The Restoration and the England of Charles II

John Miller

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781317887140
• Edition: 2
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World History
• Index: History

This key Seminar Study was first published as Restoration England: The Reign of Charles II in 1985. Unavailable for several years, the book has now been heavily revised, and expanded, to take account of over ten years of new scholarship. In particular, the Second Edition reflects new work done on political parties, the constitution, taxation, the church, and the legacy of the civil wars. As ever primary documents illustrate points raised in the text and an extensive bibliography directs readers to further reading. New for this edition is a chronology of the main events in Charles II's reign which, given the thematic treatment of the reign, readers are likely to find particularly useful.

When Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660 the event was widely greeted as a return to normal after the upheavals of civil war. In this short study Professor John Miller explores how far this was true and how far the civil wars had, in fact, weakened (or strengthened) the monarchy. The book divides neatly into two: in the first part the 'Restoration Settlement' of 1660-4 is examined in detail; and, in the second, the salient features of government, politics and religion under Charles II are considered, seeking to show how well the restored regime worked in practice. Throughout, complex issues of change over time are explained as clearly and concisely as possible and the Restoration is placed in the wider context of the development of England in the seventeenth century.

PART ONE: THE RESTORATION

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1 THE END OF THE INTERREGNUM

It might seem odd that Charles II’s return to England in 1660 was greeted with almost universal rejoicing. His father, Charles I, had been defeated in a bloody civil war, and executed; Charles had spent years in apparently hopeless exile. If the Parliamentarians* had set out to destroy the monarchy, its subsequent restoration would indeed have been extraordinary, but most had not. In the 1640s the great majority of the ruling elite wished to preserve the ‘ancient constitution’,* with its balance between the powers of the Crown and the rights of the subject, its stress on taxation by consent and the rule of law.

They saw that constitution as under threat, from two directions. First, Charles I failed to govern in a way that his subjects regarded as fair and reasonable. After 1629 he ruled without Parliament, the traditional embodiment of government by consent. He stretched his fiscal rights to the limit in a way which might just be within the letter of the law, but was contrary to its spirit. Along with fiscal rapacity and chicanery went an authoritarian style of government. The JPs* who directed local government had traditionally, and wisely, been allowed a measure of discretion, adapting national regulations to suit local circumstances. Charles demanded that JPs carry out their instructions to the letter and added insult to injury by involving them in his unpopular fiscal expedients. Finally, his regime was increasingly tainted with ‘Popery’. Archbishop Laud’s emphasis on ritual and ceremony led to accusations that he was leading the Church of England back to Catholicism. Even more sinister was the influence at court of Catholics such as the Queen, Henrietta Maria.

By 1640 it was widely believed that Charles, or those about him, wished to establish Catholicism and absolutism.* A Scots invasion forced him to call what became known as the Long Parliament and to abandon some of the institutions and most of the fiscal devices abused in the 1630s, but, despite his concessions, Charles failed to regain his subjects’ trust because of repeated indications that he wished to use force to reverse them. Fear of bloody reprisals and arbitrary rule drove many moderates to go beyond the remedying of past grievances and to endorse novel demands, notably that Parliament should share in the king’s control of the armed forces and in his choice of advisers. In so doing, they were driven less by a desire for constitutional change than by a simple concern for self-preservation: to reduce the king’s power to a point where he would be unable to harm his subjects.

If the misuse of royal power posed one possible threat to the ‘ancient constitution’, another emerged after the Long Parliament met. Some MPs denounced the attempts to restrict the king’s powers as novel and illegal. When the king and Lords resisted measures which the Commons’ leaders saw as vital, the latter appealed to a wider public outside Parliament. The dramatic events of 1640–41 and the collapse of press censorship stimulated an explosion of popular political debate. Londoners, fearful of the Papists and the king’s soldiers, took to the streets, striking fear into the king and peers; there were widespread disorders in the provinces directed against Catholics, altar rails and unpopular landlords. The collapse of the bishops’ authority allowed people to discuss religion and to worship as they wished. To many of the ruling elite, established authority in Church, state and society was threatened by the brute power of the ‘many-headed monster’, the mob. If fear of absolutism led many conservative gentlemen to side with Parliament, fear of anarchy drove many others to support the king. ‘The alteration of government,’ wrote the Earl of Northumberland, ‘is apprehended on both sides’ [137 p. 414].

At first, the majority in Parliament hoped that, if they could avoid defeat, Charles would have to negotiate. When it became clear that he would not do so, they were forced to adopt a more aggressive approach. The Solemn League and Covenant* of 1643 secured military help from the Scots, but at the price of a commitment to abolish bishops and to introduce some form of Presbyterianism.* Meanwhile, the war imposed a great burden on the people. Taxes were far heavier than ever before; both sides’ local agents acted arbitrarily when mobilising men and munitions; the armies requisitioned, plundered and disrupted normal economic activity. By 1646 much of the popular support which Parliament enjoyed in 1642 had evaporated and the demand grew to end war taxation, disband the armies and return to normal.

That, however, required a settlement with the king, and he refused to make meaningful concessions. In the resultant stalemate Parliament’s most successful army, the New Model, turned on its creator. Angered by what it saw as Parliament’s ingratitude and the populace’s unreasonable hostility, the army formulated its own political demands, which included freedom of worship for the growing number of sectarian congregations (or gathered churches) which had mushroomed since 1640. After the army marched on London in August 1647, it was apparent that no force in the country could stand against it. Its leaders subjected the Houses to increasing pressure, especially after Charles deliberately renewed hostilities in the Second Civil War in 1648. Convinced that the king had to go, the army demanded that Parliament break off negotiations with him. It refused, so on 6 December 1648 Colonel Pride arrested those MPs most in favour of negotiation and turned others away. Many more refused to take their seats, in protest. The remaining minority, or ‘Rump’, set up a high court of justice which tried and condemned the king: he was executed on 30 January 1649. Some weeks later the monarchy was abolished, along with the House of Lords, almost all the peers having withdrawn. England was declared a ‘commonwealth or free state’.

Pride’s Purge and Charles’s execution were the pivotal events of the ‘English Revolution’. They removed all hope of a negotiated settlement based on the traditional constitution and ensured that the regimes of the 1650s would be dependent on the army. The Parliamentarians of the 1640s had been divided, but the Long Parliament had been legally convened and represented a large part of the nation. After Pride’s Purge any claim to continuity or constitutionality became a tenuous fiction. The Rump might talk of the sovereignty of the people and pose as the ongoing incarnation of the Long Parliament and the people’s representative, but it was well aware of its lack of support. Pride’s Purge and Charles’s execution were carried through by a small, unrepresentative minority. Most Parliamentarians (not to mention Royalists) abhorred both. The driving force behind them was the army, self-consciously separate from (and, in its own eyes, morally superior to) civilian society, a ‘godly remnant’, an instrument raised up by God to do His will. Militarily it was invulnerable: by 1651 it had crushed the remaining opposition within the British Isles, while a greatly expanded navy guarded the republic against foreign attack. Its civilian allies, however, were few and disunited.

The Commonwealth and its successor regime, the Protectorate (headed from 1653–8 by Oliver Cromwell) rested heavily on military force, but should not be seen simply as a military dictatorship [136]. Cromwell resisted the call of some of his officers to impose a ‘dictatorship of the godly’, seeking instead to heal the divisions of civil war by broadening the regime’s civilian support. This aspiration rested in part on a principled commitment to Parliaments, although this never prevented him from using force against them if it seemed necessary (as when he turned out the Rump in 1653). It was also pragmatic. Large though the New Model was, it was too small to impose its will by force on the whole of the British Isles. In particular, the soldiers’ pay (and therefore morale) depended on taxpayers’ continued willingness to pay and that in turn depended on taxation being held down to a bearable level and on a sense (on the part of the taxpayers) that the taxes were legitimate – in other words, that they had been voted by some sort of Parliament. That sense of legitimacy would be further enhanced if the public perceived that the regime was actively seeking consent. Such considerations limited the fiscal options of the regimes of the 1650s. At first, they were tided over by the sale of lands confiscated from the Crown, the Church and the Royalists, but once those had gone they were dependent on taxation. In the later 1650s the Protectorate reduced taxes in order to try to buy support, which drew the regime into a downward spiral of debt which in turn reduced its capacity to borrow [39; 49]. But the alternative, relying on naked military force, did not work either, as became apparent in 1659.

The traditional mechanism for securing support was Parliament, but to secure an amenable Parliament was not easy. The republic had some support among political and religious radicals, but these lacked both numbers and political weight. Those who counted politically were the landed elite (nobility and gentry) and the leading citizens of the towns, who would dominate any electoral system, thanks to their power as landlords, employers and consumers and the respect in which they were held by those lower down the social scale. Only a tiny minority of this elite wholeheartedly supported the regimes of the 1650s. The Royalists were irreconcilable, so the obvious source of support was from among the Parliamentarians, notably those moderates, usually known as Presbyterians, who had been alienated by Pride’s Purge and the king’s execution.

Unfortunately for Cromwell, the Presbyterians’ views differed markedly from his. First, he was committed to religious liberty. He preserved the outward structure of a national Church, with a minister in each parish supported by tithes,* but allowed the clergy a wide latitude in matters of worship and doctrine. Those who wished to worship elsewhere could do so, except for Papists or ‘prelatists’ (supporters of the old episcopal Church and Prayer Book). The Presbyterians believed in a single, fairly uniform Church to which all should belong. This they saw as essential if moral discipline and theological orthodoxy were to be maintained. Secondly, Cromwell wished to preserve the army (not least as the guarantor of religious liberty); the Presbyterians thought it expensive, tyrannical and unacceptably radical, and longed to be rid of it. Thirdly, Cromwell (and the army) were committed to the republic. The Presbyterians believed in monarchy, preferably a Stuart monarchy. Such fundamental differences made long-term cooperation unlikely, unless Cromwell abandoned the army and ruled as the Presbyterians wanted. Many Presbyterians served in local government and sought election to Cromwell’s Parliaments, but often did so merely in order to change or undermine his regime from within. Cromwell could work with his Parliaments only by circumscribing their powers and imposing political conditions on their members. When such restrictions were removed, in 1658, chaos ensued.

Cromwell’s problem was simple: ‘I am as much for a government by consent as any man, but where shall we find that consent?’ [19 II, p. 11]. (He should have added that he wanted consent on his own terms.) His reliance on the military was most apparent when his concern for security overrode his wish for consent. The rule of the Major-Generals, in 1655–6, came as a rude shock to Parliamentarian squires who, since 1653, had begun to take part in local government again. Outsiders with a stern sense of duty, the Major-Generals and their subordinates had little time for the favouritism and tempering of national requirements to local conditions which were a traditional feature of local government. ‘Was I made a commissioner to do good or favour to my friends?’ asked one officer. ‘I never thought so, but to serve the state’ [34 p. 175], Such a centralised, authoritarian approach to government made that of the 1630s appear mild in retrospect. Royalists and Presbyterians began to meet socially again and worked together in elections; Presbyterians corresponded with the exiled Charles II [34 Ch. 7].

Politically isolated, the army retained its unity after Cromwell’s death, on 3 September 1658. His son, Richard, who succeeded him as Lord Protector, was a civilian and many Presbyterians hoped that his regime would be less dependent on the army. He called a Parliament early in 1659 which tried to restrict religious toleration and establish civilian control over the military. The army retaliated by forcing Richard to stand down and recalled the Rump. The Rump’s dismissal in 1653 still rankled, but it needed the army’s military strength to make up for its own lack of support. The army needed the Rump to cover the nakedness of military rule with a cloak of spurious legitimacy and, above all, to vote taxes. Their relationship was thus less than harmonious and the final break came on the issue of which was the dominant partner. The Rump insisted that it should control military appointments and promotions, the army’s council of war disagreed, and on 13 October the Rump was expelled for the second time.

England thus reverted to direct military rule, but the committee of safety set up by the army faced great problems. The last of the taxes voted by the Rump would expire in December and there were many reports of refusals to pay taxes not voted by Parliament. (Even Oliver had been reluctant to allow the legality of the Protectorate’s taxes to be tested in the courts [39].) The committee soon abandoned its threats to quarter soldiers on recalcitrant taxpayers, realising that this could provoke a general revolt. The City, restive and hostile, rejected requests for a loan. The judges refused to hear any more cases. Government was in danger of grinding to a halt and the regime was constantly reminded of its unpopularity. It tried to strengthen its support by creating a militia of ‘sectaries’ (Baptists and Quakers), but this merely increased resentment and did not solve the basic problem of the need for a more permanent form of government. It was announced that a free government would be set up that was acceptable to all, but without a king or House of Lords, which for most was a contradiction in terms. By December it seemed that England was sliding into confusion.

The army leaders’ problems were compounded by the conduct of General George Monk, an experienced professional soldier who commanded the army in Scotland. His competence as a soldier and military administrator is beyond doubt [Doc. 1], but opinions varied as to his political abilities and the motives behind his conduct in 1659–60. Naturally, after the Restoration, he and his biographers [13; 25] claimed that he had intended, from the outset, to bring back the king, which would imply a political farsightedness of which there was later little sign: Pepys called him a blockhead. Indeed, if that was Monk’s intention, it was far from obvious at the time: ‘He is a black Monk and I cannot see through him,’ wrote one Royalist [6 III, p. 651].

Many were confused by his capacity for saying one thing and doing another. It seems likely that he was trying to keep his options open and to cover himself against charges of acting without authority. Having served both king and republic, he probably lacked dogmatic attachment to any form of government, although he consistently stressed the need for order and authority in Church and state. He was considering restoring the king in the summer of 1659. He wrote to Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, a Presbyterian who had accepted office under Cromwell, that he wanted the Long Parliament recalled – in other words, with a Presbyterian majority, as it had been before Pride’s Purge reduced it to a Rump. He was in contact with Royalist emissaries at the time of the rising in July-August 1659 of Sir George Booth – a former Parliamentarian, who had considerable Royalist support – and might have joined it had it not been defeated so quickly. Contacts with Presbyterians, Royalists and Rumpers continued in the autumn. A group of Presbyterian politicians, including the Earl of Manchester, tried to persuade him to bring back Charles II on the conditions offered to his father on the Isle of Wight in 1648, including stringent restrictions on the prerogative and a Presbyterian system of Church government. (Insofar as Monk expressed any views on religion, it would seem that he was a Presbyterian.)

Monk was stirred to political action by the growing confusion in England and by the interference of first the Rump, then the army leaders, in military appointments in Scotland. The Rump’s expulsion gave him a pretext to take his stand on a defence of legally constituted authority and the superiority of the civil to the military power – especially as the Rump’s council of state secretly sent him a commission as commander-in-chief of the entire army. He declared for a civilian government without king or Lords and for a settled godly ministry, began to purge his forces of officers whose loyalty was suspect, and prepared to march into England.

As Monk’s preparations would take time, he embarked on tortuous negotiations with the English army leaders. News of his activities gave heart to opponents of army rule, especially in London. Late in November he wrote to the lord mayor and common council, asking for their help in restoring Parliament to its former freedom – whether he meant the Rump or the Parliament of 1648 was unclear [9; 23]. The City authorities responded warily, but the letter gave added force to the demand in London for a ‘free Parliament’ – perhaps a new, freely elected body, perhaps that of 1648. (Either would probably recall the king.)

Many soldiers in the English army also looked to Monk, whose men were paid more regularly than they were. Some were confused by the divisions among their leaders and ‘laid down their arms till they be satisfied for what and whom they engage’ [9 p. 211]. ‘The soldiers here [London],’ said a newsletter, ‘are so vilified, scorned and hissed that they are ashamed to march’ [9 p. 166].

Caught between the citizens and the army, the City authorities side-stepped demands that they should petition for a free Parliament. The committee of safety fulminated that to promote such a petition was treason and bleated that Monk would bring back the king. It announced that a new Parliament (with tightly restricted powers) would meet on 24 January, but it was too late. Portsmouth’s garrison declared for the Rump, as did a section of the fleet, which blockaded the Thames. In the London common council elections, the army’s allies were heavily defeated. The new common c...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Half Title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• An Introduction to the series
• Preface to the second edition
• Note on referencing system
• Acknowledgements
• PART ONE: The Restoration
• 1. The End of the Interregnum
• 2. The Restoration Settlement: The Convention
• 3. The Restoration Settlement: The Cavalier Parliament
• PART TWO: The Reign of Charles II
• 4. Society and Government
• 5. Politics and the Constitution
• 6. Religion and Ideas
• PART THREE: Assessment
• 7. The Place of the Restoration in English History
• PART FOUR: Documents
• Chronology
• Glossary
• Bibliography
• Index