gave all his enemies, even the chief instruments of his death; but exhorted them and the whole nation to return to the ways of peace, by paying obedience to their lawful sovereign, his son and successor.(1) These exhortations being finished, the king prepared himself for the block; bishop Juxon, in the mean time, warning him, that there was but one stage more between him and heaven, and that, though troublesome, it was short. "I go," said Charles, "from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can arise."-" You are exchanged," replied the bishop, "from a temporal to an eternal crown: a good exchange!" One of the executioners, at a single blow, severed the king's head from his body; and the other, holding it up, streaming with blood, cried aloud, "This is the head of a traitor !"(2) Grief, terror, and indignation took at once hold of the hearts of the astonished spectators; each of whom seemed to accuse himself either of active disloyalty to his murdered sovereign, or with too indolent a defence of his oppressed cause, and to regard himself as an accomplice in this horrid transaction, which had fixed an indelible stain upon the character of the nation, and must expose it to the vengeance of an offended Deity. The same sentiments spread themselves throughout the whole kingdom. The people were every where overwhelmed with sorrow and confusion, as soon as informed of the fatal catastrophe of the king, and filled with unrelenting hatred against the authors of his death. His sufferings, his magnanimity, his patience, his piety, and his Christian deportment, made all his errors be forgotten; and nothing was now to be heard but lamentations and selfreproaches.(3) Charles I. was of a middling stature, strong, and well proportioned. His features were regular, and his aspect sweet but melancholy. He excelled in horsemanship and other manly exercises. His judgment was sound, his taste elegant, and his general temper moderate. He was a sincere admirer of the fine arts, and a liberal encourager of those who pursued them. As a man, his character was unexceptionable, and even highly exemplary; in a word, we may say with lord Clarendon, that "he was the worthiest gentleman, the best master, the best friend, the best husband, the best father, and the best Christian in his dominions :" but he had the misfortune, as a king, letter being the substance of a speech in the privy-council,) "for in truth it did not seem so to me. However, if I were once told that his majesty liked not to be thus served, I would readily conform myself; follow the bent and current of my own disposition, which is to be quiet. Here his majesty interrupted me, and said, that was no severity: if I served him otherwise, I should not serve him as he expected from me." Strafford's Letters and Despatches, vol. ii. (1) State Trials, vol. ii. Rushworth, vol. viii. Whitlocke, p. 375. Burnet, vol. i. Herbert's Mem. 117-127. (2) Id. ibid. It being remarked that the king, the moment before he stretched out his neck to the executioner, had emphatically pronounced the word REMEMBER! great mysteries were supposed to be concealed under that expression; and the generals insisted that Juxon should inform them of its latent meaning. The bishop told them, that the king having frequently charged him to inculcate on his son the forgiveness of his murderers, had taken this opportunity, in the last moment of his life, to reiterate that desire; and that his mild spirit thus terminated its present course, by an act of benevolence towards his greatest enemies. Hume, vol. vii. (3) This disposition of mind was much heightened by the appearance of the Icon Basiliké, a work published in the king's name a few days after his execution, and containing, besides his prayers in the exercise of his private devotions, meditations, or self-conversations, in which the most blameable measures of his government are vindicated or palliated. A performance so full of piety, meekness, and humanity, believed to be written by the royal martyr, as he was called by the friends of the church and monarchy, and published at so critical a time, had wonderful effects upon the nation. It passed rapidly through many editions; and, independent of all prejudice or partiality, it must be allowed to be a work of merit, especially in regard to style and composition. But whether it be really the production of Charles, or of Dr. Gauden, is a matter not yet settled among the learned: though the internal proofs, it is owned, are strongly in favour of the advocates for this unfortunate prince, whose style was, on all occasions, as remarkable for its purity, neatness, and simplicity, the characteristics of the Icon, as Dr. Gauden's for the opposite faults. Along with that performance were published several others, and particularly a poem, which has been much admired, entitled Majesty in Misery, said to have been written by the king during his confinement in Carisbrook castle, in the year 1648. The first two stanzas of this poem are sufficiently remarkable to merit the attention of the historian, as they contain a vindication of Charles's veracity, by way of appeal to an awful Judge, whom he could not hope to deceive. "Great Monarch of the World, from whose power springs Record the royal wo my suffering sings; And teach my tongue, that ever did confine Its faculties in Truth's seraphic line, To track the treasons of thy foes and mine!" to be educated in high notions of the royal prerogative, which he thought it his duty to support, at a time when his people were little inclined to respect such rights;(1) and to be superstitiously devoted to the religion of his country, when the violence of fanaticism was ready to overturn both the church and monarchy. In the convulsion occasioned by these opposite humours and pretensions, he fell beneath the fury of an ambitious faction, a martyr to his principles and the English constitution. Had he acceded more early to the reasonable demands of the commons, he might perhaps have avoided his fate. Yet their furious encroachments on the prerogative, after those demands had been granted, leave it doubtful, whether they would, at any time, have been satisfied with equitable concessions, or whether it was possible for Charles, by any line of conduct, to have averted the evils that overtook him, unless he had possessed vigour and capacity enough to have crushed the rising spirit of liberty; an event which must have proved no less dangerous to the constitution than the victory of the parliament. It is certain, however, that he was too easy in yielding to the opinion of others, and too apt to listen to violent counsels. His abilities, like those of his father, shone more in reasoning than in action; and his virtues, as well as his talents, were better suited to private than to public life. As he wanted firmness in his regal capacity, he is also reproached with want of sincerity; and to these two defects in his character, but more especially to a strong imputation to the latter, from which he cannot be altogether vindicated, have been ascribed, by the zealous friends of freedom, the utter ruin of the royal cause, the triumph of the military despots over the parliament, and the death of Charles. The great body of the commons were surely not enemies to monarchy; but having no confidence in the king, they thought they could never sufficiently fetter him with limitations. Hence their rigour, and the rise of the civil war. The subsequent events were not within their control. The death of the king was soon followed by the dissolution of the monarchy. The commons, after having declared it high-treason to proclaim, or otherwise acknowledge Charles Stuart, commonly called prince of Wales, as sovereign of England, passed an act abolishing kingly power, as useless, burthensome, and dangerous. They also abolished the house of peers, as useless and dangerous; and ordered a new great-seal to be made, on one side of which was engraved the date, and on the other they themselves were represented as assembled in parliament, with this inscription: "IN THE FIRST YEAR OF FREEDOM, BY GOD'S BLESSINGS RESTORED."(2) It was committed in charge to a certain number of persons, denominated the conservators of the liberties of England; in whose name all public business was transacted, under the direction of the house of commons. The king's statue in the Exchange was thrown down; and on the pedestal the following words were inscribed:-Exit tyrannus, regum ultimus; "The tyrant, the last of the kings, is gone."(3) We must now, my dear Philip, turn aside to contemplate the affairs on the continent, and take a view of those events that introduced the reign of Lewis XIV. before we carry farther the transactions of England. (1) The king's sentiments, in regard to government, seem to have been sufficiently moderate before his death. "Give belief to my experience," says he, in a letter to the prince of Wales, "never to effect more greatness or prerogative than what is really and intrinsically for the good of your subjects, not the satisfaction of favourites. If you thus use it, you will never want means to be a father to all, and a bountiful prince to any whom you incline to be extraordinarily gracious to. You may perceive, that all men trust their treasure where it returns them interest; and if a prince, like the sea, receive and repay all the fresh streams which the rivers intrust with him, they will not grudge, but pride themselves to make him up an ocean. These considerations may make you as great a prince as your father is a low one; and your state may be so much the more established, as mine hath been shaken: for our subjects have learned, I dare say, that victories over their princes, are but triumphs per themselves; and so will more unwillingly hearken to changes hereafter."-This letter was written soon after the last negotiation with the parlia ment, in the isle of Wight, in 1648. (2) Journal, Jan. 1648-9. (3) C. Walker's Hist. of Independency Clarendon, vol. v. LETTER VIII. A general View of the European Continent, from the Peace of Westphalia, in 1648, to the Pyrenean Treaty, in 1659, and the Peace of Oliva, in 1660. THOUGH the peace of Westphalia restored tranquillity to Germany and the north of Europe, war was continued between France and Spain, as I have formerly had occasion to observe,(1) and soon broke out among the northern powers. France was, at the same time, distracted by civil broils, though less fatal than those of England. These broils were fomented by the coadjutor-archbishop of Paris, afterward the famous cardinal de Retz, so well known by his interesting Memoirs, which unfold minutely the latent springs of the intrigues of state, and the principles by which they are governed. This extraordinary man united to the most profligate manners a profound genius and a factious spirit. Conscious of his superior abilities, and jealous of the greatness of Mazarine, whose place of prime minister he thought himself better qualified to fill, he infused the same jealousies into the nobility and the princes of the blood; while he roused the people to sedition, by representing, in the strongest colours, the ignominy of submitting to the oppressive administration of a stranger. Yet that minister had highly contributed to the grandeur of the French monarchy, by the important possessions obtained and secured by the treaty of Munster; nor were the taxes complained of more weighty than the necessities of the state required, or half so burthensome as those which the civil war soon brought upon the kingdom, besides its destructive rage, and the advantage it gave to the Spanish arms. But although the coadjutor seems to have had nothing less at heart than the good of his country, such a pretence was necessary to cover his ambitious projects; and in order still farther to give a sanction to his pretended reformation, he artfully drew the parliament of Paris into his views. Inflamed with the love of power, and stimulated by the insinuations of an intriguing prelate, the parliament boldly set its authority in opposition to that of the court, even before any of the princes of the blood had declared themselves. This was a very extraordinary step; for the parliament of Paris, though a respectable body, was now no more than the first college of justice in the kingdom, the ancient parliaments or national assemblies having been long since abolished. But the people, deceived by the name, and allured by the successful usurpations of the English parliament, considered the parliament of Paris as the parent of the state; (2) and under its sanction, and that of the archbishop, they thought every violence justifiable against the court; or, as was pretended, against the minister. Lewis XIV. was yet in his minority, and had discovered no symptoms of that ambitious spirit which afterward spread terror over Europe. Anne of Austria, the queen-regent, reposed her whole confidence in cardinal Mazarine; and Mazarine had hitherto governed the kingdom with prudence and moderation. Incensed, however, to see a body of lawyers, who had purchased their places, set themselves in opposition to that authority by which they were constituted, he ordered the president and one of the most factious counsellors to be arrested, and sent to prison. The populace rose; barricadoed the streets; threatened the cardinal and the queen-regent; and continued their outrages, till the prisoners were set at liberty.(3) Thus encouraged by the support of the people, the parliament and the archbishop proceeded in their cabals. The queen-regent could not appear in public without being insulted. She was continually reproached with sacri ficing the nation to her friendship for Mazarine; and ballads and madrigals were sung in every street, in order to confirm the suspicions entertained of her virtue, or rather to circulate the tale of her amours. In consequence of these disagreeable circumstances, and apprehensions of yet greater evils, the queen-regent left Paris, accompanied by her children and her minister, and retired to St. Germain's. Here, if we may credit Voltaire, the distress of the royal family was so great, that they were obliged to pawn the crown jewels, in order to raise money; that the king himself was often in want of common necessaries; and that they were forced to dismiss the pages of his chamber,' because they could not afford them a maintenance.(1) In the mean time, the parliament, by solemn arrêt, declared cardinal Mazarine a disturber of the public peace, and an enemy to the kingdom. This was the signal of hostility and revolt. A separation of parties now took place; and the prince of Conti, the duke of Longueville, the duke of Beaufort, the duke of Bouillon, and their adherents, instigated by the factious spirit of the coadjutor, and flattered with the hopes of making the wild proceedings of the parliament subservient to their ambitious views, came and offered their services to that body. Seduced by the example of Paris, other cities, other parliaments, and even provinces, revolted: the whole kingdom was a scene of anarchy and confusion. But the conduct of the insurgents was every where Judicrous and absurd. Having no distinct aim, they had neither concert nor courage to execute any enterprise of importance; but wasted their time in vain parade, until the great Condé, who, though dissatisfied with the court, had engaged in the royal cause at the earnest entreaties of the queenregent, threw the capital into an alarm, and dispersed the undisciplined troops of the parliament, with no more than six thousand men. A conference was agreed to, and a treaty concluded at Rouel, by which a general amnesty was granted, and a temporary quiet procured, but without any extinction of hatred on either side.(2) While the parties remained in such a temper, no solid peace could be expected. The court, however, returned to Paris, and the cardinal was received by the people with expressions of joy and satisfaction. It is this levity of the French nation, the absurd mixture of a frivolous gallantry with the intrigues of state, with plots and conspiracies, and the influence that the dutchess of Longueville, and other libertine women, had, in making the most eminent leaders several times change sides, that has made these contemptible wars to be considered with so much attention by philosophical writers. A fresh instance of that levity was soon displayed. The prince of Condé, always the prey of a restless ambition, presuming on his great services, and setting no bounds to his pretensions, repeatedly insulted the queen and the cardinal. He also, by his haughtiness, disgusted the coadjutor, and entered into cabals against the court with other factious leaders. By the advice of this intriguing prelate, Condé was arrested at the council table, together with the prince of Conti and the duke of Longueville, the very heads of the malecontents; and the citizens of Paris, with bonfires and public rejoicings, celebrated the imprisonment of those turbulent spirits, whom they had lately adored as their deliverers. (3) But the triumph of the minister was of short duration. The imprisonment of the princes roused their partisans to arms in every corner of the kingdom; and the duke of Orleans, the young king's uncle, whom the cardinal had slighted, became the head of the malecontents. Mazarine, after setting the princes at liberty, in hopes of conciliating their favour, was obliged to fly, first to Liege, and then to Cologne; where he continued to govern the queenregent, as if he had never quitted the court. By their intrigues, assisted by the coadjutor, who, though he had been deeply concerned in these new disturbances was again dissatisfied with his party, the duke of Bouillon and his brother Turenne were detached from the malecontents. Mazarine re-entered (1) Siècle, chap. iii. (2) Mem. de Mad. Motteville, tom. iii. Mem. de Gui Joli, tom. i. Mem. de Card. de Retz, tom.i. (3) Mem. de Card. de Retz, tom. ii. Mem. du Comte de Brienne, tom. iii. the kingdom, escorted by six thousand men. Condé once more flew to arms; and the parliament declared him guilty of high-treason, nearly at the same time that it set a price upon the head of the cardinal, against whom only he had taken the field!(1) The great, but inconsistent Condé, in this extremity of his fortune, threw himself upon the protection of Spain; and, after pursuing the cardinal and the court from province to province, he entered Paris with a body of Spanish troops. The people were filled with admiration of his valour, and the parliament was struck with awe. In the mean time, Turenne, who, by his masterly retreats, had often saved the king when his escape seemed impracticable, now conducted him within sight of his capital; and Lewis, from the eminence of Charonne, beheld the famous battle of St. Antoine, near the suburb of that name, where the two greatest generals in France performed wonders at the head of a few men. The duke of Orleans, being doubtful what conduct to pursue, remained in his palace, as did the coadjutor-archbishop, now cardinal de Retz. The parliament waited the event of the battle before it published any decree. The people, equally afraid of the troops of both parties, had shut the city gates, and would suffer nobody either to go in or out. The combat long remained suspended, and many gallant noblemen were killed or wounded. At last it was decided in favour of the prince of Condé, by a very singular exertion of female intrepidity. The daughter of the duke of Orleans, more resolute than her father, had the boldness to order the cannon of the Bastile, to be fired upon the king's troops, and Turenne was obliged to retire.(2) "These cannon have killed her husband!" said Mazarine, when informed of that circumstance, knowing how ambitious she was of being married to a crowned head, and that she hoped to be queen of France.(3) Encouraged by this success, the parliament declared the duke of Orleans lieutenant-general of the kingdom; an incomprehensible title that had formerly been bestowed on the duke of Mayenne, during the time of the league; and the prince of Condé was styled commander-in-chief of the armies of France. These new dignities, however, were of short duration. A popular tumult, in which several citizens were killed, and of which the prince of Condé was supposed to be the author, obliged him to quit Paris, where he found his credit fast declining; and the king, in order to appease his subjects, being now of age, dismissed Mazarine, who retired to Sedan. That measure had the desired effect. The people every where returned to their allegiance; and Lewis entered his capital, amid the acclamations of persons of all ranks. The duke of Orleans was banished the court, and cardinal de Retz committed to prison. Condé, being condemned to lose his head, continued his unhappy engagements with Spain. The parliament was humbled, and Mazarine recalled;(4) when, finding his power more firmly established than ever, the subtle Italian, in the exultation of his heart at the universal homage that was paid him, looked down with an eye of contempt on the levity of the French nation, and determined to make them feel the pressure of his administration, of which they had formerly complained with out reason. During these ludicrous but pernicious wars, which for several years distracted France, the Spaniards, though feeble, were not altogether inactive. They had recovered Barcelona, after a tedious siege; they had taken Casal from the duke of Savoy, and attached the duke of Mantua to their interest, by restoring that place to him: they had reduced Gravelines, and again made themselves masters of Dunkirk. But Lewis XIV. being now in full possession of his kingdom, and Turenne opposed to Condé, the face of affairs was soon changed; in spite of the utmost efforts of Don Lewis de Haro, nephew to the late minister Olivares, who governed Spain and Philip IV. with as absolute an ascendant as Mazarine did France and her young king. (1) Voltaire, Siècle de Louis XIV. chap. iv. (2) Mem. de Mad. Motteville, tom. v. Mem. de Gui Joli, tom. ii. |