Cromwell

by Antonia Fraser

  The subsequent minute of the Clerk of the House on the subject of the dissolution was a masterpiece of understatement. It having been moved in the House that it would not be for “the Good of the Commonwealth” that they should sit longer, therefore “it was requisite to deliver up to the Lord General Cromwell the Powers they had received from him” (a continuance of the fiction implicit in the earlier Instrument for Barebones Parliament, by which it was implied that its powers somehow came from Cromwell). “And the Speaker, with many of the Members of the House, departed out of the House to Whitehall; where they, being the greater Number of the Members sitting in Parliament, did, by a Writing under their Hands, resign unto his Excellency their said Powers. And Mr Speaker, attended with the Members, did present the same to his Excellency, accordingly.”35 It was a more graceful way of recording a dissolution than the previous bald note of the Clerk over the Rump – “His Excellency the General put an end to the House: the house not agreeing”. But none the less it mounted up to an extinction.

  There was indeed little other comparison between the two demises. The death of the Rump had come about suddenly, and even those left in charge had been ill-prepared for the outcome; but there is evidence that discussions concerning a new and better form of government had been held several weeks at least before Barebones’s extinction. The Instrument of Government which was now produced by Lambert as the basis on which England would be ruled, had its genesis in a number of old Army ideas. There was a story that such a document had been discussed as early as November, but further action was delayed because Cromwell himself displayed such obvious reluctance to dissolve a Parliament for the second time by the sword, or indeed to accept the royal position which this Instrument would have given him.36 It can well be believed that the weeks preceding this new dissolution were ones of doubt, difficulty and disillusionment for Cromwell personally. In a way the keen sword of decision had passed temporarily into the hands of his junior Lambert, who had been so much less involved in the establishment of Barebones (having originally advocated a council of twelve, rather than this godly gathering). But Cromwell had hoped for much, and as a result had been greatly disappointed. The further implications in his personal philosophy of the failure of Barebones would have to wait for a later occasion to be worked out, but in the meantime, the difficulty remained, the practical problem of how to end it, and what to put in its place.

  The charge that Cromwell had worked like a Machiavellian to bring Barebones into disrepute, and now allowed Lambert to devil for him to achieve supreme power, hardly holds water. It was Cromwell who had been so resolute from April onwards in setting up an assembly of the godly, and that he was sincere in doing so can hardly be doubted from his speech of welcome on 4 July. Now he was thrust back into his second rank of feelings, away from the signs and dispensations which had so recently let him down, towards that pragmatic instinct for monarchy which he had discussed with Whitelocke. None of this pointed him in the direction of any active plotting as he went about his daily round which, with its audiences and appearances, was already beginning to take on that of a public figure. On the contrary, although he must obviously have been kept cognizant of what was proposed, he played a remarkably passive part in the face of the public. He could after all hardly fail to be aware that the next change must enhance his own personal position, willy or nilly, and therefore in respect of personal ambition at least, he had no motive for further intrigue. At the same time within his heart he was perhaps still a little unsure that this was truly where the right lay. So cautious passivity suited his inward inclinations too.

  This “waiting posture” Cromwell continued to practise, at least publicly, as soon as Lambert’s coup was accomplished. For one thing the actual nomenclature of his own new position was still undecided, and in the three days which preceded his official proclamation it seems clear that some hectic discussions went forward on the subject, hidden at the time from the general gaze. Should Cromwell now accept the title of King with which so many rumours had been so long adorning him? But the name of King had two disadvantages to it; one was the obvious one of its previous connotations to an Army still riddled with republicans; the other the subtler distinction that existed between a title that was essentially permanent like that of King, and one which conveyed a more temporary mandate. On either the Tuesday or the Wednesday, 13 or 14 December, Lambert suggested the less meaningful title of “Lord Governour”. It is even possible, on the evidence of Ludlow’s Memoirs, that it was Cromwell himself who struck out the name of King from the Instrument of Government as it was now shown to him, or if the title was not listed, at least there were those who moved verbally that he should accept it. It was reported abroad from England that “the soldiers petition hard for a monarchy”. Four years later Cromwell was to exclaim bitterly over the Army’s opposition to his assumption of the kingship: “Time was when they boggled not at the word [King].”37 As it was, the eventual choice of the title Lord Protector was much governed by its temporary connotation. Because the title had in the past been associated with the regent for infant monarchs, an office which inevitably ended with the sovereign’s majority, a Lord Protector was felt to be essentially much less permanent than a King.

  And it is probable that Oliver himself clung in theory at least to this idea of a temporary mandate. Bishop Burnet quoted an account afterwards which he said he had heard from many sources, of Oliver’s self-confessed reluctance. He used to say

  with many tears, that he would rather have taken a shepheard’s staff than the protectorship, since nothing was more contrary to his genius than a shew of greatness; but he saw it was necessary at that time to keep the nation from falling into extreme disorder, and from becoming open to the common enemy; and therefore he only stepped in between the living and the dead, as he phrased it, in that interval, till God should direct them on what bottom they ought to settle.

  Then, said Cromwell, he would surrender “the heavy load” with a joy equal to that sorrow which he had displayed while under that show of dignity. However exaggerated the form in which they have come down to us, there is no reason to dismiss these sentiments as being purely hypocritical. Cromwell, for all his recent disillusionment with gatherings of the Saints, did indeed feel a genuine reluctance towards the next step. The formula that he stepped in during “that interval.. . till God should direct them” may smack a little of self-deception, but was none the less sincere. When Nouvelles Ordinaires, in explaining the dissolution subsequently to France, laid much emphasis on Cromwell’s resistance,38 and the many consultations which had been necessary to persuade him, it probably contained more of the truth than Cromwell’s enemies cared to admit.

  The Instrument of Government which Cromwell did finally accept, could be divided into two sections, that which limited his office, and that which enhanced and underlined its regality. Only time would tell how this curiously clumsy document would work out in real life. Although much thought and much discussion over many years had contributed to its various clauses, the one benefit it had not received was the application of practical experience (other than the negative value of the failure of the Barebones’ experiment). Taking the regality first, Cromwell was to be set up in the Palace of Whitehall as Kings of old. He himself was to be known as His Highness the Lord Protector. On the other hand the office was to be elective, not hereditary; the gewgaws of power were of course less important than the new centre of legislative – and administrative authority. Here was a curious unintentional dichotomy, for although provision was made for both, there was no great effort to link them. Legislative authority, said the Instrument “shall reside in one Person and Parliament”; this one person was named as Cromwell. Executive authority on the other hand should lie in the hands of the Lord Protector and Council. As it was laid down that Parliament should be summoned only every third year, although then to sit for not less than five months, there would obviously, for all Parliament’s titular power, be long gaps without their legislation. These
gaps would be filled by the Protector and Council making laws.

  Parliament itself was to consist of four hundred members, thirty each for Ireland and Scotland, chosen on the basis of the Army’s Ł200 franchise, although Catholics and delinquents were to be excluded. Once it was in existence, the Protector could suspend laws only for twenty days. But as Parliament’s powers were to be confined to the periods when it was actually sitting, and as the fifteen members of the Council were no longer to be named by Parliament, it will be seen that Parliament was somehow expected to act on a kind of thermostat system, throwing out radiant heat at limited intervals, cooling quickly down between-whiles. Moreover, those elected were specifically not allowed to change the form of government from that of one person and a Parliament. The effective power of Protector and Council on the other hand, could be virtually without limits except for those prescribed periods of Parliamentary warmth. Once it had been the Parliament, now it was the Protector, who was on the edge of promises and prophecies.

  Certainly the scene in which Oliver Cromwell, at the age of fifty-four, formally accepted the title of Lord Protector of England, Scotland and Ireland was as serious, as ritualized as anything that had taken place in the age of Kings. At one o’clock on Friday, 16 December 1653, a long procession wound down Whitehall to Chancery Court to conduct Cromwell to his office. Even on this solemn occasion Cromwell himself wore merely a plain black suit and black coat, but the scarlet of the Aldermen of London provided a compensatory panoply of colour. There were soldiers everywhere. Oliver sat down in front of the Lord Mayor, with his hat on (one note of gaiety – it did have a broad golden hat-band) and was first presented with the Great Seal. The Lord Mayor then formally offered to him the sword of state and the cap of maintenance: these already archaic symbols of royal authority, employed during the coronation, showed how much of the proceedings owed to memories of monarchical observance. Cromwell accepted them graciously and then returned them. After this, all processed back to the Banqueting House at Whitehall, with the Lord Mayor (uncovered) carrying the sword.

  At quarter of an hour after four, the momentous ceremony was over, crowned with three salvoes of shot. Thus was the transition complete of Oliver Cromwell, “by birth a gentleman”, through the dour ranks of the Army to Lord-General, and so to Oliver Protector, or, as he now signed himself most often in the future – Oliver P. Of the three documents he signed that day,39 the first and third pertaining to naval affairs and his own Welsh estates, bore this signature; on the second, he forgot himself and signed merely as before O. Cromwell. It took the third document before it was remembered to refer to him in his new and lofty style as ‘ His Highness the Lord Protector”.

  PART FOUR

  Lord Protector

  . . . Having also been desired, and advised, as well by several Persons of Interest and Fidelity in this Commonwealth, as the Officers of the Army, to take upon me the Protection and Government of these Nations . . .

  From the Protectoral Oath of Oliver Cromwell

  17 Grandeur

  And now being arrived at the Meridian of his Grandeur …

  HENRY FLETCHER IN A Perfect Politician ON CROMWELL ASSUMING THE PROTECTORATE

  The Protector began his reign with seeming serenity,” wrote Henry Fletcher, describing what he called the Meridian of Cromwell’s Grandeur, “insomuch as many expected Halcyon days.” For the accession of Oliver Cromwell to supreme power was, on the whole, accepted with philosophy and even a certain degree of favourable anticipation by the English people. The University of Oxford sent him obsequious congratulations, referring to the new Protector – who was of course their Chancellor – as having taken “the floundering world of letters” under his care; there were also equally humble allusions to England’s military glory flourishing under his auspices. From Scotland, Oliver’s own soldiers, describing themselves as “having been for many years past led under your conduct through many difficult services”, approved the change, believing that the nation, after all its “shakings” had at last been set on a proper basis. Robert Lilburne confirmed this satisfying spirit in a personal letter of his own to the Protector: he found nothing in Scotland but “union … and a resolution to stand with your lordship in the management of those weighty affairs that providence has cast upon you”.1 Altogether it was acceptable news.

  Naturally there were those, born to dissent, to whom the elevation was not pleasing. The very ceremonies of accession, which had been so carefully arranged to provide the maximum air of authority, with the Lord Mayor and City officers bidden to attend “for the more solemn performance of that service”, caused offence to some. There were ugly references to “pomp”, or as a letter to Ireland reported them, the ceremonies were “too much after the old fashion, and so grievous to many”. The title of Protector caused particular annoyance to certain Baptists who thought it should only apply to God Himself, and the Fifth Monarchists howled with their characteristic rage, since in their view the only individual qualified to head a Government singly was Jesus Christ. The preacher Vavasour Powell told his congregation to go home and discover by prayer whether they wanted Jesus Christ or Oliver Cromwell to reign over them, with the answer not expected to be in much doubt; while Christopher Feake more simply called Cromwell “the most dissembling perjured villain in the world for which he was promptly hauled off into prison. When the proclamation of Oliver as Protector was made at Temple Bar on 22 December, one impudent onlooker shouted at the herald that Cromwell protected “none but such rogues as thou art”. A trooper struck him, at which the interrupter dragged the trooper off his horse and beat him soundly. The bystanders merely laughed and did not seek to interfere.2

  Nevertheless such incidents only ruffled and did not seriously disturb the surface of exhausted peace which for the time being had fallen across the country. Rump Parliament and Barebones Assembly had in turn fallen into the mire of extreme unpopularity. Although Cromwell’s enemies were certainly lying when they accused him of managing this second inefficient body deliberately in order to bring odium upon Parliaments, for the sake of his own ambitions, it is true that he enjoyed the benefits of their failures. Perhaps the situation of temporary tolerance was best summed up by a cynical Royalist rhyme:

  Not that they liked his Usurpations well

  But change of Evil, is some Ease in Hell.

  And almost immediately preparations were set in hand to invest the new Protector with what at least were the trappings of royalty, even if the title was sedulously denied. Such details were the subject of anxious ordinances from the Council of State, and their care ranged from the highest to the lowest topics. By foreign countries, for example, Oliver was to be treated as a head of State, addressed as His Highness, greeted cap in hand by the Dutch deputies, and saluted as “brother” by fellow heads of State such as Louis XIV. This at any rate was the ideal process laid down, but it caused endless troubles as such symbolic but petty details often do; Cardinal Mazarin’s first reaction to Oliver’s demand to be addressed as “brother” by the French King was a piece of dry Gallic wit. He was not aware, he said, that Cromwell’s father had ever been in France. For the time being Louis compromised with “Monsieur le Protecteur”. In order to avoid the complications of protocol, the struggling French envoy Bordeaux took to trying to encounter Oliver by chance in St James’s Park.3

  The Great Seal of England, engraved and struck by the admirable Thomas Simon, was assuredly royal in feeling. On one side it showed Oliver on horseback riding magnificently across a scene of London, with River Thames and bridge, bareheaded with baton in one hand and bridle in the other. On the other side it incorporated a lion rampant, the paternal arms of the Cromwell family, into a design of the Cross of St George, the Harp of Ireland, and the Saltire of St Andrew – the Scots, who had been complaining about their lack of inclusion in the Commonwealth arms after the union, having now won their point. The exquisite inauguration medal was even more personal: a profile bust of Oliver was surrounded by the Latin legend
OLIVERUS. DEI. GRA. REIPB. ANGLIAE. sco. ET. HIB. & PROTECTOR, .and on the other side his own motto Pax Quaeritur Bello surrounded the coat of arms. And his private seal, already in use five days after his assumption of power, dug back into his remote Welsh ancestry for quarterings, as though in search of royal ancestors. Here were names such as Madoc Ap Meredith, Prince of Powys, Collwyn Ap Tangno, lestyn Ap Gwrgant, Prince of Glamorgan and Caradoc Vreichfvas (to some of which, as has been mentioned earlier, he had a somewhat obscure right); but the intention to lean on the past for extra authority was on the other hand clear. As for the Great Seal of Scotland, which waited till 1656 for its completion, that was quite evidently modelled upon the former seal of King Charles I, since by this time still further steps had been taken in the semi-royal direction: both men were depicted magisterially on horseback, the only difference being that beneath the feet of King Charles stretched the town of Edinburgh, but beneath those of Oliver Cromwell something which had not been available to the former monarch – the battlefield of Dunbar. (See Plate facing p. 476.)