No More Learning

For no earthly object could it be right or wise that he
should forfeit his word so solemnly pledged in the face of all Europe.
Nor was it certain that, by calling himself a conqueror, he would have
removed the scruples which made rigid Churchmen unwilling to acknowledge
him as King. For, call himself what he might, all the world knew that
he was not really a conqueror. It was notoriously a mere fiction to say
that this great kingdom, with a mighty fleet on the sea, with a regular
army of forty thousand men, and with a militia of a hundred and thirty
thousand men, had been, without one siege or battle, reduced to the
state of a province by fifteen thousand invaders. Such a fiction was not
likely to quiet consciences really sensitive, but it could scarcely
fail to gall the national pride, already sore and irritable. The English
soldiers were in a temper which required the most delicate management.
They were conscious that, in the late campaign, their part had not been
brilliant. Captains and privates were alike impatient to prove that they
had not given way before an inferior force from want of courage. Some
Dutch officers had been indiscreet enough to boast, at a tavern over
their wine, that they had driven the King's army before them. This
insult had raised among the English troops a ferment which, but for the
Prince's prompt interference, would probably have ended in a terrible
slaughter. [610] What, in such circumstances, was likely to be the
effect of a proclamation announcing that the commander of the foreigners
considered the whole island as lawful prize of war?

It was also to be remembered that, by putting forth such a proclamation,
the Prince would at once abrogate all the rights of which he had
declared himself the champion. For the authority of a foreign conqueror
is not circumscribed by the customs and statutes of the conquered
nation, but is, by its own nature, despotic. Either, therefore, it was
not competent to William to declare himself King, or it was competent to
him to declare the Great Charter and the Petition of Right nullifies,
to abolish trial by jury, and to raise taxes without the consent of
Parliament. He might, indeed, reestablish the ancient constitution of
the realm. But, if he did so, he did so in the exercise of an arbitrary
discretion. English liberty would thenceforth be held by a base tenure.
It would be, not, as heretofore, an immemorial inheritance, but a recent
gift which the generous master who had bestowed it might, if such had
been his pleasure, have withheld.

William therefore righteously and prudently determined to observe the
promises contained in his Declaration, and to leave to the legislature
the office of settling the government. So carefully did he avoid
whatever looked like usurpation that he would not, without some
semblance of parliamentary authority, take upon himself even to convoke
the Estates of the Realm, or to direct the executive administration
during the elections. Authority strictly parliamentary there was none
in the state: but it was possible to bring together, in a few hours, an
assembly which would be regarded by the nation with a large portion
of the respect due to a Parliament. One Chamber might be formed of
the numerous Lords Spiritual and Temporal who were then in London, and
another of old members of the House of Commons and of the magistrates of
the City. The scheme was ingenious, and was promptly executed. The Peers
were summoned to St. James's on the twenty-first of December. About
seventy attended. The Prince requested them to consider the state of
the country, and to lay before him the result of their deliberations.
Shortly after appeared a notice inviting all gentlemen who had sate in
the House of Commons during the reign of Charles the Second to attend
His Highness on the morning of the twenty-sixth. The Aldermen of London
were also summoned; and the Common Council was requested to send a
deputation. [611]

It has often been asked, in a reproachful tone, why the invitation was
not extended to the members of the Parliament which had been dissolved
in the preceding year. The answer is obvious. One of the chief
grievances of which the nation complained was the manner in which that
Parliament had been elected. The majority of the burgesses had been
returned by constituent bodies remodelled in a manner which was
generally regarded as illegal, and which the Prince had, in his
Declaration, condemned. James himself had, just before his downfall,
consented to restore the old municipal franchises. It would surely have
been the height of inconsistency in William, after taking up arms for
the purpose of vindicating the invaded charters of corporations, to
recognise persons chosen in defiance of those charters as the legitimate
representatives of the towns of England.

On Saturday the twenty-second the Lords met in their own house. That day
was employed in settling the order of proceeding. A clerk was appointed:
and, as no confidence could be placed in any of the twelve judges, some
serjeants and barristers of great note were requested to attend, for the
purpose of giving advice on legal points. It was resolved that on the
Monday the state of the kingdom should be taken into consideration.
[612]

The interval between the sitting of Saturday and the sitting of Monday
was anxious and eventful. A strong party among the Peers still cherished
the hope that the constitution and religion of England might be secured
without the deposition of the King. This party resolved to move a solemn
address to him, imploring him to consent to such terms as might remove
the discontents and apprehensions which his past conduct had excited.
Sancroft, who, since the return of James from Kent to Whitehall, had
taken no part in public affairs, determined to come forth from his
retreat on this occasion, and to put himself at the head of the
Royalists. Several messengers were sent to Rochester with letters
for the King. He was assured that his interests would be strenuously
defended, if only he could, at this last moment, make up his mind
to renounce designs abhorred by his people. Some respectable Roman
Catholics followed him, in order to implore him, for the sake of their
common faith, not to carry the vain contest further. [613]

The advice was good; but James was in no condition to take it. His
understanding had always been dull and feeble; and, such as it was,
womanish tremors and childish fancies now disabled him from using it. He
was aware that his flight was the thing which his adherents most dreaded
and which his enemies most desired. Even if there had been serious
personal risk in remaining, the occasion was one on which he ought to
have thought it infamous to flinch: for the question was whether he and
his posterity should reign on an ancestral throne or should be vagabonds
and beggars. But in his mind all other feelings had given place to a
craven fear for his life. To the earnest entreaties and unanswerable
arguments of the agents whom his friends had sent to Rochester, he had
only one answer. His head was in danger. In vain he was assured that
there was no ground for such an apprehension, that common sense, if not
principle, would restrain the Prince of Orange from incurring the guilt
and shame of regicide and parricide, and that many, who never would
consent to depose their Sovereign while he remained on English ground,
would think themselves absolved from their allegiance by his desertion.
Fright overpowered every other feeling. James determined to depart; and
it was easy for him to do so. He was negligently guarded: all persons
were suffered to repair to him: vessels ready to put to sea lay at no
great distance; and their boats might come close to the garden of the
house in which he was lodged. Had he been wise, the pains which his
keepers took to facilitate his escape would have sufficed to convince
him that he ought to stay where he was. In truth the snare was so
ostentatiously exhibited that it could impose on nothing but folly
bewildered by terror.

The arrangements were expeditiously made. On the evening of Saturday the
twenty-second the King assured some of the gentlemen, who had been sent
to him from London with intelligence and advice, that he would see
them again in the morning. He went to bed, rose at dead of night, and,
attended by Berwick, stole out at a back door, and went through the
garden to the shore of the Medway. A small skiff was in waiting. Soon
after the dawn of Sunday the fugitives were on board of a smack which
was running down the Thames. [614]

That afternoon the tidings of the flight reached London. The King's
adherents were confounded. The Whigs could not conceal their joy. The
good news encouraged the Prince to take a bold and important step. He
was informed that communications were passing between the French embassy
and the party hostile to him. It was well known that at that embassy all
the arts of corruption were well understood; and there could be little
doubt that, at such a conjuncture, neither intrigues nor pistoles would
be spared. Barillon was most desirous to remain a few days longer in
London, and for that end omitted no art which could conciliate the
victorious party. In the streets he quieted the populace, who looked
angrily at his coach, by throwing money among them. At his table he
publicly drank the health of the Prince of Orange. But William was not
to be so cajoled. He had not, indeed, taken on himself to exercise
regal authority: but he was a general and, as such, he was not bound
to tolerate, within the territory of which he had taken military
occupation, the presence of one whom he regarded as a spy. Before that
day closed Barillon was informed that he must leave England within
twenty-four hours. He begged hard for a short delay: but minutes were
precious; the order was repeated in more peremptory terms; and he
unwillingly set off for Dover. That no mark of contempt and defiance
might be omitted, he was escorted to the coast by one of his Protestant
countrymen whom persecution had driven into exile. So bitter was the
resentment excited by the French ambition and arrogance that even those
Englishmen who were not generally disposed to take a favourable view of
William's conduct loudly applauded him for retorting with so much spirit
the insolence with which Lewis had, during many years, treated every
court in Europe. [615]

On Monday the Lords met again. Halifax was chosen to preside. The
Primate was absent, the Royalists sad and gloomy, the Whigs eager and in
high spirits. It was known that James had left a letter behind him. Some
of his friends moved that it might be produced, in the faint hope that
it might contain propositions which might furnish a basis for a happy
settlement. On this motion the previous question was put and carried.
Godolphin, who was known not to be unfriendly to his old master, uttered
a few words which were decisive. "I have seen the paper," he said;
"and I grieve to say that there is nothing in it which will give your
Lordships any satisfaction. " In truth it contained no expression of
regret for pass errors; it held out no hope that those errors would for
the future be avoided; and it threw the blame of all that had happened
on the malice of William and on the blindness of a nation deluded by the
specious names of religion and property. None ventured to propose that
a negotiation should be opened with a prince whom the most rigid
discipline of adversity seemed only to have made more obstinate in
wrong. Something was said about inquiring into the birth of the Prince
of Wales: but the Whig peers treated the suggestion with disdain. "I did
not expect, my Lords," exclaimed Philip Lord Wharton, an old Roundhead,
who had commanded a regiment against Charles the First at Edgehill, "I
did not expect to hear anybody at this time of day mention the child who
was called Prince of Wales; and I hope that we have now heard the last
of him. " After long discussion it was resolved that two addresses should
be presented to William. One address requested him to take on
himself provisionally the administration of the government; the other
recommended that he should, by circular letters subscribed with his
own hand, invite all the constituent bodies of the kingdom to send up
representatives to Westminster. At the same time the Peers took upon
themselves to issue an order banishing all Papists, except a few
privileged persons, from London and the vicinity. [616]

The Lords presented their addresses to the Prince on the following day,
without waiting for the issue of the deliberations of the commoners whom
he had called together. It seems, indeed, that the hereditary nobles
were disposed at this moment to be punctilious in asserting their
dignity, and were unwilling to recognise a coordinate authority in an
assembly unknown to the law. They conceived that they were a real
House of Lords. The other Chamber they despised as only a mock House
of Commons. William, however, wisely excused himself from coming to
any decision till he had ascertained the sense of the gentlemen who had
formerly been honoured with the confidence of the counties and towns of
England. [617]

The commoners who had been summoned met in Saint Stephen's Chapel, and
formed a numerous assembly. They placed in the chair Henry Powle, who
had represented Cirencester in several Parliaments, and had been eminent
among the supporters of the Exclusion Bill.

Addresses were proposed and adopted similar to those which the Lords
had already presented. No difference of opinion appeared on any serious
question; and some feeble attempts which were made to raise a debate on
points of form were put down by the general contempt. Sir Robert Sawyer
declared that he could not conceive how it was possible for the Prince
to administer the government without some distinguishing title, such as
Regent or Protector. Old Maynard, who, as a lawyer, had no equal, and
who was also a politician versed in the tactics of revolutions, was at
no pains to conceal his disdain for so puerile an objection, taken at
a moment when union and promptitude were of the highest importance.
"We shall sit here very long," he said, "if we sit till Sir Robert can
conceive how such a thing is possible;" and the assembly thought the
answer as good as the cavil deserved. [618]

The resolutions of the meeting were communicated to the Prince. He
forthwith announced his determination to comply with the joint request
of the two Chambers which he had called together, to issue letters
summoning a Convention of the Estates of the Realm, and, till the
Convention should meet, to take on himself the executive administration.
[619]

He had undertaken no light task. The whole machine of government was
disordered. The Justices of the Peace had abandoned their functions. The
officers of the revenue had ceased to collect the taxes. The army which
Feversham had disbanded was still in confusion, and ready to break out
into mutiny. The fleet was in a scarcely less alarming state. Large
arrears of pay were due to the civil and military servants of the crown;
and only forty thousand pounds remained in the Exchequer. The Prince
addressed himself with vigour to the work of restoring order. He
published a proclamation by which all magistrates were continued in
office, and another containing orders for the collection of the revenue.
[620] The new modelling of the army went rapidly on. Many of the
noblemen and gentlemen whom James had removed from the command of the
English regiments were reappointed. A way was found of employing the
thousands of Irish soldiers whom James had brought into England. They
could not safely be suffered to remain in a country where they were
objects of religious and national animosity. They could not safely
be sent home to reinforce the army of Tryconnel. It was therefore
determined that they should be sent to the Continent, where they might,
under the banners of the House of Austria, render indirect but effectual
service to the cause of the English constitution and of the Protestant
religion. Dartmouth was removed from his command; and the navy was
conciliated by assurances that every sailor should speedily receive
his due. The City of London undertook to extricate the Prince from
his financial difficulties. The Common Council, by an unanimous vote,
engaged to find him two hundred thousand pounds. It was thought a great
proof, both of the wealth and of the public spirit of the merchants of
the capital, that, in forty-eight hours, the whole sum was raised on
no security but the Prince's word. A few weeks before, James had been
unable to procure a much smaller sum, though he had offered to pay
higher interest, and to pledge valuable property. [621]

In a very few days the confusion which the invasion, the insurrection,
the flight of James, and the suspension of all regular government
had produced was at an end, and the kingdom wore again its accustomed
aspect. There was a general sense of security. Even the classes which
were most obnoxious to public hatred, and which had most reason to
apprehend a persecution, were protected by the politic clemency of the
conqueror. Persons deeply implicated in the illegal transactions of the
late reign not only walked the streets in safety, but offered themselves
as candidates for seats in the Convention. Mulgrave was received not
ungraciously at St. James's. Feversham was released from arrest, and was
permitted to resume the only office for which he was qualified, that of
keeping the bank at the Queen Dowager's basset table. But no body of men
had so much reason to feel grateful to William as the Roman Catholics.
It would not have been safe to rescind formally the severe resolutions
which the Peers had passed against the professors of a religion
generally abhorred by the nation: but, by the prudence and humanity of
the Prince, those resolutions were practically annulled. On his line of
march from Torbay to London, he had given orders that no outrage should
be committed on the persons or dwellings of Papists. He now renewed
those orders, and directed Burnet to see that they were strictly obeyed.
A better choice could not have been made; for Burnet was a man of such
generosity and good nature, that his heart always warmed towards
the unhappy; and at the same time his known hatred of Popery was a
sufficient guarantee to the most zealous Protestants that the interests
of their religion would be safe in his hands. He listened kindly to
the complaints of the Roman Catholics, procured passports for those
who wished to go beyond sea, and went himself to Newgate to visit the
prelates who were imprisoned there. He ordered them to be removed to
a more commodious apartment and supplied with every indulgence. He
solemnly assured them that not a hair of their heads should be touched,
and that, as soon as the Prince could venture to act as he wished,
they should be set at liberty. The Spanish minister reported to his
government, and, through his government, to the Pope, that no Catholic
need feel any scruple of conscience on account of the late revolution
in England, that for the danger to which the members of the true Church
were exposed James alone was responsible, and that William alone had
saved them from a sanguinary persecution. [622]

There was, therefore, little alloy to the satisfaction with which the
princes of the House of Austria and the Sovereign Pontiff learned that
the long vassalage of England was at an end. When it was known at Madrid
that William was in the full career of success, a single voice in the
Spanish Council of State faintly expressed regret that an event which,
in a political point of view, was most auspicious, should be prejudicial
to the interests of the true Church. [623] But the tolerant policy of
the Prince soon quieted all scruples, and his elevation was seen with
scarcely less satisfaction by the bigoted Grandees of Castile than by
the English Whigs.

With very different feelings had the news of this great revolution been
received in France. The politics of a long, eventful, and glorious reign
had been confounded in a day. England was again the England of Elizabeth
and of Cromwell; and all the relations of all the states of Christendom
were completely changed by the sudden introduction of this new power
into the system. The Parisians could talk of nothing but what was
passing in London. National and religious feeling impelled them to take
the part of James. They knew nothing of the English constitution. They
abominated the English Church. Our revolution appeared to them, not
as the triumph of public liberty over despotism, but as a frightful
domestic tragedy in which a venerable and pious Servius was hurled
from his throne by a Tarquin, and crushed under the chariot wheels of
a Tullia. They cried shame on the traitorous captains, execrated the
unnatural daughters, and regarded William with a mortal loathing,
tempered, however, by the respect which valour, capacity, and success
seldom fail to inspire. [624] The Queen, exposed to the night wind and
rain, with the infant heir of three crowns clasped to her breast, the
King stopped, robbed, and outraged by ruffians, were objects of pity and
of romantic interest to all France. But Lewis saw with peculiar emotion
the calamities of the House of Stuart. All the selfish and all the
generous parts of his nature were moved alike. After many years of
prosperity he had at length met with a great check. He had reckoned on
the support or neutrality of England. He had now nothing to expect from
her but energetic and pertinacious hostility. A few weeks earlier he
might not unreasonably have hoped to subjugate Flanders and to give law
to Germany. At present he might think himself fortunate if he should be
able to defend his own frontiers against a confederacy such as
Europe had not seen during many ages. From this position, so new, so
embarrassing, so alarming, nothing but a counterrevolution or a civil
war in the British Islands could extricate him. He was therefore
impelled by ambition and by fear to espouse the cause of the fallen
dynasty. And it is but just to say that motives nobler than ambition
or fear had a large share in determining his course. His heart was
naturally compassionate; and this was an occasion which could not fail
to call forth all his compassion. His situation had prevented his good
feelings from fully developing themselves. Sympathy is rarely strong
where there is a great inequality of condition; and he was raised
so high above the mass of his fellow creatures that their distresses
excited in him only a languid pity, such as that with which we regard
the sufferings of the inferior animals, of a famished redbreast or of
an overdriven posthorse. The devastation of the Palatinate and the
persecution of the Huguenots had therefore given him no uneasiness which
pride and bigotry could not effectually soothe. But all the tenderness
of which he was capable was called forth by the misery of a great King
who had a few weeks ago been served on the knee by Lords, and who was
now a destitute exile. With that tenderness was mingled, in the soul of
Lewis, a not ignoble vanity. He would exhibit to the world a pattern
of munificence and courtesy. He would show mankind what ought to be
the bearing of a perfect gentleman in the highest station and on the
greatest occasion; and, in truth, his conduct was marked by a chivalrous
generosity and urbanity, such as had not embellished the annals of
Europe since the Black Prince had stood behind the chair of King John at
the supper on the field Poitiers.

As soon as the news that the Queen of England was on the French coast
had been brought to Versailles, a palace was prepared for her reception.
Carriages and troops of guards were despatched to await her orders,
workmen were employed to mend the Calais road that her journey might be
easy. Lauzun was not only assured that his past offences were forgiven
for her sake, but was honoured with a friendly letter in the handwriting
of Lewis. Mary was on the road towards the French court when news came
that her husband had, after a rough voyage, landed safe at the little
village of Ambleteuse. Persons of high rank were instantly despatched
from Versailles to greet and escort him. Meanwhile Lewis, attended by
his family and his nobility, went forth in state to receive the exiled
Queen. Before his gorgeous coach went the Swiss halberdiers. On each
side of it and behind it rode the body guards with cymbals clashing and
trumpets pealing. After the King, in a hundred carriages each drawn by
six horses, came the most splendid aristocracy of Europe, all feathers,
ribands, jewels, and embroidery. Before the procession had gone far it
was announced that Mary was approaching. Lewis alighted and advanced
on foot to meet her. She broke forth into passionate expressions of
gratitude. "Madam," said her host, "it is but a melancholy service that
I am rendering you to day. I hope that I may be able hereafter to render
you services greater and more pleasing. " He embraced the little Prince
of Wales, and made the Queen seat herself in the royal state coach on
the right hand. The cavalcade then turned towards Saint Germains.

At Saint Germains, on the verge of a forest swarming with beasts of
chase, and on the brow of a hill which looks down on the windings of the
Seine, Francis the First had built a castle, and Henry the Fourth had
constructed a noble terrace. Of the residences of the French kings none
stood in a more salubrious air or commanded a fairer prospect. The huge
size and venerable age of the trees, the beauty of the gardens, the
abundance of the springs, were widely famed. Lewis the Fourteenth had
been born there, had, when a young man, held his court there, had added
several stately pavilions to the mansion of Francis, and had completed
the terrace of Henry. Soon, however, the magnificent King conceived an
inexplicable disgust for his birthplace. He quitted Saint Germains for
Versailles, and expended sums almost fabulous in the vain attempt to
create a paradise on a spot singularly sterile and unwholesome, all sand
or mud, without wood, without water, and without game. Saint Germains
had now been selected to be the abode of the royal family of England.
Sumptuous furniture had been hastily sent in. The nursery of the Prince
of Wales had been carefully furnished with everything that an infant
could require.
One of the attendants presented to the Queen the key of
a superb casket which stood in her apartment. She opened the casket, and
found in it six thousand pistoles.

On the following day James arrived at Saint Germains. Lewis was already
there to welcome him. The unfortunate exile bowed so low that it seemed
as if he was about to embrace the knees of his protector. Lewis raised
him, and embraced him with brotherly tenderness. The two Kings then
entered the Queen's room. "Here is a gentleman," said Lewis to Mary,
"whom you will be glad to see. " Then, after entreating his guests to
visit him next day at Versailles, and to let him have the pleasure
of showing them his buildings, pictures, and plantations, he took the
unceremonious leave of an old friend.

In a few hours the royal pair were informed that, as long as they
would do the King of France the favour to accept of his hospitality,
forty-five thousand pounds sterling a year would be paid them from his
treasury. Ten thousand pounds sterling were sent for outfit.

The liberality of Lewis, however, was much less rare and admirable than
the exquisite delicacy with which he laboured to soothe the feelings
of his guests and to lighten the almost intolerable weight of the
obligations which he laid upon them. He who had hitherto, on all
questions of precedence, been sensitive, litigious, insolent, who had
been more than once ready to plunge Europe into war rather than concede
the most frivolous point of etiquette, was now punctilious indeed, but
punctilious for his unfortunate friends against himself. He gave orders
that Mary should receive all the marks of respect that had ever been
paid to his own deceased wife. A question was raised whether the Princes
of the House of Bourbon were entitled to be indulged with chairs in
the presence of the Queen. Such trifles were serious matters at the old
court of France. There were precedents on both sides: but Lewis decided
the point against his own blood. Some ladies of illustrious rank omitted
the ceremony of kissing the hem of Mary's robe. Lewis remarked the
omission, and noticed it in such a voice and with such a look that the
whole peerage was ever after ready to kiss her shoe. When Esther, just
written by Racine, was acted at Saint Cyr, Mary had the seat of honour.
James was at her right hand. Lewis modestly placed himself on the left.
Nay, he was well pleased that, in his own palace, an outcast living on
his bounty should assume the title of King of France, should, as King of
France, quarter the lilies with the English lions, and should, as King
of France, dress in violet on days of court mourning.

The demeanour of the French nobility on public occasions was absolutely
regulated by their sovereign: but it was beyond even his power to
prevent them from thinking freely, and from expressing what
they thought, in private circles, with the keen and delicate wit
characteristic of their nation and of their order. Their opinion of
Mary was favourable. They found her person agreeable and her deportment
dignified. They respected her courage and her maternal affection;
and they pitied her ill fortune. But James they regarded with extreme
contempt. They were disgusted by his insensibility, by the cool way in
which he talked to every body of his ruin, and by the childish pleasure
which he took in the pomp and luxury of Versailles. This strange apathy
they attributed, not to philosophy or religion, but to stupidity and
meanness of spirit, and remarked that nobody who had had the honour to
hear His Britannic Majesty tell his own story could wonder that he was
at Saint Germains and his son in law at Saint James's. [625]

In the United Provinces the excitement produced by the tidings from
England was even greater than in France. This was the moment at which
the Batavian federation reached the highest point of power and glory.
From the day on which the expedition sailed, the anxiety of the whole
Dutch nation had been intense. Never had there been such crowds in the
churches. Never had the enthusiasm of the preachers been so ardent.
The inhabitants of the Hague could not be restrained from insulting
Albeville. His house was so closely beset by the populace, day and
night, that scarcely any person ventured to visit him; and he was afraid
that his chapel would be burned to the ground. [626] As mail after
mail arrived with news of the Prince's progress, the spirits of his
countrymen rose higher and higher; and when at length it was known that
he had, on the invitation of the Lords and of an assembly of eminent
commoners, taken on himself the executive administration, a general
cry of pride and joy rose from all the Dutch factions. An extraordinary
mission was, with great speed, despatched to congratulate him. Dykvelt,
whose adroitness and intimate knowledge of English politics made his
assistance, at such a conjuncture, peculiarly valuable, was one of the
Ambassadors; and with him was joined Nicholas Witsen, a Burgomaster of
Amsterdam, who seems to have been selected for the purpose of proving to
all Europe that the long feud between the House of Orange and the chief
city of Holland was at an end. On the eighth of January Dykvelt and
Witsen made their appearance at Westminster. William talked to them
with a frankness and an effusion of heart which seldom appeared in his
conversations with Englishmen. His first words were, "Well, and what do
our friends at home say now? " In truth, the only applause by which his
stoical nature seems to have been strongly moved was the applause of his
dear native country. Of his immense popularity in England he spoke with
cold disdain, and predicted, too truly, the reaction which followed.
"Here," said he, "the cry is all Hosannah today, and will, perhaps, be
Crucify him tomorrow. " [627]

On the following day the first members of the Convention were chosen.
The City of London led the way, and elected, without any contest, four
great merchants who were zealous Whigs. The King and his adherents had
hoped that many returning officers would treat the Prince's letter as
a nullity; but the hope was disappointed. The elections went on rapidly
and smoothly. There were scarcely any contests. For the nation had,
during more than a year, been kept in constant expectation of a
Parliament. Writs, indeed, had been twice issued, and twice recalled.
Some constituent bodies had, under those writs, actually proceeded to
the choice of representatives. There was scarcely a county in which the
gentry and yeomanry had not, many months before, fixed upon candidates,
good Protestants, whom no exertions must be spared to carry, in defiance
of the King and of the Lord Lieutenant; and these candidates were now
generally returned without opposition.

The Prince gave strict orders that no person in the public service
should, on this occasion, practise those arts which had brought so much
obloquy on the late government. He especially directed that no soldiers
should be suffered to appear in any town where an election was going on.
[628] His admirers were able to boast, and his enemies seem not to have
been able to deny, that the sense of the constituent bodies was fairly
taken. It is true that he risked little. The party which was attached
to him was triumphant, enthusiastic, full of life and energy. The party
from which alone he could expect serious opposition was disunited and
disheartened, out of humour with itself, and still more out of humour
with its natural chief. A great majority, therefore, of the shires and
boroughs returned Whig members.

It was not over England alone that William's guardianship now extended.
Scotland had risen on her tyrants. All the regular soldiers by whom she
had long been held down had been summoned by James to his help against
the Dutch invaders, with the exception of a very small force, which,
under the command of the Duke of Gordon, a great Roman Catholic Lord,
garrisoned the Castle of Edinburgh. Every mail which had gone northward
during the eventful month of November had carried news which stirred
the passions of the oppressed Scots. While the event of the military
operations was still doubtful, there were at Edinburgh riots and
clamours which became more menacing after James had retreated from
Salisbury. Great crowds assembled at first by night, and then by broad
daylight. Popes were publicly burned: loud shouts were raised for a free
Parliament: placards were stuck up setting prices on the heads of the
ministers of the crown. Among those ministers Perth, as filling the
great place of Chancellor, as standing high in the royal favour, as
an apostate from the reformed faith, and as the man who had first
introduced the thumbscrew into the jurisprudence of his country, was
the most detested. His nerves were weak, his spirit abject; and the only
courage which he possessed was that evil courage which braves infamy,
and which looks steadily on the torments of others. His post, at such
a time, was at the head of the Council board: but his heart failed him;
and he determined to take refuge at his country seat from the danger
which, as he judged by the looks and cries of the fierce and resolute
populace of Edinburgh, was not remote. A strong guard escorted him safe
to Castle Drummond: but scarcely had he departed when the city rose up.
A few troops tried to suppress the insurrection, but were overpowered.
The palace of Holyrood, which had been turned into a Roman Catholic
seminary and printing house, was stormed and sacked. Huge heaps of
Popish books, beads, crucifixes, and pictures were burned in the High
Street. In the midst of the agitation came down the tidings of the
King's flight. The members of the government gave up all thought of
contending with the popular fury, and changed sides with a promptitude
then common among Scottish politicians. The Privy Council by one
proclamation ordered that all Papists should be disarmed, and by another
invited Protestants to muster for the defence of pure religion. The
nation had not waited for the call. Town and country were already up in
arms for the Prince of Orange. Nithisdale and Clydesdale were the only
regions in which there was the least chance that the Roman Catholics
would make head; and both Nithisdale and Clydesdale were soon occupied
by bands of armed Presbyterians. Among the insurgents were some fierce
and moody men who had formerly disowned Argyle, and who were now
equally eager to disown William. His Highness, they said, was plainly a
malignant. There was not a word about the Covenant in his Declaration.
The Dutch were a people with whom no true servant of the Lord would
unite. They consorted with Lutherans; and a Lutheran was as much a child
of perdition as a Jesuit. The general voice of the kingdom, however,
effectually drowned the growl of this hateful faction. [629]

The commotion soon reached the neighbourhood of Castle Drummond. Perth
found that he was no longer safe among his own servants and tenants. He
gave himself up to an agony as bitter as that into which his merciless
tyranny had often thrown better men. He wildly tried to find consolation
in the rites of his new Church. He importuned his priests for comfort,
prayed, confessed, and communicated: but his faith was weak; and he
owned that, in spite of all his devotions, the strong terrors of death
were upon him. At this time he learned that he had a chance of escaping
on board of a ship which lay off Brentisland. He disguised himself
as well as he could, and, after a long and difficult journey by
unfrequented paths over the Ochill mountains, which were then deep in
snow, he succeeded in embarking: but, in spite of all his precautions,
he had been recognised, and the alarm had been given. As soon as it was
known that the cruel renegade was on the waters, and that he had gold
with him, pursuers, inflamed at once by hatred and by avarice, were on
his track, A skiff, commanded by an old buccaneer, overtook the flying
vessel and boarded her. Perth was dragged out of the hold on deck in
woman's clothes, stripped, hustled, and plundered. Bayonets were held to
his breast. Begging for life with unmanly cries, he was hurried to the
shore and flung into the common gaol of Kirkaldy. Thence, by order of
the Council over which he had lately presided, and which was filled
with men who had been partakers in his guilt, he was removed to Stirling
Castle. It was on a Sunday, during the time of public worship, that he
was conveyed under a guard to his place of confinement: but even rigid
Puritans forgot the sanctity of the day and of the work. The churches
poured forth their congregations as the torturer passed by, and the
noise of threats, execrations, and screams of hatred accompanied him to
the gate of his prison. [630]

Several eminent Scotsmen were in London when the Prince arrived there;
and many others now hastened thither to pay their court to him. On the
seventh of January he requested them to attend him at Whitehall. The
assemblage was large and respectable. The Duke of Hamilton and his
eldest son, the Earl of Arran, the chiefs of a house of almost regal
dignity, appeared at the head of the procession. They were accompanied
by thirty Lords and about eighty gentlemen of note. William desired
them to consult together, and to let him know in what way he could best
promote the welfare of their country. He then withdrew, and left them
to deliberate unrestrained by his presence. They repaired to the Council
chamber, and put Hamilton into the chair. Though there seems to have
been little difference of opinion, their debates lasted three days,
a fact which is sufficiently explained by the circumstance that Sir
Patrick Hume was one of the debaters. Arran ventured to recommend a
negotiation with the King. But this motion was ill received by the
mover's father and by the whole assembly, and did not even find a
seconder. At length resolutions were carried closely resembling the
resolutions which the English Lords and Commoners had presented to the
Prince a few days before. He was requested to call together a Convention
of the Estates of Scotland, to fix the fourteenth of March for the
day of meeting, and, till that day, to take on himself the civil and
military administration. To this request he acceded; and thenceforth the
government of the whole island was in his hands. [631]

The decisive moment approached; and the agitation of the public mind
rose to the height. Knots of politicians were everywhere whispering
and consulting. The coffeehouses were in a ferment. The presses of the
capital never rested. Of the pamphlets which appeared at that time,
enough may still be collected to form several volumes; and from those
pamphlets it is not difficult to gather a correct notion of the state of
parties.

There was a very small faction which wished to recall James without
stipulations. There was also a very small faction which wished to set up
a commonwealth, and to entrust the administration to a council of state
under the presidency of the Prince of Orange. But these extreme opinions
were generally held in abhorrence. Nineteen twentieths, of the nation
consisted of persons in whom love of hereditary monarchy and love of
constitutional freedom were combined, though in different proportions,
and who were equally opposed to the total abolition of the kingly office
and to the unconditional restoration of the King.

But, in the wide interval which separated the bigots who still clung
to the doctrines of Filmer from the enthusiasts who still dreamed the
dreams of Harrington, there was room for many shades of opinion. If we
neglect minute subdivisions, we shall find that the great majority of
the nation and of the Convention was divided into four bodies. Three of
these bodies consisted of Tories. The Whig party formed the fourth.

The amity of the Whigs and Tories had not survived the peril which had
produced it. On several occasions, during the Prince's march from the
West, dissension had appeared among his followers. While the event
of his enterprise was doubtful, that dissension had, by his skilful
management, been easily quieted. But, from the day on which he entered
Saint James's palace in triumph, such management could no longer be
practised. His victory, by relieving the nation from the strong dread of
Popish tyranny, had deprived him of half his influence. Old antipathies,
which had slept when Bishops were in the Tower, when Jesuits were at
the Council board, when loyal clergymen were deprived of their bread by
scores, when loyal gentlemen were put out of the commission of the peace
by hundreds, were again strong and active. The Royalist shuddered at the
thought that he was allied with all that from his youth up he had most
hated, with old parliamentary Captains who had stormed his country
house, with old parliamentary Commissioners who had sequestrated his
estate, with men who had plotted the Rye House butchery and headed the
Western rebellion. That beloved Church, too, for whose sake he had,
after a painful struggle, broken through his allegiance to the throne,
was she really in safety? Or had he rescued her from one enemy only that
she might be exposed to another? The Popish priests, indeed, were in
exile, in hiding, or in prison. No Jesuit or Benedictine who valued
his life now dared to show himself in the habit of his order. But the
Presbyterian and Independent teachers went in long procession to salute
the chief of the government, and were as graciously received as the true
successors of the Apostles. Some schismatics avowed the hope that every
fence which excluded them from ecclesiastical preferment would soon be
levelled; that the Articles would be softened down; that the Liturgy
would be garbled; that Christmas would cease to be a feast; that Good
Friday would cease to be a fast; that canons on whom no Bishop had
ever laid his hand would, without the sacred vestment of white linen,
distribute, in the choirs of Cathedrals, the eucharistic bread and
wine to communicants lolling on benches. The Prince, indeed, was not a
fanatical Presbyterian; but he was at best a Latitudinarian. He had no
scruple about communicating in the Anglican form; but he cared not in
what form other people communicated. His wife, it was to be feared, had
imbibed too much of his spirit. Her conscience was under the direction
of Burnet. She heard preachers of different Protestant sects. She had
recently said that she saw no essential difference between the Church
of England and the other reformed Churches. [632] It was necessary,
therefore, that the Cavaliers should, at this conjuncture, follow the
example set by their fathers in 1641, should draw off from Roundheads
and sectaries, and should, in spite of all the faults of the hereditary
monarch, uphold the cause of hereditary monarchy.

The body which was animated by these sentiments was large and
respectable. It included about one half of the House of Lords, about one
third of the House of Commons, a majority of the country gentlemen, and
at least nine tenths of the clergy; but it was torn by dissensions, and
beset on every side by difficulties.

One section of this great party, a section which was especially strong
among divines, and of which Sherlock was the chief organ, wished that a
negotiation should be opened with James, and that he should be invited
to return to Whitehall on such conditions as might fully secure the
civil and ecclesiastical constitution of the realm. [633] It is
evident that this plan, though strenuously supported by the clergy, was
altogether inconsistent with the doctrines which the clergy had been
teaching during many years. It was, in truth, an attempt to make
a middle way where there was no room for a middle way, to effect
a compromise between two things which do not admit of compromise,
resistance and nonresistance. The Tories had formerly taken their stand
on the principle of nonresistance. But that ground most of them had
now abandoned, and were not disposed again to occupy. The Cavaliers
of England had, as a class, been so deeply concerned, directly or
indirectly, in the late rising against the King, that they could not,
for very shame, talk at that moment about the sacred duty of obeying
Nero; nor, indeed, were they disposed to recall the prince under whose
misgovernment they had suffered so much, without exacting from him terms
which might make it impossible for him again to abuse his power.
They were, therefore, in a false position. Their old theory, sound or
unsound, was at least complete and coherent. If that theory were sound,
the King ought to be immediately invited back, and permitted, if such
were his pleasure, to put Seymour and Danby, the Bishop of London and
the Bishop of Bristol, to death for high treason, to reestablish the
Ecclesiastical Commission, to fill the Church with Popish dignitaries,
and to place the army under the command of Popish officers. But if, as
the Tories themselves now seemed to confess, that theory was unsound,
why treat with the King? If it was admitted that he might lawfully be
excluded till he gave satisfactory guarantees for the security of the
constitution in Church and State, it was not easy to deny that he might
lawfully be excluded for ever. For what satisfactory guarantee could he
give? How was it possible to draw up an Act of Parliament in language
clearer than the language of the Acts of Parliament which required that
the Dean of Christ Church should be a Protestant? How was it possible
to put any promise into words stronger than those in which James had
repeatedly declared that he would strictly respect the legal rights of
the Anglican clergy? If law or honour could have bound him, he would
never have been forced to fly from his kingdom. If neither law nor
honour could bind him, could he safely be permitted to return?

It is probable, however, that, in spite of these arguments, a motion for
opening a negotiation with James would have been made in the Convention,
and would have been supported by the great body of Tories, had he not
been, on this, as on every other occasion, his own worst enemy. Every
post which arrived from Saint Germains brought intelligence which damped
the ardour of his adherents. He did not think it worth his while to
feign regret for his past errors, or to promise amendment. He put forth
a manifesto, telling his people that it had been his constant care to
govern them with justice and moderation, and that they had been cheated
into ruin by imaginary grievances. [634] The effect of his folly and
obstinacy was that those who were most desirous to see him restored to
his throne on fair conditions felt that, by proposing at that moment to
treat with him, they should injure the cause which they wished to serve.
They therefore determined to coalesce with another body of Tories of
whom Sancroft was the chief. Sancroft fancied that he had found out
a device by which provision might be made for the government of the
country without recalling James, and yet without despoiling him of
his crown. This device was a Regency. The most uncompromising of those
divines who had inculcated the doctrine of passive obedience had never
maintained that such obedience was due to a babe or to a madman. It
was universally acknowledged that, when the rightful sovereign was
intellectually incapable of performing his office, a deputy might be
appointed to act in his stead, and that any person who should resist
the deputy, and should plead as an excuse for doing so the command of a
prince who was in the cradle, or who was raving, would justly incur the
penalties of rebellion. Stupidity, perverseness, and superstition, such
was the reasoning of the Primate, had made James as unfit to rule his
dominions as any child in swaddling clothes, or as any maniac who
was grinning and chattering in the straw of Bedlam. That course must
therefore be taken which had been taken when Henry the Sixth was an
infant, and again when he became lethargic. James could not be King in
effect: but he must still continue to be King in semblance. Writs must
still run in his name. His image and superscription must still appear on
the coin and on the Great Seal. Acts of Parliament must still be called
from the years of his reign. But the administration must be taken from
him and confided to a Regent named by the Estates of the Realm. In this
way, Sancroft gravely maintained, the people would remain true to their
allegiance: the oaths of fealty which they had sworn to their King would
be strictly fulfilled; and the most orthodox Churchmen might, without
any scruple of conscience, take office under the Regent. [635]

The opinion of Sancroft had great weight with the whole Tory party,
and especially with the clergy. A week before the day for which the
Convention had been summoned, a grave party assembled at Lambeth Palace,
heard prayers in the chapel, dined with the Primate, and then consulted
on the state of public affairs. Five suffragans of the Archbishop,
who had shared his perils and his glory in the preceding summer, were
present. The Earls of Clarendon and Ailesbury represented the Tory
laity. The unanimous sense of the meeting appeared to be that those who
had taken the oath of allegiance to James might justifiably withdraw
their obedience from him, but could not with a safe conscience call any
other by the name of King. [636]

Thus two sections of the Tory party, a section which looked forward to
an accommodation with James, and a section which was opposed to any such
accommodation, agreed in supporting the plan of Regency. But a
third section, which, though not very numerous, had great weight and
influence, recommended a very different plan. The leaders of this small
band were Danby and the Bishop of London in the House of Lords, and
Sir Robert Sawyer in the House of Commons. They conceived that they had
found out a way of effecting a complete revolution under strictly legal
forms. It was contrary to all principle, they said, that the King should
be deposed by his subjects; nor was it necessary to depose him. He had
himself, by his flight, abdicated his power and dignity. A demise had
actually taken place. All constitutional lawyers held that the throne
of England could not be one moment vacant. The next heir had therefore
succeeded. Who, then, was the next heir? As to the infant who had been
carried into France, his entrance into the world had been attended by
many suspicious circumstances.