By 1644, it appeared to him that the Parliament was likely to have the better in arms, as it certainly had in money, and in the August of that year he suddenly arrived in London. In a very long, and very pious document he stated his reasons for his conduct. The Puritans, as "the children of truth and innocency who are not changed with the smiles or frowns of this inconstant world," were, he declared, his "best friends, and, under God, greatest confidants," and he wound up with a direct attack on Rupert. "Neither can His Highness forbear, with unspeakable grief, to observe that the public actions of some of the nearest of his blood have been such as have admitted too much cause of sorrow and jealousy, even from such persons, upon whose affections, in respect of their love and zeal to the reformed religion, His Highness doth set the greatest price. But, as His Highness is not able to regulate what is out of his power, so is he confident that the justice of the Parliament, and of all honest men, will not impute { 207} to him such actions as are his afflictions, and not his faults."[3]
Princes were scarce with the Puritans, and Charles Louis was well received, lodged in Whitehall, and granted a large pension.[4] In recognition of this he took the Covenant, and begged leave to sit in the Assembly of Divines, then debating on religious "reforms". His request was readily granted, and it is to be hoped that he suffered some weariness from the long-winded debates to which he thus condemned himself.
The King regarded his conduct with quiet indifference, only remarking that he was sorry, for his nephew's sake, that he thought fit to act in such a manner. It has been suggested that he willingly connived at this hypocrisy as the only means by which the Elector could obtain money, but Charles Louis' own letters to his mother disprove that view. In 1647, when the King was a prisoner, he often received the visits of his eldest nephew, and the Elector thus described their mutual attitude to Elizabeth: "His Majesty, upon occasion, doth still blame the way I have been in all this time, and I do defend it _as the only shelter I have_, when my public business, and my person, have received so many neglects at Court. Madame, I would not have renewed the sore of his ill-usage of me since the Queen hath had power with him, but that he urged me to it, saying that I should rather have lived on bread and water, than have complied with the Parliament, which he said I did '_only to have one chicken more in my dish_'; and that he would have thought it a design more worthy of his nephew if I had gone about to have taken the crown from his head. These and such-like expressions would have moved a saint. Neither do I know of anyone, but Our Saviour, that would have ruined himself for those that hate one."[5]