The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. 4

T >> Thomas Babington Macaulay >> The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. 4

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Meanwhile public credit, which had, in the autumn, sunk to the
lowest point, was fast reviving. Ordinary financiers stood aghast
when they learned that more than five millions were required to
make good the deficiencies of past years. But Montague was not an
ordinary financier. A bold and simple plan proposed by him, and
popularly called the General Mortgage, restored confidence. New
taxes were imposed; old taxes were augmented or continued; and
thus a consolidated fund was formed sufficient to meet every just
claim on the State. The Bank of England was at the same time
enlarged by a new subscription; and the regulations for the
payment of the subscription were framed in such a manner as to
raise the value both of the notes of the corporation and of the
public securities.

Meanwhile the mints were pouring forth the new silver faster than
ever. The distress which began on the fourth of May 1696, which
was almost insupportable during the five succeeding months, and
which became lighter from the day on which the Commons declared
their immutable resolution to maintain the old standard, ceased
to be painfully felt in March 1697. Some months were still to
elapse before credit completely recovered from the most
tremendous shock that it has ever sustained. But already the deep
and solid foundation had been laid on which was to rise the most
gigantic fabric of commercial prosperity that the world had ever
seen. The great body of the Whigs attributed the restoration of
the health of the State to the genius and firmness of their
leader Montague. His enemies were forced to confess, sulkily and
sneeringly, that every one of his schemes had succeeded, the
first Bank subscription, the second Bank subscription, the
Recoinage, the General Mortgage, the Exchequer Bills. But some
Tories muttered that he deserved no more praise than a prodigal
who stakes his whole estate at hazard, and has a run of good
luck. England had indeed passed safely through a terrible crisis,
and was the stronger for having passed through it. But she had
been in imminent danger of perishing; and the minister who had
exposed her to that danger deserved, not to be praised, but to be
hanged. Others admitted that the plans which were popularly
attributed to Montague were excellent, but denied that those
plans were Montague's. The voice of detraction, however, was for
a time drowned by the loud applauses of the Parliament and the
City. The authority which the Chancellor of the Exchequer
exercised in the House of Commons was unprecedented and
unrivalled. In the Cabinet his influence was daily increasing. He
had no longer a superior at the Board of Treasury. In consequence
of Fenwick's confession, the last Tory who held a great and
efficient office in the State had been removed, and there was at
length a purely Whig Ministry.

It had been impossible to prevent reports about that confession
from getting abroad. The prisoner, indeed, had found means of
communicating with his friends, and had doubtless given them to
understand that he had said nothing against them, and much
against the creatures of the usurper. William wished the matter
to be left to the ordinary tribunals, and was most unwilling that
it should be debated elsewhere. But his counsellors, better
acquainted than himself with the temper of large and divided
assemblies, were of opinion that a parliamentary discussion,
though perhaps undesirable, was inevitable. It was in the power
of a single member of either House to force on such a discussion;
and in both Houses there were members who, some from a sense of
duty, some from mere love of mischief, were determined to know
whether the prisoner had, as it was rumoured, brought grave
charges against some of the most distinguished men in the
kingdom. If there must be an inquiry, it was surely desirable
that the accused statesmen should be the first to demand it.
There was, however, one great difficulty. The Whigs, who formed
the majority of the Lower House, were ready to vote, as one man,
for the entire absolution of Russell and Shrewsbury, and had no
wish to put a stigma on Marlborough, who was not in place, and
therefore excited little jealousy. But a strong body of honest
gentlemen, as Wharton called them, could not, by any management,
be induced to join in a resolution acquitting Godolphin. To them
Godolphin was an eyesore. All the other Tories who, in the
earlier years of William's reign, had borne a chief part in the
direction of affairs, had, one by one, been dismissed.
Nottingham, Trevor, Leeds, were no longer in power. Pembroke
could hardly be called a Tory, and had never been really in
power. But Godolphin still retained his post at Whitehall; and to
the men of the Revolution it seemed intolerable that
one who had sate at the Council Board of Charles and James, and
who had voted for a Regency, should be the principal minister of
finance. Those who felt thus had learned with malicious delight
that the First Lord of the Treasury was named in the confession
about which all the world was talking; and they were determined
not to let slip so good an opportunity of ejecting him from
office. On the other hand, every body who had seen Fenwick's
paper, and who had not, in the drunkenness of factious animosity,
lost all sense of reason and justice, must have felt that it was
impossible to make a distinction between two parts of that paper,
and to treat all that related to Shrewsbury and Russell as false,
and all that related to Godolphin as true. This was acknowledged
even by Wharton, who of all public men was the least troubled by
scruples or by shame.748 If Godolphin had stedfastly refused to
quit his place, the Whig leaders would have been in a most
embarrassing position. But a politician of no common dexterity
undertook to extricate them from their difficulties. In the art
of reading and managing the minds of men Sunderland had no equal;
and he was, as he had been during several years, desirous to see
all the great posts in the kingdom filled by Whigs. By his
skilful management Godolphin was induced to go into the royal
closet, and to request permission to retire from office; and
William granted that permission with a readiness by which
Godolphin was much more surprised than pleased.749

One of the methods employed by the Whig junto, for the purpose of
instituting and maintaining through all the ranks of the Whig
party a discipline never before known, was the frequent holding
of meetings of members of the House of Commons. Some of those
meetings were numerous; others were select. The larger were held
at the Rose, a tavern frequently mentioned in the political
pasquinades of that time;750 the smaller at Russell's in Covent
Garden, or at Somers's in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

On the day on which Godolphin resigned his great office two
select meetings were called. In the morning the place of assembly
was Russell's house. In the afternoon there was a fuller muster
at the Lord Keeper's. Fenwick's confession, which, till that
time, had probably been known only by rumour to most of those who
were present, was read. The indignation of the hearers was
strongly excited, particularly by one passage, of which the sense
seemed to be that not only Russell, not only Shrewsbury, but the
great body of the Whig party was, and had long been, at heart
Jacobite. "The fellow insinuates," it was said, "that the
Assassination Plot itself was a Whig scheme." The general opinion
was that such a charge could not be lightly passed over. There
must be a solemn debate and decision in Parliament. The best
course would be that the King should himself see and examine the
prisoner, and that Russell should then request the royal
permission to bring the subject before the House of Commons. As
Fenwick did not pretend that he had any authority for the stories
which he had told except mere hearsay, there could be no
difficulty in carrying a resolution branding him as a slanderer,
and an address to the throne requesting that he might be
forthwith brought to trial for high treason.751

The opinion of the meeting was conveyed to William by his
ministers; and he consented, though not without reluctance, to
see the prisoner. Fenwick was brought into the royal closet at
Kensington. A few of the great officers of state and the Crown
lawyers were present. "Your papers, Sir John," said the King,
"are altogether unsatisfactory. Instead of giving me an account
of the plots formed by you and your accomplices, plots of which
all the details must be exactly known to you, you tell me
stories, without authority, without date, without place, about
noblemen and gentlemen with whom you do not pretend to have had
any intercourse. In short your confession appears to be a
contrivance intended to screen those who are really engaged in
designs against me, and to make me suspect and discard those in
whom I have good reason to place confidence. If you look for any
favour from me, give me, this moment and on this spot, a full and
straightforward account of what you know of your own knowledge."
Fenwick said that he was taken by surprise, and asked for time.
"No, Sir," said the King. "For what purpose can you want time?
You may indeed want time if you mean to draw up another paper
like this. But what I require is a plain narrative of what you
have yourself done and seen; and such a narrative you can give,
if you will, without pen and ink." Then Fenwick positively
refused to say any thing. "Be it so," said William. "I will
neither hear you nor hear from you any more."752 Fenwick was
carried back to his prison. He had at this audience shown a
boldness and determination which surprised those who had observed
his demeanour. He had, ever since he had been in confinement,
appeared to be anxious and dejected; yet now, at the very crisis
of his fate, he had braved the displeasure of the Prince whose
clemency he had, a short time before, submissively implored. In a
very few hours the mystery was explained. Just before he had been
summoned to Kensington, he had received from his wife
intelligence that his life was in no danger, that there was only
one witness against him, that she and her friends had succeeded
in corrupting Goodman.753

Goodman had been allowed a liberty which was afterwards, with
some reason, made matter of charge against the government. For
his testimony was most important; his character was notoriously
bad; the attempts which had been made to seduce Porter proved
that, if money could save Fenwick's life, money would not be
spared; and Goodman had not, like Porter, been instrumental in
sending Jacobites to the gallows, and therefore was not, like
Porter, bound to the cause of William by an indissoluble tie. The
families of the imprisoned conspirators employed the agency of a
cunning and daring adventurer named O'Brien. This man knew
Goodman well. Indeed they had belonged to the same gang of
highwaymen. They met at the Dog in Drury Lane, a tavern which was
frequented by lawless and desperate men. O'Brien was accompanied
by another Jacobite of determined character. A simple choice was
offered to Goodman, to abscond and to be rewarded with an annuity
of five hundred a year, or to have his throat cut on the spot. He
consented, half from cupidity, half from fear. O'Brien was not a
man to be tricked as Clancy had been. He never parted company
with Goodman from the moment when the bargain was struck till
they were at Saint Germains.754

On the afternoon of the day on which Fenwick was examined by the
King at Kensington it began to be noised abroad that Goodman was
missing. He had been many hours absent from his house. He had not
been seen at his usual haunts. At first a suspicion arose that he
had been murdered by the Jacobites; and this suspicion was
strengthened by a singular circumstance. Just after his
disappearance, a human head was found severed from the body to
which it belonged, and so frightfully mangled that no feature
could be recognised. The multitude, possessed by the notion that
there was no crime which an Irish Papist might not be found to
commit, was inclined to believe that the fate of Godfrey had
befallen another victim. On inquiry however it seemed certain
that Goodman had designedly withdrawn himself. A proclamation
appeared promising a reward of a thousand pounds to any person
who should stop the runaway; but it was too late.755

This event exasperated the Whigs beyond measure. No jury could
now find Fenwick guilty of high treason. Was he then to escape?
Was a long series of offences against the State to go unpunished
merely because to those offences had now been added the offence
of bribing a witness to suppress his evidence and to desert his
bail? Was there no extraordinary method by which justice might
strike a criminal who, solely because he was worse than other
criminals, was beyond the reach of the ordinary law? Such a
method there was, a method authorised by numerous precedents, a
method used both by Papists and by Protestants during the
troubles of the sixteenth century, a method used both by
Roundheads and by Cavaliers during the troubles of the
seventeenth century, a method which scarcely any leader of the
Tory party could condemn without condemning himself, a method of
which Fenwick could not decently complain, since he had, a few
years before, been eager to employ it against the unfortunate
Monmouth. To that method the party which was now supreme in the
State determined to have recourse.

Soon after the Commons had met, on the morning of the sixth of
November, Russell rose in his place and requested to be heard.
The task which he had undertaken required courage not of the most
respectable kind; but to him no kind of courage was wanting. Sir
John Fenwick, he said, had sent to the King a paper in which
grave accusations were brought against some of His Majesty's
servants; and His Majesty had, at the request of his accused
servants, graciously given orders that this paper should be laid
before the House. The confession was produced and read. The
Admiral then, with spirit and dignity worthy of a better man,
demanded justice for himself and Shrewsbury. "If we are innocent,
clear us. If we are guilty, punish us as we deserve. I put myself
on you as on my country, and am ready to stand or fall by your
verdict."

It was immediately ordered that Fenwick should be brought to the
bar with all speed. Cutts, who sate in the House as member for
Cambridgeshire, was directed to provide a sufficient escort, and
was especially enjoined to take care that the prisoner should
have no opportunity of making or receiving any communication,
oral or written, on the road from Newgate to Westminster. The
House then adjourned till the afternoon.

At five o'clock, then a late hour, the mace was again put on the
table; candles were lighted; and the House and lobby were
carefully cleared of strangers. Fenwick was in attendance under a
strong guard. He was called in, and exhorted from the chair to
make a full and ingenuous confession. He hesitated and evaded. "I
cannot say any thing without the King's permission. His Majesty
may be displeased if what ought to be known only to him should be
divulged to others." He was told that his apprehensions were
groundless. The King well knew that it was the right and the duty
of his faithful Commons to inquire into whatever concerned the
safety of his person and of his government. "I may be tried in a
few days," said the prisoner. "I ought not to be asked to say any
thing which may rise up in judgment against me." "You have
nothing to fear," replied the Speaker, "if you will only make a
full and free discovery. No man ever had reason to repent of
having dealt candidly with the Commons of England." Then Fenwick
begged for delay. He was not a ready orator; his memory was bad;
he must have time to prepare himself. He was told, as he had been
told a few days before in the royal closet, that, prepared or
unprepared, he could not but remember the principal plots in
which he had been engaged, and the names of his chief
accomplices. If he would honestly relate what it was quite
impossible that he could have forgotten, the House would make all
fair allowances, and would grant him time to recollect
subordinate details. Thrice he was removed from the bar; and
thrice he was brought back. He was solemnly informed that the
opportunity then given him of earning the favour of the Commons
would probably be the last. He persisted in his refusal, and was
sent back to Newgate.

It was then moved that his confession was false and scandalous.
Coningsby proposed to add that it was a contrivance to create
jealousies between the King and good subjects for the purpose of
screening real traitors. A few implacable and unmanageable Whigs,
whose hatred of Godolphin had not been mitigated by his
resignation, hinted their doubts whether the whole paper ought to
be condemned. But after a debate in which Montague particularly
distinguished himself the motion was carried. One or two voices
cried "No;" but nobody ventured to demand a division.

Thus far all had gone smoothly; but in a few minutes the storm
broke forth. The terrible words, Bill of Attainder, were
pronounced; and all the fiercest passions of both the great
factions were instantly roused. The Tories had been taken by
surprise, and many of them had left the house. Those who remained
were loud in declaring that they never would consent to such a
violation of the first principles of justice. The spirit of the
Whigs was not less ardent, and their ranks were unbroken. The
motion for leave to bring in a bill attainting Sir John Fenwick
was carried very late at night by one hundred and seventy-nine
votes to sixty-one; but it was plain that the struggle would be
long and hard.756

In truth party spirit had seldom been more strongly excited. On
both sides there was doubtless much honest zeal; and on both
sides an observant eye might have detected fear, hatred, and
cupidity disguised under specious pretences of justice and public
good. The baleful heat of faction rapidly warmed into life
poisonous creeping things which had long been lying torpid,
discarded spies and convicted false witnesses, the leavings of
the scourge, the branding iron and the shears. Even Fuller hoped
that he might again find dupes to listen to him. The world had
forgotten him since his pillorying. He now had the effrontery to
write to the Speaker, begging to be heard at the bar and
promising much important information about Fenwick and others. On
the ninth of November the Speaker informed the House that he had
received this communication; but the House very properly refused
even to suffer the letter of so notorious a villain to be read.

On the same day the Bill of Attainder, having been prepared by
the Attorney and Solicitor General, was brought in and read a
first time. The House was full and the debate sharp. John Manley,
member for Bossiney, one of those stanch Tories who, in the
preceding session, had long refused to sign the Association,
accused the majority, in no measured terms, of fawning on the
Court and betraying the liberties of the people. His words were
taken down; and, though he tried to explain them away, he was
sent to the Tower. Seymour spoke strongly against the bill, and
quoted the speech which Caesar made in the Roman Senate against
the motion that the accomplices of Catiline should be put to
death in an irregular manner. A Whig orator keenly remarked that
the worthy Baron had forgotten that Caesar was grievously
suspected of having been himself concerned in Catiline's plot.757
In this stage a hundred and ninety-six members voted for the
bill, a hundred and four against it. A copy was sent to Fenwick,
in order that he might be prepared to defend himself. He begged
to be heard by counsel; his request was granted; and the
thirteenth was fixed for the hearing.

Never within the memory of the oldest member had there been such
a stir round the House as on the morning of the thirteenth. The
approaches were with some difficulty cleared; and no strangers,
except peers, were suffered to come within the doors. Of peers
the throng was so great that their presence had a perceptible
influence on the debate. Even Seymour, who, having formerly been
Speaker, ought to have been peculiarly mindful of the dignity of
the Commons, so strangely forgot himself as once to say "My
Lords." Fenwick, having been formally given up by the Sheriffs of
London to the Serjeant at Arms, was put to the bar, attended by
two barristers who were generally employed by Jacobite culprits,
Sir Thomas Powis and Sir Bartholomew Shower. Counsel appointed by
the House appeared in support of the bill.

The examination of the witnesses and the arguments of the
advocates occupied three days. Porter was called in and
interrogated. It was established, not indeed by legal proof, but
by such moral proof as determines the conduct of men in the
affairs of common life, that Goodman's absence was to be
attributed to a scheme planned and executed by Fenwick's friends
with Fenwick's privity. Secondary evidence of what Goodman, if he
had been present, would have been able to prove, was, after a
warm debate, admitted. His confession, made on oath and
subscribed by his hand, was put in. Some of the grand jurymen who
had found the bill against Sir John gave an account of what
Goodman had sworn before them; and their testimony was confirmed
by some of the petty jurymen who had convicted another
conspirator. No evidence was produced in behalf of the prisoner.
After counsel for him and against him had been heard, he was sent
back to his cell.758 Then the real struggle began. It was long
and violent. The House repeatedly sate from daybreak till near
midnight. Once the Speaker was in the chair fifteen hours without
intermission. Strangers were freely admitted; for it was felt
that, since the House chose to take on itself the functions of a
court of justice, it ought, like a court of justice, to sit with
open doors.759 The substance of the debates has consequently been
preserved in a report, meagre, indeed, when compared with the
reports of our time, but for that age unusually full. Every man
of note in the House took part in the discussion. The bill was
opposed by Finch with that fluent and sonorous rhetoric which had
gained him the name of Silvertongue, and by Howe with all the
sharpness both of his wit and of his temper, by Seymour with
characteristic energy, and by Harley with characteristic
solemnity. On the other side Montague displayed the powers of a
consummate debater, and was zealously supported by Littleton.
Conspicuous in the front ranks of the hostile parties were two
distinguished lawyers, Simon Harcourt and William Cowper.

Both were gentlemen of honourable descent; both were
distinguished by their fine persons and graceful manners; both
were renowned for eloquence; and both loved learning and learned
men. It may be added that both had early in life been noted for
prodigality and love of pleasure. Dissipation had made them poor;
poverty had made them industrious; and though they were still, as
age is reckoned at the Inns of Court, very young men, Harcourt
only thirty-six, Cowper only thirty-two, they already had the
first practice at the bar. They were destined to rise still
higher, to be the bearers of the great seal of the realm, and the
founders of patrician houses. In politics they were diametrically
opposed to each other. Harcourt had seen the Revolution with
disgust, had not chosen to sit in the Convention, had with
difficulty reconciled his conscience to the oaths, and had
tardily and unwillingly signed the Association. Cowper had been
in arms for the Prince of Orange and a free Parliament, and had,
in the short and tumultuary campaign which preceded the flight of
James, distinguished himself by intelligence and courage. Since
Somers had been removed to the Woolsack, the law officers of the
Crown had not made a very distinguished figure in the Lower
House, or indeed any where else; and their deficiencies had been
more than once supplied by Cowper. His skill had, at the trial of
Parkyns, recovered the verdict which the mismanagement of the
Solicitor General had, for a moment, put in jeopardy. He had been
chosen member for Hertford at the general election of 1695, and
had scarcely taken his seat when he attained a high place among
parliamentary speakers. Chesterfield many years later, in one of
his letters to his son, described Cowper as an orator who never
spoke without applause, but who reasoned feebly, and who owed the
influence which he long exercised over great assemblies to the
singular charm of his style, his voice and his action.
Chesterfield was, beyond all doubt, intellectually qualified to
form a correct judgment on such a subject. But it must be
remembered that the object of his letters was to exalt good taste
and politeness in opposition to much higher qualities. He
therefore constantly and systematically attributed the success of
the most eminent persons of his age to their superiority, not in
solid abilities and acquirements, but in superficial graces of
diction and manner. He represented even Marlborough as a man of
very ordinary capacity, who, solely because he was extremely well
bred and well spoken, had risen from poverty and obscurity to the
height of power and glory. It may confidently be pronounced that
both to Marlborough and to Cowper Chesterfield was unjust. The
general who saved the Empire and conquered the Low Countries was
assuredly something more than a fine gentleman; and the judge who
presided during nine years in the Court of Chancery with the
approbation of all parties must have been something more than a
fine declaimer.