Part 1 (1/2)

Royalty Restored.

by J. Fitzgerald Molloy.

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

No social history of the court of Charles II. has heretofore been written. The Grammont Memoirs, devoid of date and detail, and addressed ”to those who read only for amus.e.m.e.nt,” present but brief imperfect sketches of the wits and beauties who thronged the court of the merry monarch whilst the brilliant Frenchman sojourned in England. Pepys, during the first nine years of the Restoration, narrates such gossip as reached him regarding Whitehall and the practices that obtained there.

Evelyn records some trifling actions of the king and his courtiers, with a view of pointing a moral, rather than from a desire of adorning a tale.

To supply this want in our literature, I have endeavoured to present a picture of the domestic life of a king, whose name recalls pages of the brightest romance and strangest gallantry in our chronicles. To this I have added a study of London during his reign, taken as far as possible from rare, and invariably from authentic sources. It will readily be seen this work, embracing such subjects, could alone have resulted from careful study and untiring consultation of diaries, records, memoirs, letters, pamphlets, tracts, and papers left by contemporaries familiar with the court and capital. The accomplishment of such a task necessitated an expenditure of time, and devotion to labour, such as in these fretful and impatient days is seldom bestowed on work.

As in previous volumes I have writ no fact is set down without authority, so likewise the same rule is pursued in these; and for such as desire to test the accuracy thereof, or follow at further length statements necessarily abbreviated, a list is appended of the princ.i.p.al literature consulted. And inasmuch as I have found pleasure in this work, so may my gentle readers derive profit therefrom; and as I have laboured, so may they enjoy. Expressing which fair wishes, and moreover commending myself unto their love and service, I humbly take my leave.

J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY.

CHAPTER I.

Cromwell is sick unto death.--Fears and suspicions.--Killing no Murder.--A memorable storm.--The end of all.--Richard Cromwell made Protector.--He refuses to shed blood.--Disturbance and dissatisfaction.--Downfall of Richard.--Charles Stuart proclaimed king.--Rejoicement of the nation.--The king comes into his own.--Entry into London.--Public joy and satisfaction.

On the 30th of January, 1649, Charles I. was beheaded. In the last days of August in the year of grace 1658, Oliver Cromwell lay sick unto death at the Palace of Whitehall. On the 27th day of June in the previous year, he had, in the Presence of the Judges of the land, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the City, and Members of Parliament a.s.sembled at Westminster Hall, seated himself on the coronation chair of the Stuarts, a.s.sumed the t.i.tle of Lord Protector, donned a robe of violet velvet, girt his loins with a sword of state, and grasped the sceptre, symbolic of kingly power. From that hour distrust beset his days, his nights were fraught with fear. All his keen and subtle foresight, his strong and restless energies, had since then been exerted in suppressing plots against his power, and detecting schemes against his life, concocted by the Republicans whose liberty he had betrayed, and by the Royalists whose king he had beheaded.

Soon after he had a.s.sumed the t.i.tle of Lord High Protector, a most daring pamphlet, openly advocating his a.s.sa.s.sination, was circulated in vast numbers throughout the kingdom. It was ent.i.tled ”Killing no Murder,” and was dedicated in language outrageously bold to His Highness Oliver Cromwell. ”To your Highness justly belongs the honour of dying for the people,” it stated, ”and it cannot but be an unspeakable consolation to you, in the last moments of your life, to consider with how much benefit to the world you are likely to leave it. It is then only, my lord, the t.i.tles you now usurp will be truly yours; you will then be, indeed, the deliverer of your country, and free it from a bondage little inferior to that from which Moses delivered his, you will then be that true reformer which you would now be thought; religion shall then be restored, liberty a.s.serted, and Parliaments have those privileges they have sought for. All this we hope from your Highness's happy expiration. To hasten this great good is the chief end of my writing this paper; and if it have the effects I hope it will, your Highness will quickly be out of the reach of men's malice, and your enemies will only be able to wound you in your memory, which strokes you will not feel.”

The possession of life becomes dearest when its forfeiture is threatened, and therefore Cromwell took all possible means to guard against treachery--the only foe he feared, and feared exceedingly. ”His sleeps were disturbed with the apprehensions of those dangers the day presented unto him in the approaches of any strange face, whose motion he would most fixedly attend,” writes James Heath, gentleman, in his ”Chronicles,” published in 1675. ”Above all, he very carefully observed such whose mind or aspect were featured with any chearful and debonair lineaments; for such he boded were they that would despatch him; to that purpose he always went secretly armed, both offensive and defensive; and never stirred without a great guard. In his usual journey between Whitehall and Hampton Court, by several roads, he drove full speed in the summer time, making such a dust with his life-guard, part before and part behinde, at a convenient distance, for fear of choaking him with it, that one could hardly see for a quarter of an hour together, and always came in some private way or other.” The same authority, in his ”Life of Cromwell,” states of him, ”It was his constant custom to s.h.i.+ft and change his lodging, to which he pa.s.sed through twenty several locks, and out of which he had four or five ways to avoid pursuit.” Welwood, in his ”Memoirs,” adds the Protector wore a coat of mail beneath his dress, and carried a poniard under his cloak.

Nor was this all. According to the ”Chronicle of the late Intestine War,” Cromwell ”would sometimes pretend to be merry, and invite persons, of whom he had some suspicion, to his cups, and then drill out of their open hearts such secrets as he wisht for. He had freaks also to divert the vexations of his misgiving thoughts, calling on by the beat of drum his footguards, like a kennel of hounds to s.n.a.t.c.h away the sc.r.a.ps and reliques of his table. He said every man's hand was against him, and that he ran daily into further perplexities, out of which it was impossible to extricate, or secure himself therein, without running into further danger; so that he began to alter much in the tenour of his former converse, and to run and transform into the manners of the ancient tyrants, thinking to please and mitigate his own tortures with the sufferings of others.”

But now the fate his vigilance had hitherto combated at last overtook him in a manner impossible to evade. He was attacked by divers infirmities, but for some time made no outward sign of his suffering, until one day five physicians came and waited on him, as Dr. George Bate states in his ELENCHUS MOTUUM NUPERORUM. And one of them, feeling his pulse, declared his Highness suffered from an intermittent fever; hearing which ”he looked pale, fell into a cold sweat, almost fainted away, and orders himself to be carried to bed.” His fright, however, was but momentary. He was resolved to live. He had succeeded in raising himself to a position of vast power, but had failed in attaining the great object of his ambition--the crowned sovereignty of the nation he had stirred to its centre, and conquered to its furthest limits. Brought face to face with death, his indomitable will, which had shaped untoward circ.u.mstances to his accord with a force like unto fate itself, now determined to conquer his shadowy enemy which alone intercepted his path to the throne. Therefore as he lay in bed he said to those around him with that sanct.i.ty of speech which had cloaked his cruellest deeds and dissembled his most ambitious designs, ”I would be willing to live to be further serviceable to G.o.d and his people.”

As desires of waking hours are answered in sleep, so in response to his nervous craving for life he had delusive a.s.surances of health through the special bounty of Providence. He was therefore presently able to announce he ”had very great discoveries of the Lord to him in his sickness, and hath some certainty of being restored;” as Fleetwood, his son-in-law, wrote on the 24th of August in this same year.

Accordingly, when one of the physicians came to him next morning, the High Protector said, ”Why do you look sad?” To which the man of lore replied evasively, ”So it becomes anyone who had the weighty care of his life and health upon him.” Then Cromwell to this purpose spoke: ”You think I shall die; I tell you I shall not die this bout; I am sure on't.

Don't think I am mad. I speak the words of truth upon surer grounds than Galen or your Hippocrates furnish you with. G.o.d Almighty himself hath given that answer, not to my prayers alone, but also to the prayers of those who entertain a stricter commerce and greater intimacy with him.

Ye may have skill in the nature of things, yet nature can do more than all physicians put together, and G.o.d is far above nature.” The doctor besought him to rest, and left the room. Outside he met one of his colleagues, to whom he gave it as his opinion their patient had grown light-headed, and he repeated the words which Cromwell had spoken.

”Then,” said his brother-physician, ”you are certainly a stranger in this house; don't you know what was done last night? The chaplain and all their friends being dispersed into several parts of the palace have prayed to G.o.d for his health, and they all heard the voice of G.o.d saying, 'He will recover,' and so they are all certain of it.”

”Never, indeed, was there a greater stock of prayers going on for any man,” as Thurlow, his secretary, writes. So sure were those around him that Providence must hearken to and grant the fulfilment of such desires as they thought well to express, that, as Thomas Goodwin, one of Cromwell's chaplains, said, ”We asked not for the Protector's life, for we were a.s.sured He had too great things for this man to do, to remove him yet; but we prayed for his speedy recovery, because his life and presence were so necessary to divers things then of great moment to be despatched.” When this Puritanical fanatic was presently disappointed, Bishop Burnet narrates ”he had the impudence to say to G.o.d, 'Thou hast deceived us.'”

Meanwhile the Protector lay writhing in pain and terror. His mind was sorely troubled at remembrance of the last words spoken by his daughter Elizabeth, who had threatened judgments upon him because of his refusal to save the King; whilst his body was grievously racked with a tertian fever, and a foul humour which, beginning in his foot, worked its way steadily to his heart. Moreover, some insight regarding his future seemed given to him in his last days, for he appeared, as Ludlow, his contemporary, states, ”above all concerned for the reproaches he saw men would cast upon his name, in tramping upon his ashes when dead.”

On the 30th of August his danger became evident even to himself, and all hope of life left him. For hours after the certain approach of death became undeniably certain, he remained quiet and speechless, seemingly heedless of the exhortation and prayers of his chaplains, till suddenly turning to one of them, he whispered, ”Tell me, is it possible to fall from grace?” The preacher had a soothing reply ready: ”It is not,” he answered. ”Then,” exclaimed this unhappy man, whose soul was red with the blood of thousands of his countrymen, ”I am safe, for I know I was once in grace.” Anon he cries out, whilst tossing wildly on his bed, ”Lord, although I am a miserable and a wretched creature, I am in covenant with Thee through grace, and I may and will come to Thee for Thy people. Pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm. And give us a good night if it be Thy pleasure. Amen.”

It was now the 2nd of September. As the evening of that day approached he fell into a stupor, and those who watched him thought the end had come.

Within the darkened chamber in Whitehall all was silence and gloom; without all was tumult and fear. Before the gates of the palace a turbulent crowd of soldiers and citizens had gathered in impatient anxiety. Those he had raised to power, those whose fortunes depended on his life, were steeped in gloom; those whose principles he had outraged by his usurpation, those whose position he had crushed by his sway, rejoiced at heart. Not only the capital, but the whole nation, was divided into factions which one strong hand alone had been able to control; and terror, begotten by dire remembrances of civil war and bloodshed, abode with all lovers of peace.

As evening closed in, the elements appeared in unison with the distracted condition of the kingdom. Dark clouds, seeming of ominous import to men's minds, gathered in the heavens, to be presently torn asunder and hurried in wild flight by tempestuous winds across the troubled sky. As night deepened, the gale steadily increased, until it raged in boundless fury above the whole island and the seas that rolled around its sh.o.r.es. In town houses rocked on their foundations, turrets and steeples were flung from their places; in the country great trees were uprooted, corn-stacks levelled to the ground, and winter fruits destroyed; whilst at sea s.h.i.+ps sank to rise no more. This memorable storm lasted all night, and continued until three o'clock next afternoon, when Cromwell expired.

His body was immediately embalmed, but was of necessity interred in great haste. Westminster Abbey, the last home of kings and princes, was selected as the fittest resting-place for the regicide. Though it was impossible to honour his remains by stately ceremonials, his followers were not content to let the occasion of his death pa.s.s with-out commemoration. They therefore had a waxen image of him made, which they resolved to surround with all the pomp and circ.u.mstances of royalty. For this purpose they carried it to Somerset House--one of the late King's palaces--and placed it on a couch of crimson velvet beneath a canopy of state. Upon its shoulders they hung a purple mantle, in its right hand they placed a golden sceptre, and by its side they laid an imperial crown, probably the same which, according to Welwood, the Protector had secretly caused to be made and conveyed to Whitehall with a view to his coronation. The walls and ceiling of the room in which the effigy lay were covered by sable velvet; the pa.s.sages leading to it crowded with soldiery. After a few weeks the town grew tired of this sight, when the waxen image was taken to another apartment, hung with rich velvets and golden tissue, and otherwise adorned to symbolize heaven, when it was placed upon a throne, clad ”in a s.h.i.+rt of fine Holland lace, doublet and breeches of Spanish fas.h.i.+on with great skirts, silk stockings, shoe-strings and gaiters suitable, and black Spanish leather shoes.”

Over this attire was flung a cloak of purple velvet, and on his head was placed a crown with many precious stones. The room was then lit, as Ludlow narrates, ”by four or five hundred candles set in flat s.h.i.+ning candlesticks, so placed round near the roof that the light they gave seemed like the rays of the sun, by all which he was represented to be now in a state of glory.” Lest, indeed, there should be any doubt as to the place where his soul abode, Sterry, the Puritan preacher, imparted the information to all, that the Protector ”now sat with Christ at the right hand of the Father.”