Monk had now led the country another distinct march along the thorny path he was clearing with such anxious devotion, and Sir William Davenant burst out into a long panegyric on the occasion. But at the same time he reminded the general—

The Parliament was gone, but the Council of State remained, and there the patriotic struggle began again! The Presbyterian section was strong, and outside it was backed by a powerful combination, at the head of which were Northumberland, Manchester and the men of the days to which the Self-Denying Ordinance put an end. These saw that a restoration was inevitable, and felt that the only salvation of the country lay in a renewal of the Isle of Wight treaty. Though baulked by Monk's watchfulness in their attempt to get the King recalled by a Presbyterian Parliament, they did not despair of outmarching the Cavaliers and Opportunists. Their last chance was in a restoration through the agency of the Council of State before the new Parliament could meet, and again and again they pressed Monk to openly espouse their cause. He only said he was in the service of the Commonwealth and could not listen. The pressure grew greater, the party more powerful, and he found it necessary to treat their proposals more seriously, but still he gave no hope. In despair, at last, they seized upon some expression he had let fall to send word to the King that they had won him, and that they were prepared to enter into formal negotiations for a restoration. A fortnight before the needy voluptuary, weary of his exile, would have embraced the offer with avidity, but now, to the astonishment of all concerned, the proposition was coldly, almost contemptuously received. Something had happened of which they were in entire ignorance, something so singular as almost to startle us anew into an exaggeration of the personal influence in history.

Up till now Monk's reputation as a Commonwealth man was practically without a spot. By honestly doing his duty he had lived down every suspicion. All but the most sanguine of the Cavalier agents considered him hopelessly loyal to his trust. Best known of these was his cousin Sir John Grenville, who, in spite of his notorious malignancy, was free of St. James's on the ground of his relationship. But he had no better luck than the rest. Fruitlessly he sought a private interview through his old friend Morice. Night after night he stayed till every one was gone, but "Good-night, cousin; 'tis late," was all he got for his pains as the wary old general went off to bed.

Such was Monk's position when the Portuguese ambassador asked for an audience. The recent treaty of the Pyrenees had left Portugal at the mercy of Spain, and she had sent a special envoy to England to seek assistance. For some time past the envoy had been in negotiation with the Council of State for a renewal of Cromwell's alliance, but the action of the Presbyterian leaders seems to have demonstrated to him that its authority was moribund. The power of Monk and the now inevitable recall of the King suggested to him a brilliant piece of diplomacy, and he resolved to flash a dazzling proposal in the eyes of the general. Father Russell, the secretary to the embassy, seems first to have sounded Morice. But at all events, amidst the enormous mass of business with which he exhausted his secretaries, Monk found time for an interview.

The ambassador began by saying that without wishing to pry into the general's intentions with regard to the King, he thought it only right to tell him that Charles Stuart ought at once to get out of Spanish territory. He was then at Brussels, and the envoy assured Monk that the moment the Spaniards got wind of the national reaction in favour of a restoration they would kidnap his person, and hold him as a hostage for the retrocession of Jamaica and Dunkirk. Monk, who already had reason to suspect the Spaniards of intriguing with the Irreconcilables through the Jesuits, was much impressed, and the ambassador was encouraged to explain his solicitude for Charles's safety. In the event of a restoration, he said, his master was prepared, in return for military assistance against Spain, to offer the King the hand of the Infanta, and with her a dowry of an unheard-of sum of money, together with the towns of Tangiers and Bombay. The advantages of the arrangement it was needless to point out. It would give to England the command of the Mediterranean and East Indian trade, and enable her to complete the humiliation of her great rival which the heroes of the Armada had begun.

To a man of Monk's hot patriotism, who remembered Raleigh, who had been moulded into manhood while Drake and Grenville and Hawkins were living memories, the proposal was too dazzling to resist. His passion for the expansion of England had never been quenched. His faith in it as a panacea for all political trouble was as strong as ever. Before him stretched the prospect of a glorious war, in which the fierce ardour of the Fanatic soldiers would find worthy employ, and serve to lift their country out of the slough into which they had plunged it to a greatness beyond the dreams of their fathers. The fires of his youth were rekindled. He may even have dreamed of ending his career in wiping out the disgrace in which it had begun, and at the head of the most powerful navy and the finest army in the world of outshining the greatest of the great Queen's captains.

Whatever was the overmastering cause, the wary strategist suddenly changed front, cast his scruples to the winds, and the Portuguese ambassador immediately applied to the Council for a frigate to carry him and his portentous secret to Lisbon. Monk had determined to communicate with the King. Charles's danger was great and pressing. At any moment a precipitate message from the Presbyterians to the Court might give the Spaniard the signal to act; nor was the anxious general without good ground to suspect that the French ambassador was intriguing with the Manchester cabal, and that Mazarin had a chance, if not an intention, of playing the same game. On the eve of its accomplishment the long-wished-for settlement was in desperate peril of wreck, and calm and swift as ever the old soldier set to work single-handed to thwart the designs of the two most renowned diplomatists in Europe.

Absolute secrecy was essential. The Portuguese negotiations with the Committee of Safety were continued as if nothing had happened, and the general looked round for a messenger on whom he could implicitly rely. Morice could not be spared, and it was clear that Grenville was the only man. After two ineffectual attempts to induce him to disclose his secret mission to Morice, Monk was convinced of his discretion, and granted him an interview. In the dead of night, shortly after the dissolution, he was introduced into Morice's private apartments at St. James's. The general appeared from a secret stairway, and Grenville without preface or apology thrust into his hands the King's letters which his cousin Nicholas had refused to take up to Scotland. Monk started back, and asked him fiercely how he dared so play the traitor.

The Cavalier quietly replied that in the service of the King, his master, danger had grown familiar to him. Overcome with his young kinsman's coolness, and the memories of all he owed to his house, the old general unbent at once and cordially embraced him. Then he read the King's letter. In flattering terms it assured him of Charles's favour, and of his intention to follow Monk's advice implicitly if he would only espouse his cause. Grenville added what he had been authorised to promise—a hundred thousand a year for him and his officers, any title he chose, and the office of Lord High Constable. Monk replied that what he did was for his country's good, and that he would not sell his duty or bargain for his allegiance. Grenville pressed for a written answer, but the wary soldier refused; he had intercepted too many letters himself. Grenville was told he must take his reply by word of mouth, and so was dismissed till the morrow.

For some time past the general had had confidential consultations with the leaders of the various parties, with a view apparently of finding a common ground on which a settlement might be made when the new Parliament met. Lenthal, for whose ripe experience Monk seems to have had a high regard, had suggested as the terms that would be most satisfactory to the country, a general amnesty, the confirmation of the land-titles, and liberty of conscience. These the general now determined to make the basis of negotiation, and when Grenville returned the following evening he found them incorporated in a pithy memorandum. An urgent appeal to the King to leave Brussels for some place in Holland was added, and a strict caution to Grenville that he was not to ask for any reward for the service Monk was doing. After reading over these instructions to his cousin several times till he had them by heart, the general threw the paper into the fire. With final orders not to leave Charles till he was out of Spanish territory, and not even to treat of a reward, Grenville was dismissed, and left London the same night. Thus it was that when the letter of the Presbyterians surprised the exultant exiles in the act of preparing an answer to the general's message of salvation, the King only laughed, and said, "I perceive that these people do not know that I and General Monk stand on much better terms." Charles at once acted on the general's advice, and after seeing him safely upon Dutch soil, Grenville on April 4th hastened back with a dangerous burden. Besides official letters for the two Houses of Parliament, the Council, the army, and the city, each containing a copy of the famous Declaration from Breda, he carried an autograph letter from the King to the general, together with a commission for him to be Captain-General of the Three Kingdoms, and a signet and seal for a Secretary of State, to be delivered to whomsoever the general chose. The letter Monk accepted, but he had still enough of the true soldier of fortune in him to refuse a commission incompatible with the one he held. Nor would he take the seals, but told Grenville to hide himself and his papers till Parliament met, and then act according to his instructions.

The few Royalists who were in the secret were already in a state of ecstasy. Mordaunt, who had been working successfully in other quarters, had written over that nothing could now stop the King's return but an attempt by Lambert on the Council or Monk. Fortunately Lambert was in the Tower, but nevertheless the danger was great. As the designs of the Presbyterians became known the army grew more and more restless. Agitators began to persuade them they were to be cheated out of land, arrears, and all the long struggle had won them. Monk saw his regiments must be still further purged. To effect this Charles Howard of Naworth, who commanded his bodyguard, together with Ashley Cooper and the old Coldstreamers, prepared a petition to him that every officer should be required, in view of the insubordinate spirit that was arising, to sign an engagement to be true to the Government as it was then constituted. The precaution was taken none too soon. A few days after Grenville's return a letter was intercepted disclosing a conspiracy of Anarchists and extreme Republicans as formidable as any with which Cromwell had had to contend. It was written from Wales by Desborough, the most formidable of the Fanatics, to a partisan in the city. The idea involved the destruction of Charles and his brothers as well as of Monk, and early in May the Fanatics were to rise in Wales, seize all the towns on the Marches, and set up the Long Parliament at Shrewsbury. By this masterly move they hoped to attract the Presbyterians, whom they had been careful to make jealous of the Cavaliers. Already it appeared they had the support of the Jesuits, who, as Monk knew very well, were always ready to join hands with Independency. Till all was ready the army was to be kept in a state of ferment and distrust of its leaders, and the new House was to have "bones to pick," so as to prevent the possibility of any decided step being taken towards the King's recall. Vane was to lead the insurrection, and Haslerig's support was expected. Already the city had quarrelled with the Presbyterian leaders. Other signs of the conspirators' work appeared, and Monk and the Council were taking their precautions when suddenly the danger was doubled. On April 11th (or 10th), after Colonel Howard had presented the officers' petition to the general, like a thunderclap came the news that Lambert had escaped from the Tower.

It was at such a moment that Monk was greatest. Small as was his opinion of his rival as a soldier, he knew Lambert was looked upon by the malcontents of the army as their champion. It was a name to conjure with, and the Fanatics had got the one thing wanting, a man the soldiers would follow. Monk acted with all his old energy. Arrests were made right and left. The new Engagement was presented to all the regiments, and every officer who refused to sign was cashiered. Morgan was reinforced in Scotland and the city militia mobilised. Still the work had only begun. Lambert, after narrowly escaping arrest in the city, got away into the country. The expected desertions began, and Monk ordered the Engagement to be signed by rank and file as well as officers. Whole troops and companies refused, and whole troops and companies were disarmed and broken. As fast as one regiment was sound it was despatched to remodel another; but hardly was the operation complete than intelligence came that Lambert had appeared in arms in the western Midlands. Instantly Colonels Howard and Ingoldsby—daring Dick Ingoldsby, Cromwell's favourite sabreur, "who could neither pray nor preach"—were hurried with two flying columns to the scene of action; but that was not all. Monk was not a man to do things by halves. The events of the next week it was impossible to foretell; he could only prepare for the worst. By the elections the country had already declared for the King, and, determined at all costs to save it from Lambert and the Fanatics, Monk sent for Sir John Grenville. He told him that if the rising were not immediately crushed the army might revolt at any time. "In that case," he continued, "I shall publish my commission from the King, and raise all the royal party of the three nations." Sir John was instructed to hold himself in readiness to convey the necessary orders to the leading Cavaliers, and that night his brother Barnard was speeding towards Holland with the general's warning to the King.

Monk's heroic remedy was destined to be untried. His energy had once more saved the country from civil war. On Easter Tuesday, six days after the alarm was given, a grand review of the mobilised trained-bands was held in Hyde Park. From ten thousand throats the great Royalist reaction found voice. Many cheered for the King openly; the auxiliaries drank his health on their knees; George Monk was the darling of the hour. As though nothing should be wanting from his triumph, when the enthusiasm was at its highest a party of travel-stained horse was seen moving along the outskirts of the park. Right under the gallows at Tyburn they passed, and a new shout rent the air; for in their midst rode Lambert with swordless scabbard.

His attempt was premature, and had been crushed at a blow. Pistol in hand, Dick Ingoldsby had ridden him down as he galloped from the field; but the great conspiracy was practically untouched. Desborough's agents redoubled their activity. Monk's officers, sensible of the danger, came to beg him to proclaim the King at once before Parliament met, and so win the whole glory for himself and the army. But even the stirring scene in the park could not shake his splendid self-control. He quietly reminded them of their oft-expressed determination to keep the military power in obedience to the civil, and of the Engagement they had so recently signed. What they proposed, he said, was treason, and so he dismissed them. In spite of the danger which still threatened from the Parliamentary delays, which he knew the Fanatics were fostering, he was determined to proceed in a constitutional manner, and he arranged with his cousin, Charles's accredited agent, the exact method of procedure. Parliament met quietly on the 25th. Monk took his seat for Devon, having elected to sit for his native county in preference to Cambridge University by which he had been also returned. The Commons next day passed the general a vote of thanks for his unparalleled services in having conquered the enemies of Church and State without so much as "a bloody nose." The few Presbyterian Lords who had met uninvited and unresisted did the same, and Monk in his acknowledgment bluntly begged them to look forward and not backward in transacting affairs, a hint they were careful to take. While this was going on in Parliament Sir John Grenville presented himself at the Council-chamber and asked to see the lord-general. Monk came out and received from his cousin's hands as from a stranger an official letter addressed "To our trusty and well-beloved General Monk, to be by him communicated to the President and Council of State, and to the officers of the armies under his command." Monk at once ordered his guards to detain the messenger and returned to the Council-chamber. There he broke the seal and handed the letter unread to the president. The surprise was complete. No one but Morice had an idea of what had been going on. Still it was clear that the letter came from Charles, and after some debate it was resolved that without being read it should be presented to Parliament on May 1st, the day they had fixed for the business of the settlement of the nation. Meanwhile Grenville was to be placed under arrest, but the general interposed, saying that although a stranger he was a near kinsman of his own, and that he would be responsible for his appearance at the bar.

But it was not intended that Grenville should wait for the summons. So soon as the Houses met he attended, and sprung upon them the official letters he had for each. In the Commons Morice was on his feet before the House could recover its breath, and moved that the constitutional government of the country was by King, Lords, and Commons. The motion was carried in a rush of enthusiasm, and Monk asked leave to communicate the King's despatch to the army. It was granted. Similar votes were passed in the Lords, and the Commonwealth was constitutionally at an end. At a subsequent sitting, however, the House came a little more to its senses. Sir Matthew Hale rose to move for a committee to inquire what terms had been offered to the late King. Monk saw, or thought he saw, the cloven hoof of the Sectaries. Here was one of the "bones to pick" which he knew they meant to provide. He rose to his feet immediately and solemnly warned the House not to presume on the apparent quiet of the country. Incendiaries, he said, were on the watch for a place to raise a flame: he had full information, which it was not expedient to make public; but he could not answer for the army or undertake to preserve order if the King were not sent for at once. There is no reason to doubt not only that he believed what he said, but that it was really true, and that the Sectaries and Republicans were fast loosening his grip on the troops. Relying on Charles's promises to himself, he saw no danger in his unconditional return, for, as he went on to point out to the House, without troops or money the King would be at their mercy. He concluded by moving that commissioners should be immediately sent to invite Charles to England; "And the blood be on the head of him," he cried, "who delays the settlement."10

His words were greeted with a thunder of applause. The old constitutionalists saw that Monk's appeal was irresistible, and in the excitement of the moment vote after vote was passed that went beyond the most extravagant hopes of the most sanguine Cavalier. The Revolution was at an end, and the lord-general's lady proceeded to herald the new era by frankly turning to her old trade and purchasing a stock of linen at wholesale prices on the King's account for Whitehall.

The rapid transformation that followed is a matter of history. Both France and Spain saw the victim of their long intrigues suddenly snatched from their grasp, and each made desperate efforts to coax him back into its power. All their blandishments were in vain. Monk had succeeded in his resolve that if the King came back it should be without entangling the country in any engagements with foreign powers. Mazarin and De Haro had been completely outwitted by the dull soldier, and the cardinal died of vexation, it used to be said, in the following year.

Early on May 25th Monk was roused at Canterbury with the news that the fleet, which was bringing home the King, was in sight. There he had just arrived, the idol of the swarms of gentlemen that were flocking to Dover to welcome Charles and push their fortunes. He was worshipped and tormented as the fountain of honour. In his pocket he had a long list of importunate friends and enemies whom he had good-naturedly promised to recommend for places in the Government. His bodyguard was filled with noblemen. The very roads threatened to be blocked with the multitude of high-born supplicants, till the old disciplinarian, shocked at the indecency of the scramble, imperiously enrolled them into regiments and insisted on some order being observed.

Monk was "the sole pillar of the King's confidence," and so soon as the fleet reached Dover Roads Charles sent an express to say that he would not land till he came to him. No sooner was the summons received than he was on horseback again hastening to Dover. The critical moment had come. Every one then agreed that it was Monk who had restored the King, but how and why no one could exactly tell. As the boat containing the royal party touched the beach they crowded round to see the meeting of the two uncrowned kings, hoping that Monk's demeanour would lift the mist in which the future was wrapped and show them who was going to wield the sceptre. Charles himself was as nervous and anxious as the rest. This formidable figure that had arisen so suddenly and with such mystery, this man of darkness who had done as it were single-handed what for years had defied the efforts of his own most trusted councillors, and who yet forbade the very mention of reward, the perplexed King could only fear.

On the beach they met, and to every one's surprise the soldierly figure sank upon its knee and kissed the royal hand as deferentially as though it were the king who had made the general. Startled into an unwonted display of emotion Charles raised him, and embracing him with genuine fervour called him his father. Both were too moved for many words. Without more ado, amidst the shouts of the people and the thunder of the guns from forts and fleet, the two walked side by side to the royal coach. There the soldier of fortune took his place with the King and his brothers; and the Duke of Buckingham was clever enough, to every one's annoyance, to get possession of the boot uninvited.

The transports of delight which marked the whole progress to Canterbury were like a dream to Charles, so little could he understand it all. His first sensation, when he had time to realise his position quietly, was one of disgust at the indecency with which petitions for places had been showered upon him the moment he landed. It was impossible to satisfy them all, and the throne before him bid fair to be a bed of thorns; but far worse was yet to come. Hardly was he alone when the terrible general came into his room. Monk was no courtier, and his Court manners were already exhausted. It was a visit of business, and his way of doing business was aggressively direct. Without any preface or apology he went straight to the point, and in his blunt rough way told the King he could not do him better service than to recommend him councillors who would be acceptable to the people. With that he handed in his list of names. Charles nervously thrust it into his pocket, thanked the general, and dismissed him. Clarendon was sent for, and together they read the alarming memorandum. It contained the names of but two Cavaliers. Charles was aghast. What did it mean? Was this the solution of Monk's extraordinary conduct? Did he intend to be mayor of the palace to a roi fainÉant? Clarendon knew as well as Monk the great revolutionary forces that were straining unseen beneath all the enthusiasm. He knew they were only kept under by an army which sympathised with them in its heart. The fleet was still riding off Dover; Monk had only to hold up his finger, and in a few hours the King would be on his travels again. The chancellor determined to get Morice to find out what the general intended. In an hour he came back. The general, he reported, was extremely pained that he had caused the King any uneasiness. He held the royal commission, and was there to receive orders, not to give them. The paper was merely a list of persons he had promised to recommend. The King was at perfect liberty to accept or reject them, only there were a few whom he heartily wished he could make use of.

The episode was ended; the King breathed again, but he never forgot the fright. Till the veteran passed away Charles never ceased to fear his power and love the hand that used him so gently. Ashley Cooper, whom Monk specially recommended, was sworn a Privy Councillor on the spot, together with the general himself, Morice, and the Earl of Southampton; but the King committed himself no further. Morice was also given the seals which Monk had refused to confer in spite of a heavy bribe, and the general himself received the Garter at the hands of the Dukes of York and Gloucester. He was offered the choice of any of the great offices of State, and he characteristically chose that of Master of the Horse. It had little or nothing to do with politics, and the patronage was extensive.

So the play was ended, and in a blaze of triumph such as England had never known the King entered London in the midst of a magnificent procession. Immediately behind him rode the lord-general beside the obtrusive Duke of Buckingham. Never before or since has a subject occupied such a position and arrogated less to himself. The ovation with which the King and his deliverer were received was deafening. Charles was perfectly dazed. He could hardly speak to his faithful Parliament as Lords and Commons met him jostling one another in a disorderly and excited mob. He recognised no one, and was so exhausted with the din that he could not attend the Thanksgiving in the Abbey. So as though the note of incapacity must be struck at the outset, he turned aside and took refuge in Whitehall. Still the glory of the conqueror was none the less, nor his satisfaction less complete. He could lay his head on his pillow that night with the happy consciousness that the burden of empire was lifted from his shoulders, that his country was at peace again, and still more, which was dearest of all to his great heart, that the triumph had been won without the cost of a single life.