I Am the Martyr of the People (Charles I by Christopher Hibbert)

There has never been an entirely satisfactory biography of Charles I of England, and this—though well written and handsomely illustrated—is no exception. It fails to be an exception for a reason common to all biographies of the King (most, of course, have other faults as well): the central character is never fully realized and it fails for another reason not common to all: it ends with the King’s execution and leaves out its eventual result, the restoration of the monarchy. For the Restoration is the last act of the drama, not merely an epilogue, and the execution is no more the end of the story than the death of Christian is the end of Cyrano.

In form, then, as a history, the book is incomplete; it ends before it should. If it were a spiritual biography of Charles Stuart, King of England, a case could be made for ending it on the scaffold, but it is not. Rather than being cast as a spiritual biography— in which case the ending would be a happy one—it is cast as a tragedy, ending with his burial amid the February snows. Yet the life of King Charles is a tragedy only in the sense that, or even less than, Polyeucte is a tragedy. Not only does the hero die in the certain hope of eternal salvation (“I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world”), but by dying he allows the monarchy to live, and perhaps allows the liberty of the people—“those laws by which their lives and their goods may be most their own”—to live as well.

JL

About the Author

Jared C. Lobdell

There has never been an entirely satisfactory biography of Charles I of England, and this—though well written and handsomely illustrated—is no exception. It fails to be an exception for a reason common to all biographies of the King (most, of course, have other faults as well): the central character is never fully realized and it fails for another reason not common to all: it ends with the King’s execution and leaves out its eventual result, the restoration of the monarchy. For the Restoration is the last act of the drama, not merely an epilogue, and the execution is no more the end of the story than the death of Christian is the end of Cyrano.

In form, then, as a history, the book is incomplete; it ends before it should. If it were a spiritual biography of Charles Stuart, King of England, a case could be made for ending it on the scaffold, but it is not. Rather than being cast as a spiritual biography— in which case the ending would be a happy one—it is cast as a tragedy, ending with his burial amid the February snows. Yet the life of King Charles is a tragedy only in the sense that, or even less than, Polyeucte is a tragedy. Not only does the hero die in the certain hope of eternal salvation (“I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world”), but by dying he allows the monarchy to live, and perhaps allows the liberty of the people—“those laws by which their lives and their goods may be most their own”—to live as well.