Conventicles

‘Sunday 7 August 1664

…While we were talking came by several poor creatures carried by, by constables, for being at a conventicle. They go like lambs, without any resistance. I would to God they would either conform, or be more wise, and not be catched!...’

Samuel Pepys lived through a time when conventicles were a source of physical and legal dispute.  Earlier in 1664, Pepys wrote about what became the Conventicle Act of 1664.  

'Friday 13 May 1664

… In the Painted Chamber I heard a fine conference between some of the two Houses upon the Bill for Conventicles. The Lords would be freed from having their houses searched by any but the Lord Lieutenant of the County; and upon being found guilty, to be tried only by their peers; and thirdly, would have it added, that whereas the Bill says, “That that, among other things, shall be a conventicle wherein any such meeting is found doing any thing contrary to the Liturgy of the Church of England,” they would have it added, “or practice.” The Commons to the Lords said, that they knew not what might hereafter be found out which might be called the practice of the Church of England; for there are many things may be said to be the practice of the Church, which were never established by any law, either common, statute, or canon; as singing of psalms, binding up prayers at the end of the Bible, and praying extempore before and after sermon: and though these are things indifferent, yet things for aught they at present know may be started, which may be said to be the practice of the Church which would not be fit to allow….’

Walter Scott wrote about conventicles as well, more from a historical perspective, as in the following from “Tales of a Grandfather”:

‘…But this modified degree of zeal by no means gratified the more ardent and rigid Covenanters, by whom the stooping to act under the Indulgence was accounted a compromise with the Malignants —a lukewarm and unacceptable species of worship, resembling salt which had lost its savour. Many, therefore, held the indulged clergy as a species of king's curates ; and rather than listen to their doctrines, which they might have heard in safety, followed into the wilderness those bold and daring preachers, whose voices thundered forth avowed opposition and defiance against the mighty of the earth. The Indulged were accused of meanly adopting Erastian opinions, and acknowledging the dependence and subjection of the Church to the civil magistrate,—a doctrine totally alien from the character of the Presbyterian religion. The elevated wish of following the religion of their choice, in defiance of danger and fear, and their animosity against a government by whom they had been persecuted, induced the more zealous Presbyterians to prefer a conventicle to their parish church; and a congregation -where the hearers attended in arms to defend themselves, to a more peaceful meeting, when, if surprised, they might save themselves by submission or night. Hence these conventicles became frequent, at which the hearers attended with weapons. The romantic and dangerous character of this species of worship recommended it to such as were constitutionally bold and high-spirited; and there were others, who, from the idle spirit belonging to youth, liked better to ramble through the country as the life-guard to some outlawed preacher, than to spend the six days of the week in ordinary labour, and attend their own parish church on the seventh, to listen to the lukewarm doctrine of an Indulged minister…’

Robert Dudley

"No, Dudley!" said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while she extended the other that he might kiss it. "Elizabeth hath not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled of your hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you--your life and honour. Rise, my lord, and let my hand go--rise, and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the support of our throne! Your mistress may be forced to chide your misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.--And so help me God," she added, turning to the audience, who, with various feelings, witnessed this interesting scene--"so help me God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I have in this noble Earl!"

Robert Dudley was born on August 7, 1574.  Not the Robert Dudley featured in Walter Scott’s “Kenilworth”, but his son.  Robert was illegitimate, and was born 14 years after Dudley’s first wife Amy Robsart died.   

The younger Robert ultimately inherited Kenilworth Castle, but not the titles his father held; though he tried, claiming that his mother, Lady Douglas Sheffield had been secretly married to his father.  Dudley made his mark as an explorer and cartographer.

Caroline of Brunswick

Poor Queen Caroline, who died on August 7, 1821.  If ever there was an argument against arranged marriage, this was it.  Caroline was married to her cousin, the future George IV of England, in 1795.  George is said to have required a glass of brandy upon first meeting Caroline,  who was not considered attractive, and is said to have been coarse and ill-kempt.  George married her, but locked her out of his coronation ceremony.  That occasion is described by Sir Walter Scott as recorded in William John Loftie's "Westminster Abbey":

'Sir Walter Scott, whose poems and romances did so much in the same direction, himself wrote a description of the scene.


The King's bed was removed from Carlton House to the Speaker's official residence, and he slept on the night of the 18th, we are told, ' in the Tapestry-room, looking out over the Thames,' the last time the old Palace was inhabited by a king. The King arrived at half-past eight and supped with his host. The next morning was as fine as the day which saw the Queen's Jubilee in 1887. The King entered Westminster Hall at ten, and already ' appeared to be somewhat fatigued.' He, however, himself superintended the arrangements, and gave each of the grand functionaries the piece of the regalia which he was to carry. The Dean and Chapter had brought them all over from the Abbey. When he handed the crown to Lord Anglesey he graciously dispensed with his walking backwards in retiring, as the Marquis had lost a leg at Waterloo six years before.


The heat in the Abbey is described as intense. The King in his heavy robes appeared, even at the commencement of the ceremony, to be ' distressed almost to fainting.' He was by no means young, very fat and in bad health. It is strange that he should have been willing to take part in so long a service. But he went through with it to the end, with a personal pluck and courage which showed that even George IV. could sometimes rise to the occasion. At the recognition he stood by his chair ; and he listened to the sermon with his head uncovered. After the coronation he retired for ten minutes into St. Edward's Chapel, and when he came out the church was already half empty, everybody either tired out or anxious to see the procession back. He is described as much encumbered with his splendid attire, but he moved forward and shook hands with his sister the Duchess of Gloucester, before he left the Abbey. The banquet in the Hall took place at five, the procession having only left the Abbey at four. When all was over the King returned to Carlton House in the twilight of the summer evening.







The effect of this pageant on the art and literature of the succeeding period was immense. The revival of a mediaeval ceremonial necessitated the revival of mediaeval art. Heraldry and architecture received the strongest stimulus. Historical novels became the rage ; and, no doubt, a great deal of the hold which the Gothic style took on the building genius of the day must be ascribed to the coronation of George IV. It was as nearly as possible one hundred years since the last Gothic touches were put, under Wren's supervision, to the north transept of the Abbey. During that time the Palladian tradition of Inigo Jones and Wren had died out, and was succeeded by the supposed Greek taste which put the portico to Apsley House and supplied us with the National Gallery, Euston Station, and St. Paneras Church. But the Grecian architecture did not flourish. The best things—the British Museum and St. George's Hall—are conspicuous for their rarity ; and it may be conceded that, only for the wretched ' restoration ' craze which so closely attended it, the Gothic revival was a benefit to architecture...'