Her majesty the queen :: :: University of Virginia Library

I returned to Whitehall; and on the same night
occurred an incident which revealed to me the secret
springs of one of those events which overturn monarchies.

It was nearly midnight, and I was passing beneath
the trees of St. James's Park, near the palace, when
the figures of two persons approached, and by the
bright moonlight I could see that they were in animated
conversation.

“I swear to your majesty that I speak upon sure
information!” said the voice of Lord Digby. I recognized
it without difficulty, though the speaker was
greatly moved.

“'Tis impossible!” replied the voice of the king,
which was equally unmistakable. “Impeach the queen?
Wherefore? 'Twould be too infamous and absurd,
Digby!”

“Infamous? Yes, your majesty! But absurd?”

“Have they aught against her?”

The other was silent.

“Speak!” the king said. “Whereon can impeachment
of her majesty rest?”

“Will your majesty permit me to speak without
ceremony?”

“Yes; speak plainly! You rack me, Digby! My

heart sinks. Speak! How and why should these people
impeach my wife?”

“Her majesty is a papist, sire.”

“Content!—but that is naught. What more?”

“She is striving to convert her husband!”

“'Tis false! She has never attempted any such
thing!”

“They profess to believe it, no less, your majesty.”

“They will profess to believe anything to my prejudice
or hers! Aught more?”

“They declare that your alleged attacks on the
privileges of parliament are in consequence of her
majesty's arguments, and from the fact that you cannot
resist her appeals.”

“False! false! All false, Digby! Woe to these
slanderers!”

“They are powerful, your majesty.”

“I will show them that I too am powerful.”

“Beware, sire! Let an humble subject speak plainly.
They will crush you!”

“Crush me? 'Tis well, Digby. I will save them
the trouble by first crushing them!”

I had drawn aside to permit the king and his companion
to pass. Lost in the shadow, they did not perceive
me; but I could see the king's expression of wrath,
and Digby's unconcealed joy, as the moonlight fell
upon their faces.

“I will strike at the leaders in this infamous scheme!”
exclaimed the king. “I have the names here in my
heart!” He struck his breast as he spoke. “From
this moment I swear to strike them without mercy!”

As the king spoke, he passed beyond hearing, and a

moment afterwards the two figures had disappeared in
the palace.[1]

Shall I relate what followed the incident in St. James's
Park? This is not a history of the reign of King
Charles I.; I would not repeat what is contained in the
great histories,—above all, would not discuss the squabbles
of king and parliament. But a few words are
necessary here, to explain after-events. It was King
Charles who defied his enemies first, and in a manner
most weak and imprudent.

In brief words, his majesty sent one of his household
to prefer a charge of treason against five prominent
members of the parliament. On the next day he demanded
the persons of the five; and, the parliament
refusing to surrender them, the king proceeded at the
head of an armed guard to arrest them in person.

It is said that the gods make lunatics of those whom
they are going to destroy. His majesty was acting
illegally, he was also acting madly. Time never was
when a king of England was an irresponsible despot,
unchecked by any law and competent to seize upon
the persons of its representatives. As yet, however,
respect for the kingly authority was great; and it was
thought best by the parliament that the five members
should escape. Time was given them for this by the
intrigues of Lady Carlisle, the black-eyed Venus whom
I had seen at Hampton Court. The king had just left

Whitehall, and the queen in great agitation sat, watch
in hand, with her eyes on the dial. The king had
indicated an hour when—should no “ill news” come
from him—all would be well; and, the hour having
arrived, the queen exclaimed to Lady Carlisle,—

“Rejoice with me, for at this hour the king is, as I
have reason to hope, master of his realm; for Pym and
his confederates are arrested before now!”

The words are said to have caused Lady Carlisle to
give a great start. She was a friend, secretly, of the
enemies of the king. She invented some pretext now
to leave the queen's apartment; hastened out, sent a
messenger to warn the threatened members, and, owing
to delay in the movements of the king, the messenger
arrived in time.

When his majesty entered the Parliament House, the
birds had thus flown. A violent scene ensued. Loud
cries of “Privilege! privilege!” rang through the hall.
The Speaker knelt to his majesty, but refused to pledge
himself for the delivery of the accused, and the king
retired, discomfited.

With this crow-bar King Charles I. overturned his
throne. London suddenly blazed with rage at the
attempted arrests. Great crowds escorted the members
of parliament to the hall; the king retired ingloriously
to Hampton Court, and from thence sent word that
he would abandon the prosecution of the members and
respect parliamentary privileges!

Oh, inglorious! He was brave, and not deficient in
intelligence,—what made him thus act with such folly
and timidity? 'Twas not conviction of having acted
wrongfully: his majesty believed in his kingly prerogative

always. Was it the spirit of intrigue, the
intent to temporize?

A great sovereign, observant of the right, would
never have begun that bad business. A resolute despot
would have marched upon the malcontents and crushed
them then and there. King Charles did neither. He
struck the tiger with his whip, and, when the animal
turned snarling, retreated before him. From that moment
he was doomed, and was king only in name.

This occurred wellnigh half a century since. King
and parliament are gone. I, an exile, am only musing
and thinking, “How strange was all that!”

The royal family had all gone back to Hampton
Court; and the queen was in despair, it is said, when
she learned that her indiscretion had prevented the
arrest of the members. Madame de Motteville, whom
I knew well afterwards,—her majesty's intimate friend,
—told me of the meeting of Charles and his queen
after the attempted arrest. The queen threw herself
into the king's arms, and with passionate tears upbraided
herself for her fault. In narrating the scene to Madame
de Motteville, she stopped, choked with tears, and
sobbed out praises of her husband's unaltered tenderness.
“Never did he treat me with less kindness,”
she faltered out, “than before it happened, though I
had ruined him.”

Events from this time rushed onward. It soon came
to be whispered through the palace that her majesty
was going on a visit to Holland, with the design of
conducting the princess-royal, then a child, to her
child-spouse the Prince of Orange.

The parliament had issued a circular to the nobility,

calling on them to arm and prevent the king from
withdrawing farther than Hampton Court. Strange
to say, however, they scarcely opposed the projected
journey of the queen to Holland.

Before the queen's departure a singular event occurred,
and this event I shall now relate.

[1]

Lingard, the parliamentary historian, alludes to the proposed impeachment
of the queen. He says, “Some hints had been dropped
by the patriots of an impeachment of the queen; the information was
conveyed to Charles, and urged him to the hazardous expedient of
arresting the six members.”—Editor.