of the King. The crown lawyers were ordered to make
strict inquiry as to the sentiments of the persons who were registered
in the freeholders' book. Sir Samuel Astry, Clerk of the Crown, whose
duty it was, in cases of this description, to select the names, was
summoned to the palace, and had an interview with James in the presence
of the Chancellor. [392] Sir Samuel seems to have done his best. For,
among the forty-eight persons whom he nominated, were said to be several
servants of the King, and several Roman Catholics. [393] But as the
counsel for the Bishops had a right to strike off twelve, these persons
were removed. The crown lawyers also struck off twelve. The list was
thus reduced to twenty-four. The first twelve who answered to their
names were to try the issue.

On the twenty-ninth of June, Westminster Hall, Old and New Palace Yard,
and all the neighbouring streets to a great distance were thronged
with people. Such an auditory had never before and has never since been
assembled in the Court of King's Bench. Thirty-five temporal peers of
the realm were counted in the crowd. [394]

All the four judges of the Court were on the bench. Wright, who
presided, had been raised to his high place over the heads of many abler
and more learned men solely on account of his unscrupulous servility.
Allybone was a Papist, and owed his situation to that dispensing power,
the legality of which was now in question. Holloway had hitherto been
a serviceable tool of the government. Even Powell, whose character for
honesty stood high, had borne a part in some proceedings which it is
impossible to defend. He had, in the great case of Sir Edward Hales,
with some hesitation, it is true, and after some delay, concurred with
the majority of the bench, and had thus brought on his character a stain
which his honourable conduct on this day completely effaced.

The counsel were by no means fairly matched. The government had required
from its law officers services so odious and disgraceful that all the
ablest jurists and advocates of the Tory party had, one after another,
refused to comply, and had been dismissed from their employments. Sir
Thomas Powis, the Attorney General, was scarcely of the third rank in
his profession. Sir William Williams, the Solicitor General, had
quick parts and dauntless courage: but he wanted discretion; he loved
wrangling; he had no command over his temper; and he was hated and
despised by all political parties. The most conspicuous assistants of
the Attorney and Solicitor were Serjeant Trinder, a Roman Catholic, and
Sir Bartholomew Shower, Recorder of London, who had some legal learning,
but whose fulsome apologies and endless repetitions were the jest of
Westminster Hall. The government had wished to secure the services of
Maynard: but he had plainly declared that he could not in conscience do
what was asked of him. [395]

On the other side were arrayed almost all the eminent forensic talents
of the age. Sawyer and Finch, who, at the time of the accession of
James, had been Attorney and Solicitor General, and who, during the
persecution of the Whigs in the late reign, had served the crown with
but too much vehemence and success, were of counsel for the defendants.
With them were joined two persons who, since age had diminished the
activity of Maynard, were reputed the two best lawyers that could be
found in the Inns of Court: Pemberton, who had, in the time of Charles
the Second, been Chief justice of the King's Bench, who had been removed
from his high place on account of his humanity and moderation, and who
had resumed his practice at the bar; and Pollexfen, who had long been
at the head of the Western circuit, and who, though he had incurred much
unpopularity by holding briefs for the crown at the Bloody Assizes, and
particularly by appearing against Alice Lisle, was known to be at heart
a Whig, if not a republican. Sir Creswell Levinz was also there, a man
of great knowledge and experience, but of singularly timid nature. He
had been removed from the bench some years before, because he was afraid
to serve the purposes of the government. He was now afraid to appear as
the advocate of the Bishops, and had at first refused to receive
their retainer: but it had been intimated to him by the whole body of
attorneys who employed him that, if he declined this brief, he should
never have another. [396]

Sir George Treby, an able and zealous Whig, who had been Recorder of
London under the old charter, was on the same side. Sir John Holt, a
still more eminent Whig lawyer, was not retained for the defence, in
consequence, it should seem, of some prejudice conceived against him
by Sancroft, but was privately consulted on the case by the Bishop of
London. [397] The junior counsel for the Bishops was a young barrister
named John Somers. He had no advantages of birth or fortune; nor had he
yet had any opportunity of distinguishing himself before the eyes of
the public: but his genius, his industry, his great and various
accomplishments, were well known to a small circle of friends; and, in
spite of his Whig opinions, his pertinent and lucid mode of arguing and
the constant propriety of his demeanour had already secured to him
the ear of the Court of King's Bench. The importance of obtaining his
services had been strongly represented to the Bishops by Johnstone; and
Pollexfen, it is said, had declared that no man in Westminster Hall was
so well qualified to treat a historical and constitutional question as
Somers.

The jury was sworn; it consisted of persons of highly respectable
station. The foreman was Sir Roger Langley, a baronet of old and
honourable family. With him were joined a knight and ten esquires,
several of whom are known to have been men of large possessions. There
were some Nonconformists in the number; for the Bishops had wisely
resolved not to show any distrust of the Protestant Dissenters. One name
excited considerable alarm, that of Michael Arnold. He was brewer to the
palace; and it was apprehended that the government counted on his voice.
The story goes that he complained bitterly of the position in which he
found himself. "Whatever I do," he said, "I am sure to be half ruined.
If I say Not Guilty, I shall brew no more for the King; and if I say
Guilty, I shall brew no more for anybody else. " [398]

The trial then commenced, a trial which, even when coolly perused after
the lapse of more than a century and a half, has all the interest of
a drama. The advocates contended on both sides with far more than
professional keenness and vehemence: the audience listened with as much
anxiety as if the fate of every one of them was to be decided by the
verdict; and the turns of fortune were so sudden and amazing that
the multitude repeatedly passed in a single minute from anxiety to
exultation and back again from exultation to still deeper anxiety.

The information charged the Bishops with having written or published,
in the county of Middlesex, a false, malicious, and seditious libel.
The Attorney and Solicitor first tried to prove the writing. For
this purpose several persons were called to speak to the hands of the
Bishops. But the witnesses were so unwilling that hardly a single plain
answer could be extracted from any of them. Pemberton, Pollexfen, and
Levinz contended that there was no evidence to go to the jury. Two
of the judges, Holloway and Powell, declared themselves of the same
opinion; and the hopes of the spectators rose high. All at once the
crown lawyers announced their intention to take another line. Powis,
with shame and reluctance which he could not dissemble, put into the
witness box Blathwayt, a Clerk of the Privy Council, who had been
present when the King interrogated the Bishops. Blathwayt swore that he
had heard them own their signatures. His testimony was decisive. "Why,"
said judge Holloway to the Attorney, "when you had such evidence, did
you not produce it at first, without all this waste of time? " It soon
appeared why the counsel for the crown had been unwilling, without
absolute necessity, to resort to this mode of proof. Pemberton stopped
Blathwayt, subjected him to a searching cross examination, and insisted
upon having all that had passed between the King and the defendants
fully related. "That is a pretty thing indeed," cried Williams. "Do you
think," said Powis, "that you are at liberty to ask our witnesses any
impertinent question that comes into your heads? " The advocates of the
Bishops were not men to be so put down. "He is sworn," said Pollexfen,
"to tell the truth and the whole truth: and an answer we must and will
have. " The witness shuffled, equivocated, pretended to misunderstand
the questions, implored the protection of the Court. But he was in
hands from which it was not easy to escape. At length the Attorney again
interposed. "If," he said, "you persist in asking such a question, tell
us, at least, what use you mean to make of it. " Pemberton, who, through
the whole trial, did his duty manfully and ably, replied without
hesitation; "My Lords, I will answer Mr. Attorney. I will deal plainly
with the Court. If the Bishops owned this paper under a promise from His
Majesty that their confession should not be used against them, I hope
that no unfair advantage will be taken of them. " "You put on His Majesty
what I dare hardly name," said Williams: "since you will be so pressing,
I demand, for the King, that the question may be recorded. " "What do you
mean, Mr. Solicitor? " said Sawyer, interposing. "I know what I mean,"
said the apostate: "I desire that the question may be recorded in
Court. " "Record what you will, I am not afraid of you, Mr. Solicitor,"
said Pemberton. Then came a loud and fierce altercation, which the Chief
Justice could with difficulty quiet. In other circumstances, he would
probably have ordered the question to be recorded and Pemberton to be
committed. But on this great day he was overawed. He often cast a
side glance towards the thick rows of Earls and Barons by whom he was
watched, and who in the next Parliament might be his judges. He looked,
a bystander said, as if all the peers present had halters in their
pockets. [399] At length Blathwayt was forced to give a full account of
what had passed. It appeared that the King had entered into no express
covenant with the Bishops. But it appeared also that the Bishops might
not unreasonably think that there was an implied engagement. Indeed,
from the unwillingness of the crown lawyers to put the Clerk of the
Council into the witness box, and from the vehemence with which they
objected to Pemberton's cross examination, it is plain that they were
themselves of this opinion.

However, the handwriting was now proved. But a new and serious objection
was raised. It was not sufficient to prove that the Bishops had written
the alleged libel. It was necessary to prove also that they had written
it in the county of Middlesex. And not only was it out of the power of
the Attorney and Solicitor to prove this; but it was in the power of the
defendants to prove the contrary. For it so happened that Sancroft had
never once left the palace, at Lambeth from the time when the Order in
Council appeared till after the petition was in the King's hands. The
whole case for the prosecution had therefore completely broken down; and
the audience, with great glee, expected a speedy acquittal.

The crown lawyers then changed their ground again, abandoned altogether
the charge of writing a libel, and undertook to prove that the Bishops
had published a libel in the county of Middlesex. The difficulties were
great. The delivery of the petition to the King was undoubtedly, in the
eye of the law, a publication. But how was this delivery to be proved?
No person had been present at the audience in the royal closet, except
the King and the defendants. The King could not well be sworn. It was
therefore only by the admissions of the defendants that the fact of
publication could be established. Blathwayt was again examined, but in
vain. He well remembered, he said, that the Bishops owned their hands;
but he did not remember that they owned the paper which lay on the table
of the Privy Council to be the same paper which they had delivered to
the King, or that they were even interrogated on that point. Several
other official men who had been in attendance on the Council were
called, and among them Samuel Pepys, Secretary of the Admiralty; but
none of them could remember that anything was said about the delivery.
It was to no purpose that Williams put leading questions till the
counsel on the other side declared that such twisting, such wiredrawing,
was never seen in a court of justice, and till Wright himself was forced
to admit that the Solicitor's mode of examination was contrary to
all rule. As witness after witness answered in the negative, roars of
laughter and shouts of triumph, which the judges did not even attempt to
silence, shook the hall.

It seemed that at length this hard fight had been won. The case for the
crown was closed. Had the counsel for the Bishops remained silent, an
acquittal was certain; for nothing which the most corrupt and shameless
judge could venture to call legal evidence of publication had been
given. The Chief justice was beginning to charge the jury, and would
undoubtedly have directed them to acquit the defendants; but Finch, too
anxious to be perfectly discreet, interfered, and begged to be heard.
"If you will be heard," said Wright, "you shall be heard; but you do not
understand your own interests. " The other counsel for the defence made
Finch sit down, and begged the Chief justice to proceed. He was about to
do so when a messenger came to the Solicitor General with news that Lord
Sunderland could prove the publication, and would come down to the court
immediately. Wright maliciously told the counsel for the defence that
they had only themselves to thank for the turn which things had taken.
The countenances of the great multitude fell. Finch was, during some
hours, the most unpopular man in the country. Why could he not sit still
as his betters, Sawyer, Pemberton, and Pollexfen had done? His love of
meddling, his ambition to make a fine speech, had ruined everything.

Meanwhile the Lord President was brought in a sedan chair through the
hall. Not a hat moved as he passed; and many voices cried out "Popish
dog. " He came into Court pale and trembling, with eyes fixed on the
ground, and gave his evidence in a faltering voice. He swore that the
Bishops had informed him of their intention to present a petition to
the King, and that they had been admitted into the royal closet for that
purpose. This circumstance, coupled with the circumstance that, after
they left the closet, there was in the King's hands a petition signed by
them, was such proof as might reasonably satisfy a jury of the fact of
the publication.

Publication in Middlesex was then proved.