No More Learning

Voices, high in altercation, were repeatedly heard
within the room: but nothing certain was known. [401]

At first nine were for acquitting and three for convicting. Two of
the minority soon gave way; but Arnold was obstinate. Thomas Austin, a
country gentleman of great estate, who had paid close attention to the
evidence and speeches, and had taken full notes, wished to argue
the question. Arnold declined. He was not used, he doggedly said, to
reasoning and debating. His conscience was not satisfied; and he should
not acquit the Bishops. "If you come to that," said Austin, "look at me.
I am the largest and strongest of the twelve; and before I find such a
petition as this a libel, here I will stay till I am no bigger than a
tobacco pipe. " It was six in the morning before Arnold yielded. It was
soon known that the jury were agreed: but what the verdict would be was
still a secret. [402]

At ten the Court again met. The crowd was greater than ever. The jury
appeared in their box; and there was a breathless stillness.

Sir Samuel Astry spoke. "Do you find the defendants, or any of them,
guilty of the misdemeanour whereof they are impeached, or not guilty? "
Sir Roger Langley answered, "Not guilty. " As the words passed his
lips, Halifax sprang up and waved his hat. At that signal, benches and
galleries raised a shout. In a moment ten thousand persons, who crowded
the great hall, replied with a still louder shout, which made the old
oaken roof crack; and in another moment the innumerable throng without
set up a third huzza, which was heard at Temple Bar. The boats which
covered the Thames, gave an answering cheer. A peal of gunpowder was
heard on the water, and another, and another; and so, in a few moments,
the glad tidings went flying past the Savoy and the Friars to London
Bridge, and to the forest of masts below. As the news spread,
streets and squares, market places and coffeehouses, broke forth into
acclamations. Yet were the acclamations less strange than the weeping.
For the feelings of men had been wound up to such a point that at length
the stern English nature, so little used to outward signs of emotion,
gave way, and thousands sobbed aloud for very joy. Meanwhile, from the
outskirts of the multitude, horsemen were spurring off to bear along all
the great roads intelligence of the victory of our Church and nation.
Yet not even that astounding explosion could awe the bitter and intrepid
spirit of the Solicitor. Striving to make himself heard above the din,
he called on the judges to commit those who had violated, by clamour,
the dignity of a court of justice. One of the rejoicing populace was
seized. But the tribunal felt that it would be absurd to punish a single
individual for an offence common to hundreds of thousands, and dismissed
him with a gentle reprimand. [403]

It was vain to think of passing at that moment to any other business.
Indeed the roar of the multitude was such that, for half an hour,
scarcely a word could be heard in court. Williams got to his coach
amidst a tempest of hisses and curses. Cartwright, whose curiosity was
ungovernable, had been guilty of the folly and indecency of coming to
Westminster in order to hear the decision. He was recognised by his
sacerdotal garb and by his corpulent figure, and was hooted through the
hall. "Take care," said one, "of the wolf in sheep's clothing. " "Make
room," cried another, "for the man with the Pope in his belly. " [404]

The acquitted prelates took refuge from the crowd which implored their
blessing in the nearest chapel where divine service was performing.
Many churches were open on that morning throughout the capital; and many
pious persons repaired thither. The bells of all the parishes of the
City and liberties were ringing. The jury meanwhile could scarcely
make their way out of the hall. They were forced to shake hands with
hundreds. "God bless you," cried the people; "God prosper your families;
you have done like honest goodnatured gentlemen; you have saved us all
today. " As the noblemen who had appeared to support the good cause drove
off, they flung from their carriage windows handfuls of money, and bade
the crowd drink to the health of the King, the Bishops, and the jury.
[405]

The Attorney went with the tidings to Sunderland, who happened to be
conversing with the Nuncio. "Never," said Powis, "within man's memory,
have there been such shouts and such tears of joy as today. " [406] The
King had that morning visited the camp on Hounslow Heath. Sunderland
instantly sent a courier thither with the news. James was in Lord
Feversham's tent when the express arrived. He was greatly disturbed, and
exclaimed in French, "So much the worse for them. " He soon set out for
London. While he was present, respect prevented the soldiers from giving
a loose to their feelings; but he had scarcely quitted the camp when he
heard a great shouting behind him. He was surprised, and asked what that
uproar meant. "Nothing," was the answer: "the soldiers are glad that the
Bishops are acquitted. " "Do you call that nothing? " said James. And then
he repeated, "So much the worse for them. " [407]

He might well be out of temper. His defeat had been complete and most
humiliating. Had the prelates escaped on account of some technical
defect in the case for the crown, had they escaped because they had
not written the petition in Middlesex, or because it was impossible to
prove, according to the strict rules of law, that they had delivered
to the King the paper for which they were called in question, the
prerogative would have suffered no shock. Happily for the country, the
fact of publication had been fully established. The counsel for the
defence had therefore been forced to attack the dispensing power.
They had attacked it with great learning, eloquence, and boldness.
The advocates of the government had been by universal acknowledgment
overmatched in the contest. Not a single judge had ventured to declare
that the Declaration of Indulgence was legal. One Judge had in the
strongest terms pronounced it illegal. The language of the whole town
was that the dispensing power had received a fatal blow. Finch, who had
the day before been universally reviled, was now universally applauded.
He had been unwilling, it was said, to let the case be decided in a way
which would have left the great constitutional question still doubtful.
He had felt that a verdict which should acquit his clients, without
condemning the Declaration of Indulgence, would be but half a victory.
It is certain that Finch deserved neither the reproaches which had
been cast on him while the event was doubtful, nor the praises which he
received when it had proved happy. It was absurd to blame him
because, during the short delay which he occasioned, the crown lawyers
unexpectedly discovered new evidence. It was equally absurd to suppose
that he deliberately exposed his clients to risk, in order to establish
a general principle: and still more absurd was it to praise him for what
would have been a gross violation of professional duty.

That joyful day was followed by a not less joyful night. The Bishops,
and some of their most respectable friends, in vain exerted themselves
to prevent tumultuous demonstrations of joy. Never within the memory
of the oldest, not even on that evening on which it was known through
London that the army of Scotland had declared for a free Parliament,
had the streets been in such a glare with bonfires. Round every bonfire
crowds were drinking good health to the Bishops and confusion to
the Papists. The windows were lighted with rows of candles. Each row
consisted of seven; and the taper in the centre, which was taller than
the rest, represented the Primate. The noise of rockets, squibs, and
firearms, was incessant. One huge pile of faggots blazed right in front
of the great gate of Whitehall. Others were lighted before the doors of
Roman Catholic Peers. Lord Arundell of Wardour wisely quieted the mob
with a little money: but at Salisbury House in the Strand an attempt at
resistance was made. Lord Salisbury's servants sallied out and fired:
but they killed only the unfortunate beadle of the parish, who had come
thither to put out the fire; and they were soon routed and driven back
into the house. None of the spectacles of that night interested the
common people so much as one with which they had, a few years before,
been familiar, and which they now, after a long interval, enjoyed once
more, the burning of the Pope. This once familiar pageant is known to
our generation only by descriptions and engravings. A figure, by no
means resembling those rude representations of Guy Faux which are still
paraded on the fifth of November, but made of wax with some skill, and
adorned at no small expense with robes and a tiara, was mounted on a
chair resembling that in which the Bishops of Rome are still, on some
great festivals, borne through Saint Peter's Church to the high altar.
His Holiness was generally accompanied by a train of Cardinals and
Jesuits. At his ear stood a buffoon disguised as a devil with horns
and tail. No rich and zealous Protestant grudged his guinea on such an
occasion, and, if rumour could be trusted, the cost of the procession
was sometimes not less than a thousand pounds. After the Pope had
been borne some time in state over the heads of the multitude, he was
committed to the flames with loud acclamations. In the time of the
popularity of Oates and Shaftesbury this show was exhibited annually in
Fleet Street before the windows of the Whig Club on the anniversary of
the birth of Queen Elizabeth. Such was the celebrity of these grotesque
rites, that Barillon once risked his life in order to peep at them from
a hiding place. [408] But, from the day when the Rye House Plot was
discovered, till the day of the acquittal of the Bishops, the ceremony
had been disused. Now, however, several Popes made their appearance in
different parts of London. The Nuncio was much shocked; and the King was
more hurt by this insult to his Church than by all the other affronts
which he had received. The magistrates, however, could do nothing. The
Sunday had dawned, and the bells of the parish churches were ringing
for early prayers, before the fires began to languish and the crowds
to disperse. A proclamation was speedily put forth against the rioters.
Many of them, mostly young apprentices, were apprehended; but the bills
were thrown out at the Middlesex sessions. The magistrates, many of whom
were Roman Catholics, expostulated with the grand jury and sent them
three or four times back, but to no purpose. [409]

Meanwhile the glad tidings were flying to every part of the kingdom,
and were everywhere received with rapture. Gloucester, Bedford, and
Lichfield, were among the places which were distinguished by peculiar
zeal: but Bristol and Norwich, which stood nearest to London in
population and wealth, approached nearest to London in enthusiasm on
this joyful occasion.

The prosecution of the Bishops is an event which stands by itself in our
history. It was the first and the last occasion on which two feelings
of tremendous potency, two feelings which have generally been opposed to
each other, and either of which, when strongly excited, has sufficed to
convulse the state, were united in perfect harmony. Those feelings were
love of the Church and love of freedom. During many generations every
violent outbreak of High Church feeling, with one exception, has been
unfavourable to civil liberty; every violent outbreak of zeal for
liberty, with one exception, has been unfavourable to the authority and
influence of the prelacy and the priesthood. In 1688 the cause of the
hierarchy was for a moment that of the popular party. More than nine
thousand clergymen, with the Primate and his most respectable suffragans
at their head, offered themselves to endure bonds and the spoiling
of their goods for the great fundamental principle of our free
constitution. The effect was a coalition which included the most zealous
Cavaliers, the most zealous Republicans, and all the intermediate
sections of the community. The spirit which had supported Hampden in the
preceding generation, the spirit which, in the succeeding generation,
supported Sacheverell, combined to support the Archbishop who was
Hampden and Sacheverell in one. Those classes of society which are most
deeply interested in the preservation of order, which in troubled times
are generally most ready to strengthen the hands of government, and
which have a natural antipathy to agitators, followed, without scruple,
the guidance of a venerable man, the first peer of the realm, the first
minister of the Church, a Tory in politics, a saint in manners, whom
tyranny had in his own despite turned into a demagogue. Those, on the
other hand, who had always abhorred episcopacy, as a relic of Popery,
and as an instrument of arbitrary power, now asked on bended knees the
blessing of a prelate who was ready to wear fetters and to lay his aged
limbs on bare stones rather than betray the interests of the Protestant
religion and set the prerogative above the laws. With love of the Church
and with love of freedom was mingled, at this great crisis, a third
feeling which is among the most honourable peculiarities of our national
character. An individual oppressed by power, even when destitute of all
claim to public respect and gratitude, generally finds strong sympathy
among us. Thus, in the time of our grandfathers, society was thrown
into confusion by the persecution of Wilkes. We have ourselves seen the
nation roused almost to madness by the wrongs of Queen Caroline. It
is probable, therefore, that, even if no great political and religious
interests had been staked on the event of the proceeding against the
Bishops, England would not have seen, without strong emotions of pity
and anger, old men of stainless virtue pursued by the vengeance of a
harsh and inexorable prince who owed to their fidelity the crown which
he wore.

Actuated by these sentiments our ancestors arrayed themselves against
the government in one huge and compact mass. All ranks, all parties, all
Protestant sects, made up that vast phalanx. In the van were the Lords
Spiritual and Temporal. Then came the landed gentry and the clergy,
both the Universities, all the Inns of Court, merchants, shopkeepers,
farmers, the porters who plied in the streets of the great towns, the
peasants who ploughed the fields. The league against the King included
the very foremast men who manned his ships, the very sentinels who
guarded his palace. The names of Whig and Tory were for a moment
forgotten. The old Exclusionist took the old Abhorrer by the hand.
Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Independents, Baptists, forgot their long
feuds, and remembered only their common Protestantism and their common
danger. Divines bred in the school of Laud talked loudly, not only
of toleration, but of comprehension. The Archbishop soon after
his acquittal put forth a pastoral letter which is one of the most
remarkable compositions of that age. He had, from his youth up, been
at war with the Nonconformists, and had repeatedly assailed them with
unjust and unchristian asperity. His principal work was a hideous
caricature of the Calvinistic theology. [410] He had drawn up for the
thirtieth of January and for the twenty-ninth of May forms of prayer
which reflected on the Puritans in language so strong that the
government had thought fit to soften it down. But now his heart was
melted and opened. He solemnly enjoined the Bishops and clergy to have a
very tender regard to their brethren the Protestant Dissenters, to
visit them often, to entertain them hospitably, to discourse with them
civilly, to persuade them, if it might be, to conform to the Church,
but, if that were found impossible, to join them heartily and
affectionately in exertions for the blessed cause of the Reformation.
[411]

Many pious persons in subsequent years remembered that time with bitter
regret. They described it as a short glimpse of a golden age between
two iron ages. Such lamentation, though natural, was not reasonable. The
coalition of 1688 was produced, and could be produced, only by tyranny
which approached to insanity, and by danger which threatened at once
all the great institutions of the country. If there has never since been
similar union, the reason is that there has never since been similar
misgovernment. It must be remembered that, though concord is in itself
better than discord, discord may indicate a better state of things than
is indicated by concord. Calamity and peril often force men to combine.
Prosperity and security often encourage them to separate.




CHAPTER IX

Change in the Opinion of the Tories concerning the Lawfulness of
Resistance--Russell proposes to the Prince of Orange a Descent on
England--Henry Sidney--Devonshire; Shrewsbury; Halifax--Danby--Bishop
Compton--Nottingham; Lumley--Invitation to William despatched--Conduct
of Mary--Difficulties of William's Enterprise--Conduct of James after
the Trial of the Bishops--Dismissions and Promotions--Proceedings of
the High Commission; Sprat resigns his Seat--Discontent of the Clergy;
Transactions at Oxford--Discontent of the Gentry--Discontent of
the Army--Irish Troops brought over; Public
Indignation--Lillibullero--Politics of the United Provinces; Errors of
the French King--His Quarrel with the Pope concerning Franchises--The
Archbishopric of Cologne--Skilful Management of William--His Military
and Naval Preparations--He receives numerous Assurances of Support
from England--Sunderland--Anxiety of William--Warnings conveyed to
James--Exertions of Lewis to save James--James frustrates them--The
French Armies invade Germany--William obtains the Sanction of the
States General to his Expedition--Schomberg--British Adventurers at the
Hague--William's Declaration--James roused to a Sense of his Danger;
his Naval Means--His Military Means--He attempts to conciliate his
Subjects--He gives Audience to the Bishops--His Concessions ill
received--Proofs of the Birth of the Prince of Wales submitted to
the--Privy Council--Disgrace of Sunderland--William takes leave of
the States of Holland--He embarks and sails; he is driven back by
a Storm--His Declaration arrives in England; James questions the
Lords--William sets sail the second Time--He passes the Straits--He
lands at Torbay--He enters Exeter--Conversation of the King with the
Bishops--Disturbances in London--Men of Rank begin to repair to the
Prince--Lovelace--Colchester; Abingdon--Desertion of Cornbury--Petition
of the Lords for a Parliament--The King goes to Salisbury--Seymour;
Court of William at Exeter--Northern Insurrection--Skirmish at
Wincanton--Desertion of Churchill and Grafton--Retreat of the Royal Army
from Salisbury--Desertion of Prince George and Ormond--Flight of the
Princess Anne--Council of Lords held by James--He appoints Commissioners
to treat with William--The Negotiation a Feint--Dartmouth refuses
to send the Prince of Wales into France--Agitation of London--Forged
Proclamation--Risings in various Parts of the Country--Clarendon joins
the Prince at Salisbury; Dissension in the Prince's Camp--The Prince
reaches Hungerford; Skirmish at Reading; the King's Commissioners arrive
at Hungerford--Negotiation--The Queen and the Prince of Wales sent to
France; Lauzun--The King's Preparations for Flight--His Flight

THE acquittal of the Bishops was not the only event which makes the
thirtieth of June 1688 a great epoch in history. On that day, while the
bells of a hundred churches were ringing, while multitudes were busied,
from Hyde Park to Mile End, in piling faggots and dressing Popes for
the rejoicings of the night, was despatched from London to the Hague an
instrument scarcely less important to the liberties of England than the
Great Charter.

The prosecution of the Bishops, and the birth of the Prince of Wales,
had produced a great revolution in the feelings of many Tories. At
the very moment at which their Church was suffering the last excess of
injury and insult, they were compelled to renounce the hope of peaceful
deliverance. Hitherto they had flattered themselves that the trial to
which their loyalty was subjected would, though severe, be temporary,
and that their wrongs would shortly be redressed without any violation
of the ordinary rule of succession. A very different prospect was
now before them. As far as they could look forward they saw only
misgovernment, such as that of the last three years, extending through
ages. The cradle of the heir apparent of the crown was surrounded by
Jesuits. Deadly hatred of that Church of which he would one day be the
head would be studiously instilled into his infant mind, would be the
guiding principle of his life, and would be bequeathed by him to his
posterity. This vista of calamities had no end. It stretched beyond the
life of the youngest man living, beyond the eighteenth century. None
could say how many generations of Protestant Englishmen might hive to
bear oppression, such as, even when it had been believed to be short,
had been found almost insupportable. Was there then no remedy? One
remedy there was, quick, sharp, and decisive, a remedy which the Whigs
had been but too ready to employ, but which had always been regarded by
the Tories as, in all cases, unlawful.

The greatest Anglican doctors of that age had maintained that no breach
of law or contract, no excess of cruelty, rapacity, or licentiousness,
on the part of a rightful King, could justify his people in withstanding
him by force. Some of them had delighted to exhibit the doctrine of
nonresistance in a form so exaggerated as to shock common sense and
humanity. They frequently and emphatically remarked that Nero was at
the head of the Roman government when Saint Paul inculcated the duty
of obeying magistrates. The inference which they drew was that, if an
English King should, without any law but his own pleasure, persecute his
subjects for not worshipping idols, should fling them to the lions in
the Tower, should wrap them up in pitched cloth and set them on fire to
light up Saint James's Park, and should go on with these massacres till
whole towns and shires were left without one inhabitant, the survivors
would still be bound meekly to submit, and to be torn in pieces or
roasted alive without a struggle. The arguments in favour of this
proposition were futile indeed: but the place of sound argument was
amply supplied by the omnipotent sophistry of interest and of passion.
Many writers have expressed wonder that the high spirited Cavaliers of
England should have been zealous for the most slavish theory that
has ever been known among men. The truth is that this theory at first
presented itself to the Cavalier as the very opposite of slavish. Its
tendency was to make him not a slave but a freeman and a master. It
exalted him by exalting one whom he regarded as his protector, as his
friend, as the head of his beloved party and of his more beloved Church.
When Republicans were dominant the Royalist had endured wrongs and
insults which the restoration of the legitimate government had enabled
him to retaliate. Rebellion was therefore associated in his imagination
with subjection and degradation, and monarchical authority with liberty
and ascendency. It had never crossed his imagination that a time might
come when a King, a Stuart, would persecute the most loyal of the clergy
and gentry with more than the animosity of the Rump or the Protector.
That time had however arrived. It was now to be seen how the patience
which Churchmen professed to have learned from the writings of Paul
would stand the test of a persecution by no means so severe as that of
Nero. The event was such as everybody who knew anything of human nature
would have predicted. Oppression speedily did what philosophy and
eloquence would have failed to do. The system of Filmer might have
survived the attacks of Locke: but it never recovered from the death
blow given by James. That logic, which, while it was used to prove
that Presbyterians and Independents ought to bear imprisonment and
confiscation with meekness, had been pronounced unanswerable, seemed to
be of very little force when the question was whether Anglican Bishops
should be imprisoned, and the revenues of Anglican colleges confiscated.
It has been often repeated, from the pulpits of all the Cathedrals in
the land, that the apostolical injunction to obey the civil magistrate
was absolute and universal, and that it was impious presumption in man
to limit a precept which had been promulgated without any limitation
in the word of God. Now, however, divines, whose sagacity had been
sharpened by the imminent danger in which they stood of being turned out
of their livings and prebends to make room for Papists, discovered flaws
in the reasoning which had formerly seemed so convincing. The ethical
parts of Scripture were not to be construed like Acts of Parliament, or
like the casuistical treatises of the schoolmen. What Christian really
turned the left cheek to the ruffian who had smitten the right? What
Christian really gave his cloak to the thieves who had taken his coat
away? Both in the Old and in the New Testament general rules were
perpetually laid down unaccompanied by the exceptions. Thus there was a
general command not to kill, unaccompanied by any reservation in favour
of the warrior who kills in defence of his king and country. There was a
general command not to swear, unaccompanied by any reservation in favour
of the witness who swears to speak the truth before a judge. Yet the
lawfulness of defensive war, and of judicial oaths, was disputed only by
a few obscure sectaries, and was positively affirmed in the articles of
the Church of England. All the arguments, which showed that the Quaker,
who refused to bear arms, or to kiss the Gospels, was unreasonable and
perverse, might be turned against those who denied to subjects the right
of resisting extreme tyranny by force. If it was contended that
the texts which prohibited homicide, and the texts which prohibited
swearing, though generally expressed, must be construed in subordination
to the great commandment by which every man is enjoined to promote the
welfare of his neighbours, and would, when so construed, be found not
to apply to cases in which homicide or swearing might be absolutely
necessary to protect the dearest interests of society, it was not easy
to deny that the texts which prohibited resistance ought to be construed
in the same manner. If the ancient people of God had been directed
sometimes to destroy human life, and sometimes to bind themselves by
oaths, they had also been directed sometimes to resist wicked princes.
If early fathers of the Church had occasionally used language which
seemed to imply that they disapproved of all resistance, they had also
occasionally used language which seemed to imply that they disapproved
of all war and of all oaths. In truth the doctrine of passive obedience,
as taught at Oxford in the reign of Charles the Second, can be deduced
from the Bible only by a mode of interpretation which would irresistibly
lead us to the conclusions of Barclay and Penn.

It was not merely by arguments drawn from the letter of Scripture
that the Anglican theologians had, during the years which immediately
followed the Restoration, laboured to prove their favourite tenet. They
had attempted to show that, even if revelation had been silent, reason
would have taught wise men the folly and wickedness of all resistance to
established government. It was universally admitted that such resistance
was, except in extreme cases, unjustifiable. And who would undertake to
draw the line between extreme cases and ordinary cases? Was there any
government in the world under which there were not to be found some
discontented and factious men who would say, and perhaps think, that
their grievances constituted an extreme case? If, indeed, it were
possible to lay down a clear and accurate rule which might forbid men
to rebel against Trajan, and yet leave them at liberty to rebel against
Caligula, such a rule might be highly beneficial. But no such rule had
even been, or ever would be, framed. To say that rebellion was
lawful under some circumstances, without accurately defining those
circumstances, was to say that every man might rebel whenever he thought
fit; and a society in which every man rebelled whenever he thought fit
would be more miserable than a society governed by the most cruel and
licentious despot. It was therefore necessary to maintain the great
principle of nonresistance in all its integrity. Particular cases might
doubtless be put in which resistance would benefit a community: but it
was, on the whole, better that the people should patiently endure a bad
government than that they should relieve themselves by violating a law
on which the security of all government depended.

Such reasoning easily convinced a dominant and prosperous party, but
could ill bear the scrutiny of minds strongly excited by royal injustice
and ingratitude. It is true that to trace the exact boundary between
rightful and wrongful resistance is impossible: but this impossibility
arises from the nature of right and wrong, and is found in almost every
part of ethical science. A good action is not distinguished from a bad
action by marks so plain as those which distinguish a hexagon from a
square.
There is a frontier where virtue and vice fade into each other.
Who has ever been able to define the exact boundary between courage and
rashness, between prudence and cowardice, between frugality and avarice,
between liberality and prodigality? Who has ever been able to say how
far mercy to offenders ought to be carried, and where it ceases to
deserve the name of mercy and becomes a pernicious weakness? What
casuist, what lawyer, has ever been able nicely to mark the limits of
the right of selfdefence? All our jurists bold that a certain quantity
of risk to life or limb justifies a man in shooting or stabbing an
assailant: but they have long given up in despair the attempt to
describe, in precise words, that quantity of risk. They only say that
it must be, not a slight risk, but a risk such as would cause serious
apprehension to a man of firm mind; and who will undertake to say
what is the precise amount of apprehension which deserves to be called
serious, or what is the precise texture of mind which deserves to be
called firm. It is doubtless to be regretted that the nature of words
and the nature of things do not admit of more accurate legislation: nor
can it be denied that wrong will often be done when men are judges in
their own cause, and proceed instantly to execute their own judgment.
Yet who would, on that account, interdict all selfdefence? The right
which a people has to resist a bad government bears a close analogy to
the right which an individual, in the absence of legal protection, has
to slay an assailant. In both cases the evil must be grave. In both
cases all regular and peaceable modes of defence must be exhausted
before the aggrieved party resorts to extremities. In both cases an
awful responsibility is incurred. In both cases the burden of the proof
lies on him who has ventured on so desperate an expedient; and, if
he fails to vindicate himself, he is justly liable to the severest
penalties. But in neither case can we absolutely deny the existence
of the right. A man beset by assassins is not bound to let himself be
tortured and butchered without using his weapons, because nobody has
ever been able precisely to define the amount of danger which justifies
homicide. Nor is a society bound to endure passively all that tyranny
can inflict, because nobody has ever been able precisely to define the
amount of misgovernment which justifies rebellion.

But could the resistance of Englishmen to such a prince as James be
properly called rebellion? The thoroughpaced disciples of Filmer,
indeed, maintained that there was no difference whatever between the
polity of our country and that of Turkey, and that, if the King did not
confiscate the contents of all the tills in Lombard Street, and send
mutes with bowstrings to Sancroft and Halifax, this was only because His
Majesty was too gracious to use the whole power which he derived from
heaven. But the great body of Tories, though, in the heat of conflict,
they might occasionally use language which seemed to indicate that they
approved of these extravagant doctrines, heartily abhorred despotism.
The English government was, in their view, a limited monarchy. Yet how
can a monarchy be said to be limited if force is never to be employed,
even in the last resort, for the purpose of maintaining the limitations?
In Muscovy, where the sovereign was, by the constitution of the state,
absolute, it might perhaps be, with some colour of truth, contended
that, whatever excesses he might commit, he was still entitled to
demand, on Christian principles, the obedience of his subjects. But here
prince and people were alike bound by the laws. It was therefore James
who incurred the woe denounced against those who insult the powers
that be. It was James who was resisting the ordinance of God, who was
mutinying against that legitimate authority to which he ought to have
been subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake, and who
was, in the true sense of the words of Jesus, withholding from Caesar
the things which were Caesar's.

Moved by such considerations as these, the ablest and most enlightened
Tories began to admit that they had overstrained the doctrine of passive
obedience. The difference between these men and the Whigs as to the
reciprocal obligations of Kings and subjects was now no longer a
difference of principle. There still remained, it is true, many
historical controversies between the party which had always maintained
the lawfulness of resistance and the new converts. The memory of the
blessed Martyr was still as much revered as ever by those old Cavaliers
who were ready to take arms against his degenerate son. They still spoke
with abhorrence of the Long Parliament, of the Rye House Plot, and of
the Western insurrection. But, whatever they might think about the past,
the view which they took of the present was altogether Whiggish: for
they now held that extreme oppression might justify resistance, and they
held that the oppression which the nation suffered was extreme. [412]

It must not, however, be supposed that all the Tories renounced, even at
that conjuncture, a tenet which they had from childhood been taught to
regard as an essential part of Christianity, which they had professed
during many years with ostentatious vehemence, and which they had
attempted to propagate by persecution. Many were kept steady to their
old creed by conscience, and many by shame. But the greater part,
even of those who still continued to pronounce all resistance to the
sovereign unlawful, were disposed, in the event of a civil conflict,
to remain neutral. No provocation should drive them to rebel: but, if
rebellion broke forth, it did not appear that they were bound to fight
for James the Second as they would have fought for Charles the First.
The Christians of Rome had been forbidden by Saint Paul to resist the
government of Nero: but there was no reason to believe that the Apostle,
if he had been alive when the Legions and the Senate rose up against
that wicked Emperor, would have commanded the brethren to fly to arms
in support of tyranny. The duty of the persecuted Church was clear: she
must suffer patiently, and commit her cause to God. But, if God, whose
providence perpetually educes good out of evil, should be pleased,
as oftentimes He bad been pleased, to redress her wrongs by the
instrumentality of men whose angry passions her lessons had not been
able to tame, she might gratefully accept from Him a deliverance which
her principles did not permit her to achieve for herself. Most of
those Tories, therefore, who still sincerely disclaimed all thought of
attacking the government, were yet by no means inclined to defend it,
and perhaps, while glorying in their own scruples, secretly rejoiced
that everybody was not so scrupulous as themselves.

The Whigs saw that their time was come. Whether they should draw the
sword against the government had, during six or seven years, been, in
their view, merely a question of prudence; and prudence itself now urged
them to take a bold course.

In May, before the birth of the Prince of Wales, and while it was still
uncertain whether the Declaration would or would not be read in the
churches, Edward Russell had repaired to the Hague. He had strongly
represented to the Prince of Orange the state of the public mind, and
had advised his Highness to appear in England at the head of a strong
body of troops, and to call the people to arms.

William had seen, at a glance, the whole importance of the crisis. "Now
or never," he exclaimed in Latin to Dykvelt. [413] To Russell he held
more guarded language, admitted that the distempers of the state were
such as required an extraordinary remedy, but spoke with earnestness of
the chance of failure, and of the calamities which failure might bring
on Britain and on Europe. He knew well that many who talked in high
language about sacrificing their lives and fortunes for their country
would hesitate when the prospect of another Bloody Circuit was brought
close to them. He wanted therefore to have, not vague professions of
good will, but distinct invitations and promises of support subscribed
by powerful and eminent men. Russell remarked that it would be dangerous
to entrust the design to a great number of persons. William assented,
and said that a few signatures would be sufficient, if they were the
signatures of statesmen who represented great interests. [414]

With this answer Russell returned to London, where he found the
excitement greatly increased and daily increasing. The imprisonment of
the Bishops and the delivery of the Queen made his task easier than he
could have anticipated. He lost no time in collecting the voices of the
chiefs of the opposition. His principal coadjutor in this work was Henry
Sidney, brother of Algernon. It is remarkable that both Edward Russell
and Henry Sidney had been in the household of James, that both had,
partly on public and partly on private grounds, become his enemies, and
that both had to avenge the blood of near kinsmen who had, in the same
year, fallen victims to his implacable severity. Here the resemblance
ends. Russell, with considerable abilities, was proud, acrimonious,
restless, and violent. Sidney, with a sweet temper and winning manners,
seemed to be deficient in capacity and knowledge, and to be sunk in
voluptuousness and indolence. His face and form were eminently handsome.
In his youth he had been the terror of husbands; and even now, at near
fifty, he was the favourite of women and the envy of younger men. He
had formerly resided at the Hague in a public character, and had then
succeeded in obtaining a large share of William's confidence. Many
wondered at this: for it seemed that between the most austere of
statesmen and the most dissolute of idlers there could be nothing in
common. Swift, many years later, could not be convinced that one whom he
had known only as an illiterate and frivolous old rake could really have
played a great part in a great revolution. Yet a less acute observer
than Swift might have been aware that there is a certain tact,
resembling an instinct, which is often wanting to great orators and
philosophers, and which is often found in persons who, if judged by
their conversation or by their writings, would be pronounced simpletons.
Indeed, when a man possesses this tact, it is in some sense an advantage
to him that he is destitute of those more showy talents which would
make him an object of admiration, of envy, and of fear. Sidney was a
remarkable instance of this truth. Incapable, ignorant, and dissipated
as he seemed to be, he understood, or rather felt, with whom it was
necessary to be reserved, and with whom he might safely venture to be
communicative. The consequence was that he did what Mordaunt, with
all his vivacity and invention, or Burnet, with all his multifarious
knowledge and fluent elocution never could have done. [415]

With the old Whigs there could be no difficulty. In their opinion there
had been scarcely a moment, during many years, at which the public
wrongs would not have justified resistance. Devonshire, who might
be regarded as their chief, had private as well as public wrongs to
revenge. He went into the scheme with his whole heart, and answered for
his party. [416]

Russell opened the design to Shrewsbury. Sidney sounded Halifax.
Shrewsbury took his part with a courage and decision which, at a later
period, seemed to be wanting to his character. He at once agreed to
set his estate, his honours, and his life, on the stake. But Halifax
received the first hint of the project in a way which showed that it
would be useless, and perhaps hazardous, to be explicit. He was indeed
not the man for such an enterprise. His intellect was inexhaustibly
fertile of distinctions and objections; his temper calm and
unadventurous. He was ready to oppose the court to the utmost in the
House of Lords and by means of anonymous writings: but he was little
disposed to exchange his lordly repose for the insecure and agitated
life of a conspirator, to be in the power of accomplices, to live in
constant dread of warrants and King's messengers, nay, perhaps, to end
his days on a scaffold, or to live on alms in some back street of the
Hague. He therefore let fall some words which plainly indicated that
he did not wish to be privy to the intentions of his more daring and
impetuous friends. Sidney understood him and said no more. [417]

The next application was made to Danby, and had far better success.
Indeed, for his bold and active spirit the danger and the excitement,
which were insupportable to the more delicately organized mind of
Halifax, had a strong fascination. The different characters of the two
statesmen were legible in their faces. The brow, the eye, and the mouth
of Halifax indicated a powerful intellect and an exquisite sense of the
ludicrous; but the expression was that of a sceptic, of a voluptuary,
of a man not likely to venture his all on a single hazard, or to be a
martyr in any cause. To those who are acquainted with his countenance
it will not seem wonderful that the writer in whom he most delighted
was Montaigne. [418] Danby was a skeleton; and his meagre and wrinkled,
though handsome and noble, face strongly expressed both the keenness
of his parts and the restlessness of his ambition. Already he had once
risen from obscurity to the height of power. He had then fallen headlong
from his elevation. His life had been in danger. He had passed years in
a prison. He was now free: but this did not content him: he wished to
be again great. Attached as he was to the Anglican Church, hostile as he
was to the French ascendency, he could not hope to be great in a court
swarming with Jesuits and obsequious to the House of Bourbon. But, if he
bore a chief part in a revolution which should confound all the schemes
of the Papists, which should put an end to the long vassalage of
England, and which should transfer the regal power to an illustrious
pair whom he had united, he might emerge from his eclipse with new
splendour. The Whigs, whose animosity had nine years before driven
him from office, would, on his auspicious reappearance, join their
acclamations to the acclamations of his old friends the Cavaliers.
Already there had been a complete reconciliation between him and one of
the most distinguished of those who had formerly been managers of his
impeachment, the Earl of Devonshire. The two noblemen had met at
a village in the Peak, and had exchanged assurances of good will.
Devonshire had frankly owned that the Whigs had been guilty of a great
injustice, and had declared that they were now convinced of their error.
Danby, on his side, had also recantations to make. He had once held,
or pretended to hold, the doctrine of passive obedience in the largest
sense. Under his administration and with his sanction, a law had
been proposed which, if it had been passed, would have excluded from
Parliament and office all who refused to declare on oath that
they thought resistance in every case unlawful. But his vigorous
understanding, now thoroughly awakened by anxiety for the public
interests and for his own, was no longer to be duped, if indeed it ever
had been duped, by such childish fallacies. He at once gave in his
own adhesion to the conspiracy. He then exerted himself to obtain the
concurrence of Compton, the suspended Bishop of London, and succeeded
without difficulty. No prelate had been so insolently and unjustly
treated by the government as Compton; nor had any prelate so much to
expect from a revolution: for he had directed the education of the
Princess of Orange, and was supposed to possess a large share of her
confidence. He had, like his brethren, strongly maintained, as long as
he was not oppressed, that it was a crime to resist oppression; but,
since he had stood before the High Commission, a new light had broken in
upon his mind. [419]

Both Danby and Compton were desirous to secure the assistance of
Nottingham. The whole plan was opened to him; and he approved of it.
But in a few days he began to be unquiet. His mind was not sufficiently
powerful to emancipate itself from the prejudices of education. He went
about from divine to divine proposing in general terms hypothetical
cases of tyranny, and inquiring whether in such cases resistance would
be lawful. The answers which he obtained increased his distress. He at
length told his accomplices that he could go no further with them. If
they thought him capable of betraying them, they might stab him; and he
should hardly blame them; for, by drawing back after going so far, he
had given them a kind of right over his life. They had, however, he
assured them, nothing to fear from him: he would keep their secret; he
could not help wishing them success; but his conscience would not suffer
him to take an active part in a rebellion. They heard his confession
with suspicion and disdain. Sidney, whose notions of a conscientious
scruple were extremely vague, informed the Prince that Nottingham had
taken fright. It is due to Nottingham, however, to say that the general
tenor of his life justifies us in believing his conduct on this occasion
to have been perfectly honest, though most unwise and irresolute. [420]

The agents of the Prince had more complete success with Lord Lumley,
who knew himself to be, in spite of the eminent service which he
had performed at the time of the Western insurrection, abhorred
at Whitehall, not only as a heretic but as a renegade, and who was
therefore more eager than most of those who had been born Protestants to
take arms in defence of Protestantism. [421]

During June the meetings of those who were in the secret were frequent.
At length, on the last day of the month, the day on which the Bishops
were pronounced not guilty, the decisive step was taken. A formal
invitation, transcribed by Sidney but drawn up by some person more
skilled than Sidney, in the art of composition, was despatched to the
Hague. In this paper William was assured that nineteen twentieths of the
English people were desirous of a change, and would willingly join
to effect it, if only they could obtain the help of such a force from
abroad as might secure those who should rise in arms from the danger of
being dispersed and slaughtered before they could form themselves into
anything like military order. If his Highness would appear in the
island at the head of some troops, tens of thousands would hasten to
his standard. He would soon find himself at the head of a force greatly
superior to the whole regular army of England. Nor could that army
be implicitly depended on by the government. The officers were
discontented; and the common soldiers shared that aversion to Popery
which was general in the class from which they were taken. In the navy
Protestant feeling was still stronger. It was important to take some
decisive step while things were in this state. The enterprise would
be far more arduous if it were deferred till the King, by remodelling
boroughs and regiments, had procured a Parliament and an army on which
he could rely. The conspirators, therefore, implored the Prince to come
among them with as little delay as possible. They pledged their honour
that they would join him; and they undertook to secure the cooperation
of as large a number of persons as could safely be trusted with so
momentous and perilous a secret. On one point they thought it their
duty to remonstrate with his Highness. He had not taken advantage of the
opinion which the great body of the English people had formed respecting
the late birth. He had, on the contrary, sent congratulations to
Whitehall, and had thus seemed to acknowledge that the child who was
called Prince of Wales was rightful heir of the throne. This was a grave
error, and had damped the zeal of many. Not one person in a thousand
doubted that the boy was supposititious; and the Prince would be wanting
to his own interests if the suspicious circumstances which had attended
the Queen's confinement were not put prominently forward among his
reasons for taking arms. [422]

This paper was signed in cipher by the seven chiefs of the conspiracy,
Shrewsbury, Devonshire, Danby, Lumley, Compton, Russell and Sidney.
Herbert undertook to be their messenger. His errand was one of no
ordinary peril. He assumed the garb of a common sailor, and in this
disguise reached the Dutch coast in safety, on the Friday after the
trial of the Bishops. He instantly hastened to the Prince. Bentinck and
Dykvelt were summoned, and several days were passed in deliberation. The
first result of this deliberation was that the prayer for the Prince of
Wales ceased to be read in the Princess's chapel. [423]

From his wife William had no opposition to apprehend. Her understanding
had been completely subjugated by his; and, what is more extraordinary,
he had won her entire affection. He was to her in the place of the
parents whom she had lost by death and by estrangement, of the children
who had been denied to her prayers, and of the country from which she
was banished. His empire over her heart was divided only with her God.
To her father she had probably never been attached: she had quitted him
young: many years had elapsed since she had seen him; and no part of
his conduct to her, since her marriage, had indicated tenderness on his
part, or had been calculated to call forth tenderness on hers. He
had done all in his power to disturb her domestic happiness, and had
established a system of spying, eavesdropping, and talebearing under her
roof. He had a far greater revenue than any of his predecessors had ever
possessed, and regularly allowed to her younger sister forty thousand
pounds a year: [424] but the heiress presumptive of his throne had never
received from him the smallest pecuniary assistance, and was scarcely
able to make that appearance which became her high rank among European
princesses. She had ventured to intercede with him on behalf of her
old friend and preceptor Compton, who, for refusing to commit an act of
flagitious injustice, had been suspended from his episcopal functions;
but she had been ungraciously repulsed. [425] From the day on which
it had become clear that she and her husband were determined not to be
parties to the subversion of the English constitution, one chief object
of the politics of James had been to injure them both. He had recalled
the British regiments from Holland. He had conspired with Tyrconnel
and with France against Mary's rights, and had made arrangements for
depriving her of one at least of the three crowns to which, at his
death, she would have been entitled. It was now believed by the great
body of his people, and by many persons high in rank and distinguished
by abilities, that he had introduced a supposititious Prince of
Wales into the royal family, in order to deprive her of a magnificent
inheritance; and there is no reason to doubt that she partook of the
prevailing suspicion. That she should love such a father was impossible.
Her religious principles, indeed, were so strict that she would probably
have tried to perform what she considered as her duty, even to a father
whom she did not love. On the present occasion, however, she judged
that the claim of James to her obedience ought to yield to a claim more
sacred. And indeed all divines and publicists agree in this, that,
when the daughter of a prince of one country is married to a prince of
another country, she is bound to forget her own people and her father's
house, and, in the event of a rupture between her husband and her
parents, to side with her husband. This is the undoubted rule even when
the husband is in the wrong; and to Mary the enterprise which William
meditated appeared not only just, but holy.

But, though she carefully abstained from doing or saying anything that
could add to his difficulties, those difficulties were serious indeed.
They were in truth but imperfectly understood even by some of those who
invited him over, and have been but imperfectly described by some of
those who have written the history of his expedition.

The obstacles which he might expect to encounter on English ground,
though the least formidable of the obstacles which stood in the way of
his design, were yet serious. He felt that it would be madness in him
to imitate the example of Monmouth, to cross the sea with a few British
adventurers, and to trust to a general rising of the population. It was
necessary, and it was pronounced necessary by all those who invited him
over, that he should carry an army with him. Yet who could answer for
the effect which the appearance of such an army might produce? The
government was indeed justly odious. But would the English people,
altogether unaccustomed to the interference of continental powers in
English disputes, be inclined to look with favour on a deliverer who
was surrounded by foreign soldiers? If any part of the royal forces
resolutely withstood the invaders, would not that part soon have on its
side the patriotic sympathy of millions? A defeat would be fatal to the
whole undertaking. A bloody victory gained in the heart of the island by
the mercenaries of the States General over the Coldstream Guards and the
Buffs would be almost as great a calamity as a defeat. Such a victory
would be the most cruel wound ever inflicted on the national pride of
one of the proudest of nations. The crown so won would never be worn
in peace or security: The hatred with which the High Commission and the
Jesuits were regarded would give place to the more intense hatred which
would be inspired by the alien conquerors; and many, who had hitherto
contemplated the power of France with dread and loathing, would say
that, if a foreign yoke must be borne, there was less ignominy in
submitting to France than in submitting to Holland.

These considerations might well have made William uneasy; even if all
the military means of the United Provinces had been at his absolute
disposal. But in truth it seemed very doubtful whether he would be able
to obtain the assistance of a single battalion. Of all the difficulties
with which he had to struggle, the greatest, though little noticed
by English historians, arose from the constitution of the Batavian
republic. No great society has ever existed during a long course of
years under a polity so inconvenient. The States General could not make
war or peace, could not conclude any alliance or levy any tax, without
the consent of the States of every province. The States of a province
could not give such consent without the consent of every municipality
which had a share in the representation. Every municipality was, in
some sense, a sovereign state, and, as such, claimed the right of
communicating directly with foreign ambassadors, and of concerting with
them the means of defeating schemes on which other municipalities
were intent. In some town councils the party which had, during several
generations, regarded the influence of the Stadtholders with jealousy
had great power. At the head of this party were the magistrates of the
noble city of Amsterdam, which was then at the height of prosperity.
They had, ever since the peace of Nimeguen, kept up a friendly
correspondence with Lewis through the instrumentality of his able and
active envoy the Count of Avaux. Propositions brought forward by the
Stadtholder as indispensable to the security of the commonwealth,
sanctioned by all the provinces except Holland, and sanctioned by
seventeen of the eighteen town councils of Holland, had repeatedly been
negatived by the single voice of Amsterdam. The only constitutional
remedy in such cases was that deputies from the cities which were agreed
should pay a visit to the city which dissented, for the purpose of
expostulation. The number of deputies was unlimited: they might continue
to expostulate as long as they thought fit; and meanwhile all their
expenses were defrayed by the obstinate community which refused to yield
to their arguments. This absurd mode of coercion had once been tried
with success on the little town of Gorkum, but was not likely to produce
much effect on the mighty and opulent Amsterdam, renowned throughout
the world for its haven bristling with innumerable masts, its canals
bordered by stately mansions, its gorgeous hall of state, walled,
roofed, and floored with polished marble, its warehouses filled with
the most costly productions of Ceylon and Surinam, and its Exchange
resounding with the endless hubbub of all the languages spoken by
civilised men. [426]

The disputes between the majority which supported the Stadtholder and
the minority headed by the magistrates of Amsterdam had repeatedly run
so high that bloodshed had seemed to be inevitable. On one occasion the
Prince had attempted to bring the refractory deputies to punishment as
traitors. On another occasion the gates of Amsterdam had been barred
against him, and troops had been raised to defend the privileges of the
municipal council. That the rulers of this great city would ever consent
to an expedition offensive in the highest degree to Lewis whom they
courted, and likely to aggrandise the House of Orange which they
abhorred, was not likely. Yet, without their consent, such an expedition
could not legally be undertaken. To quell their opposition by main force
was a course from which, in different circumstances, the resolute and
daring Stadtholder would not have shrunk. But at that moment it was
most important that he should carefully avoid every act which could
be represented as tyrannical. He could not venture to violate the
fundamental laws of Holland at the very moment at which he was drawing
the sword against his father in law for violating the fundamental laws
of England. The violent subversion of one free constitution would have
been a strange prelude to the violent restoration of another. [427]

There was yet another difficulty which has been too little noticed by
English writers, but which was never for a moment absent from William's
mind. In the expedition which he meditated he could succeed only by
appealing to the Protestant feeling of England, and by stimulating
that feeling till it became, for a time, the dominant and almost the
exclusive sentiment of the nation. This would indeed have been a
very simple course, had the end of all his politics been to effect
a revolution in our island and to reign there.