‘Rigour upon men’s consciences’: Political Allegiance, Religious Profession, and the English Catholic Community during the

By

Katherine Shreve Lazo

Dissertation

Submitted to the Faculty of the

Graduate School of

in partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

in

History

December 15, 2018

Nashville, Tennessee

Approved:

Peter Lake, Ph.D. Joel Harrington, Ph.D. Jane Landers, Ph.D. Paul C. H. Lim, Ph.D.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many friends, family members, and mentors have offered support and encouragement over the past several years as I researched, wrote, and revised my dissertation. Without their support I would not have been able to complete this work.

First and foremost, I must thank Peter Lake for his invaluable wisdom and unflagging support throughout my doctoral studies. He patiently read multiple drafts of every chapter and discussed them with me. His insightful questions pushed me to think more broadly and more deeply about my subject, and the thesis is more interesting as a result.

Michael Questier and David Como both listened as I wended my way to a more incisive argument. Experts on the early seventeenth-century English Catholic community and the English Revolution, respectively, they graciously lent their time and shared their knowledge with me.

My committee members, Joel Harrington, Jane Landers, and Paul Lim, provided encouragement and outside perspectives that encouraged me to step back and ensure that I engaged a wider audience than historians of the English Revolution.

Fellow graduate students, who hunkered in the trenches and celebrated milestones with me, were wonderful sources of empathy and camaraderie. Katie McKenna, Amy Gant Tan, Sean Bortz, Juliet Larkin-Gilmore, and Hillary Taylor helped me enjoy life and pushed me intellectually. To Kelly Brignac and Kelly O’Reilly, I am sorry to say that the nuns only make the briefest of appearances in the final version of my dissertation.

From start to finish, my family have been unflagging in their support of my education. They have sustained me in a variety of ways. Everyone has been involved, including my nieces who assumed I must be a teenager if I still had “homework” and my cousins who snuck a glance at a chapter and inquired about “library of con-science”. Ann Aubrey Hanson generously applied her copyediting expertise to grammatical quandaries at several crucial points. My brothers, Mark and Nate Shreve, provided support in their very personal manners: Mark with his sharp wit; Nate with a steady flow of English memes, and his engagement with the paper I presented at the IHR. My grandmother’s genuine interest in my topic and long experience of living with an academic (as well as channeling my grandfather to remind me that I wasn’t spending sufficient time studying Latin), kept me going.

Special thanks are due to my mother, Meg Shreve, who modeled the , stick-to- itiveness, and determination required to tackle a project like this. For years she pushed me to develop my writing skills and taught me that the only path to perfection is practice and persistence. I would not have been able to complete this dissertation, much less make it entertaining, without the skills that she patiently helped me develop. My father, Paul Shreve, also deserves recognition. A fellow history major, he dragged me to every historical site within fifty miles of our house in Surrey (an impressive number!), and somewhere along the way impressed upon me his fascination with the past. He also reassured me that history is salient to everyday life and encouraged me to use both the analytical skills I gained studying history as

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well as the knowledge to pursue my career. His favorite piece of advice—which he assures me is equally applicable to all aspects of life—has frequently echoed in my ears and pushed me onwards when my resolve flagged.

Last, but certainly not least, I could not have completed my dissertation without David Lazo. You promised to support me through graduate school, little knowing that the journey would entail two cross-country moves, innumerable late-night editing sessions, and days of distraction where I asked the same question five times. But you stuck by me, enduring hours of my rambling aloud and routinely waking up early to brew coffee to ensure that I would be caffeinated the moment I arose. This is our achievement. Even if you still think “” is the oddest title for a ruler, your unfailing support ensured that I could complete this dissertation and claim the title Dr. Lazo.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... ii

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... vi

NOTE ON DATES AND SPELLING ...... viii

Chapter

1. Introduction ...... 1

Background and Literature ...... 7 Overview and Methodology ...... 16

2. Catholics are “persons otherwise than Englishmen”: The Legal Creation of Papists ...... 21

Beginning the Exclusion: The Elizabethan Settlement ...... 24 The Early Stuart Church ...... 34 Papists and Delinquents ...... 43 Liberty of Conscience for (almost) all ...... 52 Conclusion ...... 59

3. Covenants, Conscience, and Catholics: The Commonwealth’s Crisis-Based Governing ...... 62

“the present change of Government, from Tyranny to a Free State” ...... 63 A Beacon Set on Fire ...... 73 Catholics under the Commonwealth ...... 86 Conclusion ...... 101

4. The Place of the English Catholic Community in the Cromwellian Constitution ...... 105

1647: A Turning Point ...... 108 Bringing “Form out of Confusion” ...... 124 Priests and the Protector ...... 136 The First Protectorate Parliament and the Meaning of the Instrument ...... 148 Conclusion ...... 165

5. An Arch Anti-Papist? ’s Autocratic Policies Reexamined ...... 168

Posturing by Proclamation ...... 169 The Blackloists Return ...... 175 The Western Design and the Major-Generals ...... 189 Conclusion ...... 202

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6. Authority, Allegiance, and the Second Protectorate Parliament ...... 204

The “unquiett fpirrit” of the Discontented: Managing Parliamentary Elections ...... 205 An Extraordinary Occasion ...... 213 “the publick Profession of these Nations”: The Second Protectorate Parliament’s Religio- Political Settlement ...... 223 Conclusion ...... 233

7. The Second Protectorate Parliament Confronts Liberty of Conscience ...... 235

The Recusant Bill, Part I ...... 237 “The great Misdemeanors and Blasphemies of James Nayler” ...... 245 The Recusant Bill, Part II ...... 264 Conclusion ...... 278

8. Alliances and Enmities: The English Catholic Community in the Last Months of ...... 284

Godly Protector and Catholic Cardinal ...... 285 and Spaniards Shake Hands ...... 298 The Effect of the Recusant Bill ...... 305 Conclusion ...... 314

Epilogue: The End of the Protectorate and the ...... 316

Conclusion ...... 319

REFERENCES ...... 326

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ABBREVIATIONS

A&O C.H. Firth and R.S. Rait, eds., Acts and Ordinances of the Interregnum, 3 Vols., (1911)

AAW Westminster Diocesan Archives, Kensington

Abbott, Writings & Speeches W.C. Abbott, The Writings and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, 4 Vols., (1937-1947)

Anstruther Godfrey Anstruther, ed., The Seminary Priests, Volume 2: Early Stuarts 1603-1659 (1975)

Bossy, ECC John Bossy, The English Catholic Community, 1570-1850, (1975)

Burton, Diary John Towill Rutt, ed., Diary of Thomas Burton, Esq., Member in the Parliaments of Oliver and , 4 Vols., (1828)

Cal. Clar. SP W. Dunn Macray, ed., Calendar of the Clarendon State Papers, 3 Vols., (1872-1876)

CJ Journals of the House of Commons

CSPD Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series

CSPV Calendar of State Papers Relating to English Affairs in the Archives of Venice

DNB Dictionary of National Biography, online ed.

Firth, Last Years C.H. Firth, The Last Years of the Protectorate, 2 Vols., (1909)

Gardiner, C&P S.R. Gardiner, History of the Commonwealth and Protectorate, New Ed., 4 Vols., (1903)

Howell, State Trials T.B. Howell, ed., A Complete Collection of State Trials and Proceedings for High Treason and Other Crimes and Misdemeanors from the Earliest Period to the Year 1783, Vols. 4-5, (1816)

LJ Journals of the

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Statutes of the Realm The Statutes of the Realm Printed by Command of His Majesty King George the Third, Vols. 2-5, (1816-1819)

TNA The National Archives, Kew

TSP Thomas Birch, ed., A Collection of the State Papers of , 7 Vols., (1742)

Warner, Nicholas Papers George F. Warner, ed., The Nicholas Papers: Correspondence of Sir Edward Nicholas, Secretary of State, 4 Vols., (1886-1897)

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NOTE ON DATES AND SPELLING

England used the Julian calendar in the seventeenth century though the rest of Europe had adopted the Gregorian calendar; consequently English dates lagged 10 days behind European dates. March 25 was the start of the new year. I have retained Old Style (Julian) dates, though I take the year to begin on January 1.

Generally, I have retained original spellings to best convey the author’s meaning. Abbreviated words are expanded in brackets []. In the titles of publications, while I retain original spellings, I have silently switched letters: f to s, v to u, i to j.

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CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

“Therefore I say that as your danger is from the common enemy abroad, who is the head of the Papal interest, the head of that anti-Christian interest, that is so described in Scripture, so fore- spoken of . . . it is no strange nor new thing to tell you, because it is true and certain, that the Papists, the Priests and Jesuits, have a great influence upon the party.” Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell’s speech at the opening of parliament, September 17, 16561

“I believe that under my Government . . . Catholics, [have] less reason for complaint as to rigour upon men’s consciences than under the Parliament.” Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell to Cardinal Mazarin, December 26, 16562

Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell spoke in his capacity as chief magistrate of ,

Scotland, Ireland, and Wales to two important audiences. Within the space of three months, he issued seemingly contradictory policy statements. How could Cromwell simultaneously urge

Members of Parliament to act against English Catholics as threats to national security and covertly promise the chief minister of France that this same group was treated comparatively well? Why was the paragon of godly zeal willing to promise, even clandestinely, that Catholics would continue to enjoy relative freedom from molestation? And why did Cromwell frame the freedom he extended to Catholics as reduced “rigour upon [their] consciences” when, for the previous century, Catholics had been punished for disloyalty to the English monarch by dint of their religion rather than directly for their beliefs?

Obvious answers to these questions would rely on negative characterizations of

Cromwell: either blatant opportunism or perfidy. Of course, the narratives that pushed such traits as his defining characteristics were products of a posthumous smear campaign led by the

1 Abbott, Writings and Speeches, 4:264-5.

2 Abbott, Writings and Speeches, 4:368.

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son of the man he executed. Without excusing some of his actions, more nuanced scholarship in recent years has highlighted his measured, pensive approach to politics. Rehabilitation efforts have not extended to his relationship with English Catholics, however, where a tempered version of the dark portrait prevails. Is there an explanation that reconciles these statements other than religious animus? I contend there is.

Incompatible as these utterances appear, they encapsulate the unique position of the

English Catholic community within the English post-Reformation religio-political settlement.

Protestant English monarchs were head of both church and state. Temporal and ecclesiastical polities, technically separate, were linked through the person and office of the monarch.

National religion further blurred the theoretical and institutional boundaries. Secular authorities punished religious crimes, parliament conflated religious uniformity with political loyalty, and religious orthodoxy determined membership in the body politic. By the mid-seventeenth century, statute law, along with a century of custom and assumption, had partially unified the political and ecclesiastical systems.

Located at the intersection of the temporal and ecclesiastical jurisdictions, between the

1558 Elizabethan Settlement and 1688’s Glorious Revolution the English Catholic community posed a unique threat to monarchs. Roman Catholic theology and English monarchs’ authority collided to render English Catholics both political and religious dissidents: they not only denied the validity of the monarch’s religious remit, they also claimed recourse to a higher political authority. This legal status combined with the general hostility to religious nonconformity suggests that English Catholics should have been isolated and ostracized, if not entirely eradicated. Instead, the community functioned as a Rorschach test, reflecting different attributes and possibilities based on context and the observer’s perspective. Alternately perceived and

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portrayed as a menacing fifth column, a steady revenue source, and a gilded bargaining chip,

English rulers readily exploited the English Catholic community’s flexible propaganda potential for political purposes. This makes the community (both as a collection of living individuals and as a rhetorical device) an excellent window into the intricacies of early modern governance.

Thrown into particularly stark relief through this lens are the tensions between the theoretical and the practical. As a pressure point, the treatment of English Catholics divided the stakeholders – monarch, courtiers, councillors, Members of Parliament, diplomats, and members of the body politic – and provides insights into the goals of governors and methods used to achieve them.

Geographically, socially, economically, politically, and doctrinally diverse, it is reductive

(albeit useful) to treat the English Catholic community as monolithic. Part of early modern governors’ difficulty with the community was determining whether and how to acknowledge such distinctions. Over time, I contend, governments formulated a method of sorting English

Catholics into sub-groups that best served their ends. Members of the heterogeneous population could, in the eyes of early modern governors and administrators, be classified as either catholics or papists. (A third classification – ordained priests – existed, but this group was largely considered a subset of “papists” and was easy to identify.) Religious catholics – those who worshipped according to the Roman rite but rejected papal claims to temporal political authority, including the power to depose lawful sovereigns – could be passively tolerated. This segment of the community only denied monarchical authority in the ecclesiastical sphere and registered this belief by participating in Roman rites instead of (or in addition to) Anglican services. Papists, in contrast, were militants who heeded calls to revolt against heretical rulers. Comprising a minority of the English Catholic community, this group caused outsize consternation. Opposed to any Protestant English government on religious and political grounds, this group rejected

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monarchs’ ecclesiastical and temporal authority by virtue of strict allegiance to the as a temporal and religious leader. Muddying this fairly clear distinction is the additional vocabulary employed to discuss Catholicism in early modern England. Recusancy – the crime of deliberately absenting oneself from Anglican services – was the most reliable method of identifying Catholics, inspiring widespread use of the term “recusant” to mean “English

Catholic”. Both catholics and papists could be recusants (in strict legal and colloquial senses).

Not all recusants were practicing Catholics, however, nor were all practicing Catholics recusants.

Further complicating this issue, recusancy was not a crime for most of the period addressed in this dissertation, but “recusant” remained in common usage in both the vernacular and legal parlance.

But the most potent influence on Interregnum regimes’ attitudes toward Catholics was anti-popery. This was not merely fierce hostility to the Church of Rome nor even an extreme manifestation of evangelical impulses that sought the eradication of Catholicism. As Peter Lake has shown, anti-popery defined Catholicism through a series of binary oppositions, thus in turn defining English Protestantism.3 Seductively useful in political discourse, anti-popery was bound with questions of allegiance and deployed for various purposes throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Elizabeth’s accession Catholics slowly but inexorably declined as a proportion of the English population and geographically concentrated.4 Anti- popery neither waned in tandem with the English Catholic community’s numbers nor became a

3 Peter Lake, “Anti-popery: the Structure of a Prejudice,” in The Early Stuart Church ed. Richard Cust and Ann Hughes, (New : Longman, 1989), 72-106.

4 Bossy, ECC, 216-23, 419-22, has shown that the number of lay Catholics remained roughly stable between the Personal Rule and the death of Queen Anne, though as the population of the country grew the community declined as a proportion of the total population. B.G. Blackwood, “Plebian Catholics in the and ,” Recusant History 18, No. 1 (May 1986): 42-9, agrees with Bossy that the English Catholic community in the mid-seventeenth century was, with the exception of Lancashire, essentially seignuerial, with independent groups of co-religionists centered around a gentry family.

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localized phenomenon – quite the opposite – but as the threat of a papally-sanctioned rebellion dissipated, the distinction between conscientious religious objectors and genuine religio-political opponents was increasingly useful. During the tumultuous middle years of the seventeenth century, the terms “popery” and “papist” gained heightened significance. Enemies of King

Charles I (r. 1625-49) harnessed these loaded terms in their quest to overturn the king’s unpopular policies. By associating Archbishop of Canterbury Laud’s beauty of holiness program with superfluous and superstitious Romish practices, Protestants implied that the king and his chief religious officer sought to reunify the with the Roman .

Once the king was effectively tarred with the brush of popery, the structure of anti-popery allowed his enemies to claim that Charles’s secular governance (particularly his disinclination to work with or even summon parliament) tended towards popish autocracy and advocate for the restoration of English rights and liberties. Proximate causes of course contributed to the civil war that consumed the country between 1642 and 1649, but anti-popery played a central role in sparking the conflagration.5

Seven years of civil war culminated in in 1649. From January 30, 1649 until

May 1660, England had no monarchy. Multiple governments operated under varying constraints and constitutions during this period, but they all shared a common denominator: none were monarchies. Shifting the locus of authority in England altered the foundation of government, requiring new political theories and institutions. Because Protestant English monarchs claimed

5 Peter Lake, “Post-Reformation Politics, or on Not Looking for the Long-Term Causes of the ,” in The Oxford Handbook of the English Revolution ed. Michael J. Braddick, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 22, 34-5, has shown how dueling visions of religion and evil counsel cast into a public sphere in the century between the break with Rome and the outbreak of civil war created the preconditions in which these discourses could (and did) spiral out of control. Michael J. Braddick, “Prayer Book and Protestation: Anti-Popery, Anti-Puritanism and the Outbreak of the English Civil War,” in England’s Wars of Religion, Revisited ed. Charles W.A. Prior and Glen Burgess, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 125-6, 131-2, 143, explains how this process operated in more concrete detail. He focuses on how the “ambiguous legacy of the ”, and specifically anti-popery, combined with a series of events circa 1641 to mobilize the public in ways that eventually led to war.

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supreme temporal and ecclesiastical authority, abolishing the monarchy did not merely transform the nation from a monarchy to a commonwealth. The Church of England also lost its head.

Most consequentially, church and state divorced.

Interregnum governors, operating in a fundamentally different religio-political reality than all other post-Reformation English sovereigns, had to formulate new bases for their authority, articulate this rationale, and persuade inhabitants to accept their legitimacy. Of necessity, the Interregnum was a period of theoretical innovation, constitutional experimentation, ecclesiastical refashioning, and expansive legal extrapolation. Superficially, however, the legislative and quasi-executive branches of government retained their shapes. And the sole point of unanimous agreement in the midst of the clamor attending these philosophical discussions was that England remained a Protestant nation. These points of continuity encouraged governors to elide the depth of changes made to the English polity. Many customs and practices born of the symbiotic relationship between church and state continued even though the legal basis and institutional structure for such actions dissipated. For this reason the English Catholic community remains an extraordinary means of discerning not only Interregnum governors’ prejudices and blindspots but also the balance of law versus custom, principle versus propaganda, and policy versus practice. Analyzing aspects of Interregnum religio-political settlements which affected the English Catholic community – qualifications for membership in the body politic, boundaries around acceptable religious behavior, professions of allegiance to the present government, and foreign relations – yields insight into the goals, motivations, and tactics that predominated during the period of rapid change and radical innovation.

Though the English Catholic community has been used to great effect to analyze precisely these developments in earlier periods, Catholics disappear from the political and legal

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history of the Interregnum. How does the political narrative of the Interregnum alter when viewed through the lens of the English Catholic community? This is the driving question of my dissertation.

Background and Literature

Interregnum political settlements, billed as constitutional experimentation, have been a favorite subject for historians since the late nineteenth century. Unrivalled in the depth and breadth of his knowledge, Samuel Gardiner’s magisterial studies of the Civil War and

Interregnum promoted the significance of the mid-seventeenth century for modern conceptions of rights and liberties. This Whig mentality – that the 1640s and 1650s were a dress rehearsal for the Glorious Revolution and that the constitutional arrangements of the Interregnum anticipated later developments in both England and America but were too advanced for contemporaries – pervades both Gardiner’s series and Firth’s conclusion of the study.6 Stricter controls and stiffer penalties were gradually imposed upon the English Catholic community between the

Interregnum and the Glorious Revolution. After 1688, Catholics became a political underclass; they were only granted liberty to worship openly in 1791 and did not gain full political rights until 1829, only seventy-five years before Gardiner wrote. Thus, while these two foundational studies conceded that the enlightened nature of Interregnum governors resulted in a brief period of de facto toleration for the English Catholic community, the community was largely omitted

6 Gardiner explicitly stated this in his introduction to his compilation of important documents from the 1640s and 1650s; S.R. Gardiner, Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution, 1625-1660, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906), lxiv. But the mentality pervades both his four-volume History of the Commonwealth and Protectorate, which he left unfinished, and Firth’s two-volume conclusion, The Last Years of the Protectorate.

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from the narrative.7 English Catholics were only relevant insofar as they worked with the

Stuarts, irrevocably associating the dynasty with popery. Scholars have long since overturned the Whig perception of the Interregnum as a prelude to the Glorious Revolution but the omission of the English Catholic community from political narratives became permanent. Hence approaching the 1650s from the perspective of Catholicism is a significant methodological innovation.

My study would not be possible without the extensive research conducted into the post-

Reformation English Catholic community. While my dissertation is not part of this genre – I do not systematically analyze catholic political thought, reconstruct catholic patronage networks, or dive into the financial state of the community – I rely upon decades of scholarship to conduct my analysis. The seminal work in the field, John Bossy’s The English Catholic Community, argued that the post-Reformation English Catholic community is best understood as part “of the English non-conforming tradition”.8 His work opened post-Reformation English Catholicism as a fertile field of study. Intellectual histories, literature studies, and cultural histories predicated upon his work have greatly illuminated the lived experience of early modern English Catholics, showing how faith adapted and flourished during the penal years.9 However, his thesis reinforced the

7 Gardiner, C&P, 2:3, notes that all recusancy legislation was repealed but Catholics “would hardly be allowed to shelter themselves under it”. Firth, Last Years, 1:73, believed that Catholics were treated leniently by the Lord Protector, particularly in comparison with the , but declines to elaborate.

8 Bossy, ECC, 7.

9 An excellent example of English Catholic intellectual history is Stefania Tutino, Law and Conscience: Catholicism in Early Modern England, 1570-1625, (England: Ashgate, 2007). Literature studies abound; Arthur Marotti, “Southwell’s remains: Catholicism and anti-Catholicism in Early Modern England,” in Texts and Cultural Change in Early Modern England ed. Cedric C. Brown and Arthur F. Marotti, (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), 37-65; Susannah Monta, “Uncommon Prayer? Robert Southwell’s Short Rule for a Good Life and Catholic Domestic Devotion in Post-Reformation England,” in Redrawing the Map of Early Modern English Catholicism ed. Lowell Gallagher, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012), 245-271 are among the best. Cultural studies are also numerous but see Peter Davidson, “Recusant Catholic Spaces in Early Modern England,” in Catholic Culture in Early Modern England ed. Ronald Corthell, Frances Elizabeth Dolan, Christopher Highley, Arthur F. Marotti, (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), 19-51; Lisa McClain, Lest We Be Damned: Practical Innovation and Lived Experience Among Catholics in Protestant England, 1559-1642, (New York: Routledge,

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political isolation of the community and historiographical segregation persisted. More recent work has exposed the religio-political gray area in which English Catholics operated. Alexandra

Walsham has recovered the range of options available to early modern Catholics between recusancy and conversion.10 Reconstructing Catholic patronage networks, as Michael Questier has, shows that intricate webs of association allowed English Catholics to wield considerable influence both within their networks and, at times, upon national political concerns.11

Until very recently, however, the Interregnum remained a shocking lacuna in the literature. Though Bossy’s characterization of the English Catholic community as part of the

English tradition of religious non-conformity arguably best applies to the community during the

Interregnum, he summarizes the years between 1649 and 1660 as “an interlude of uncertainty and confusion”.12 His dismissal of the period inspired other scholars to follow suit, with the result that the English Catholic community disappeared from the historiography of the 1650s entirely.13 Because liberty of conscience was restricted to Protestants, the English Catholic

2004); Bert Roest, “‘Schollers bredd vp in the monastery’: Educating English Catholic Girls on the Continent,” in Worth and Repute: Valuing Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern England, ed. Kim Kippen and Lori Woods, (Toronto: Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2011), 179-209, for a sample of the range encompassed.

10 Alexandra Walsham, Church Papists: Catholicism, Conformity and Confessional Polemic in Early Modern England, (Rochester, NY: The Boydell Press, 1993). Specifically, she demonstrates that varying degrees of conformity with the Anglican rite both complicated the moral position of English Catholics and camouflaged subversive activity, eliding the difference between hardline separatists and loyal conformists. (xiii-xiv) Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed: The Roman and Protestant Churches in English Protestant Thought, 1600-1640, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 252-60 has examined the phenomenon of church papistry from the government’s perspective.

11 Michael C. Questier, Catholicism and Community in Early Modern England: Aristocratic Patronage and Religion, c.1550-1640, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

12 Bossy, ECC, 60.

13 Thomas White and his Blackloists constitute a partial exception to this rule, though most analyses approach the avant garde group from a European intellectual, rather than specifically English, perspective. See, for example, Robert Ignatius Bradley, “Blacklo: An Essay in Counter-Reform,” (Ph.D. diss, Columbia University, 1963); Simon Johnson, “‘Papists of the New Model’: the English Mission and the Shadow of Blacklow,” in Getting Along?: Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England ed. Nadine Lewycky and Adam Morton (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Group, 2012), 213-236. Stefania Tutino, Thomas White and the Blackloists: Between Politics and Theology during the English Civil War, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), is nearly alone in bucking the trend and placing the Blackloists in the English political context.

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community did not merit consideration in the voluminous literature on the church settlements, either.14 A new generation of scholars is reversing this trend. Alexandra Tompkins has elucidated English Catholic political thought and reintegrated the English Catholic community into Interregnum politics. Primarily a study of internecine disputes over “episcopacy, oath taking and negotiations for toleration with the State” amongst members of the English Catholic community, her dissertation has laid the groundwork for more studies.15 Eilish Gregory delves into composition and sequestration commissioners’ records to understand the financial position of the English Catholic community. She concludes that Catholics were able to manipulate knowledge and networks to reduce their financial penalties, a process that became easier as parliament wielded sequestration as a tool to isolate and punish political enemies. Furthermore, she negates the picture of an isolated, impoverished, and powerless English Catholic community.16 Both of these recent studies are invaluable and contribute significantly to our understanding of Catholics’ position during the Interregnum. I join this wave of scholarship in sentiment but not substance. Rather than analyzing Catholic positions in 1650s political disputes as Tompkins does or reconsidering interactions between Catholics and the state as well as recovering the effect of Interregnum policies upon English Catholics like Gregory, my dissertation uses the English Catholic community and anti-popery as a window into Interregnum governance.

14 Because the norm is to ignore Catholics, it is simpler to highlight exceptions rather than the rule. Claire Cross, “The Church in England 1646-1660,” in The Interregnum: The Quest for Settlement, 1646-1660 ed. G.E. Aylmer, (: Archon Books, 1972), 115, believed that Catholics were protected by Cromwell and enjoyed more liberty under him than at any point since 1558, though she does not offer evidence in support of this claim. Blair Worden, God’s Instruments: Political Conduct in the England of Oliver Cromwell, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 74, argues that pragmatist in Cromwell tolerated quiescent catholics in return for political gain.

15 Alexandra Kate Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue, 1640-1662: Factionalism, Perceptions and Exploitation,” (Ph.D. diss, University of London, 2010), 261.

16 Eilish Marguerita Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration during the English Revolution, 1642-60,” (Ph.D. diss, University College London, 2017), 36, 289-91.

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Political histories of the Interregnum have tended to treat the period as an era of constitutional development and experimentation. Ecclesiastical concerns paled in comparison with these weighty matters, especially since Interregnum regimes tolerated virtually all

Protestants. Parliament and the feature prominently in these discussions as ideological incubators and vehicles for change. Several of the highest-ranking Army officers, known as Grandees, figure in my dissertation (Lord General Oliver Cromwell chief among them), but the political theorization occurring within the ranks of the Army is outside the scope of my study. Few of the myriad schemes became law, and I am only concerned with actual alterations to the religio-political settlement. Parliament looms large in my analysis and though I do not claim to have conducted an institutional study, my use of the English Catholic community as a lens sheds new light on the Protectorate Parliaments. Conrad Russell’s monumental study on the parliaments of the 1620s provides a useful framework for conceptualizing parliaments as

“ad hoc gatherings of men reacting to events taking place elsewhere”.17 I approach parliaments as collections of individuals with their own opinions who balanced reverence for precedent with the need to uphold the radically revised religio-political settlement; fundamentally the

Protectorate Parliaments reacted to others’ decisions. I recognize that MPs had agency and considerable latitude to influence the Protectorate religio-political settlements, avoiding the tendency to view the Protectorate Parliaments as brief events punctuating Oliver Cromwell’s rule. I agree with the MP who described religion as the “difficultest point” parliament encountered and argue that religion was difficult because it struck at the heart of MPs’ task to

17 Conrad Russell, Parliaments and English Politics, 1621-1629, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 1, 35. While Russell’s work shaped the field of parliamentary studies for decades, I disagree with many of his conclusions. And his central contention that MPs came to Westminster to conduct business rather than engage in constitutional deliberations patently does not apply to the 1650s.

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perfect the religio-political settlement in its particulars.18 Foregrounding religious concerns (and specifically English Catholicism), is a new approach to the Protectorate Parliaments. Even the most thorough recent examination of the Protectorate Parliaments, Patrick Little’s and David

Smith’s thematic study, treats religion as one among many issues MPs confronted rather than central to their mandate.19

Religion may have been absent from the political historiography for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but a thriving parallel discussion has illuminated the ecclesiastical and theological aspects of the religio-political settlement. Again, much attention is devoted to the New Model Army: the interlude of religious toleration is frequently attributed to the Army’s insistence on religious liberty. The best explanation of how Army officers implemented a combination of “state-supported propagation of the gospel, with liberty of worship for most doctrinally and morally orthodox Protestants” during the Interregnum is Sarah

Gibbard Cook’s analysis of shifting political alliances.20 Not all historians agree that the radical tolerationism of the 1650s sprung from soldiers; John Coffey has shown that puritan reverence for the primitive church encouraged all-encompassing gentleness, including toward false religions.21 Meanwhile, historians debate the degree of theological control Interregnum regimes exercised over the institutional Church of England and how average church-goers experienced

18 British Library, Lansdowne MS 821, f. 350r, cited in Patrick Little and David L. Smith, Parliaments and Politics during the Cromwellian Protectorate, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 39.

19 Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, passim. Their thematic analysis of the parliaments concludes that MPs evinced willingness to legislate in order to enact solutions to problems at all levels of government, and that they were extraordinarily engaged with, and responsive to the needs of, their constituents.

20 Sarah Gibbard Cook, “The Congregational Independents and the Cromwellian Constitutions,” Church History 46, No. 3 (September 1977): 348.

21 John Coffey, “Puritanism and Liberty Revisited: The Case for Toleration in the English Revolution,” The Historical Journal 41, No. 4 (December 1998): 961-2, 984-5.

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this.22 As noted above, however, this conversation excludes the English Catholic community as a matter of course.

Foreign policy is the only aspect of Interregnum studies that has consistently incorporated the English Catholic community. Anti-popery is frequently invoked as the explanation for an apparently foolhardy war. At the center of Cromwell’s foreign policy was his infamous Western

Design: a plan to capture and colonize Spanish possessions in the Caribbean, creating a foothold that would eventually allow England to claim the lucrative bullion mines in Peru. But it is the

Black Legend – a dark portrait of the Spanish national character that revolved around the trifecta of religion, mistreatment of the New World’s native inhabitants, and past aggression towards

England – that has been cited as evidence that religious prejudice motivated Cromwell’s international policy.23 Recently, scholars have torn down the veil of anti-popery shrouding

Cromwell’s foreign policy, showing that his actions constituted the basis for the rise of the

English empire.24 Tompkins has considered the position of actual Catholics in the Protector’s foreign policy (rather than just anti-popery), demonstrating how the English Catholic community became an important bargaining chip (and liability) for the Protectorate within the complex web

22 Jeffrey R. Collins, “The Church Settlement of Oliver Cromwell,” History 87, No. 285 (2002): 39-40, has argued that the Cromwellian ecclesiastical regime was “the apex of the English Revolution’s Erastian reform effort,” bringing the national church entirely under the state’s control. Christopher Durston, “Policing the Cromwellian Church: The Activities of the County Ejection Committees, 1654-1659,” in The Cromwellian Protectorate ed. Patrick Little, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2007), 204-5, has argued that the government possessed sufficient enthusiasm for exercising control over the church but the population largely refused to cooperate with the program. On the other end of the spectrum, Anthony Fletcher, “Oliver Cromwell and the Godly Nation,” in Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution ed. John Morrill, (New York: Longman, 1990), 219, 231-2, has argued that the Cromwellian church was essentially a negative, rather than a positive creation, for the ecclesiastical structure lacked coercive powers entirely. For the experience of the average church-goer, see Ann Hughes, “‘The public profession of these nations’: the national Church in Interregnum England,” in Religion in Revolutionary England ed. Christopher Durston and Judith Maltby, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006), 93-114.

23 William S. Maltby, The Black Legend in England: The Development of Anti-Spanish Sentiment, 1558-1660, (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1971), explains how the Black Legend developed in the decades between Elizabeth’s accession and Cromwell’s rule, twining with anti-popery to help crystallize English national identity.

24 Carla Gardina Pestana, The English Conquest of Jamaica: Oliver Cromwell’s Bid for Empire, (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2017), 14, 248-52.

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of European alliances that formed in the wake of the Western Design.25 And Steven Pincus has recovered the complexity of anti-popery by explaining how prejudice and godly zeal combined to make war with the only other European Protestant a logical course of action for

Interregnum rulers.26

In the past three decades, mainstream political historiography has reintegrated religion somewhat. John Morrill’s famous assessment that “[the] English Civil War was not the first

European revolution: it was the last of the Wars of Religion,” highlighted the centrality of religion to the mid-century conflicts and, consequently, to the successive attempts at settlement in the 1650s.27 Ann Hughes has forcefully rebutted the tendency to mistake public religious observance as routine or performative instead of reflecting genuine, deep faith.28 And frequently, the famously devout Cromwell takes center stage in these studies. Providence, the puritan belief in divine direction of human events, was central to Cromwell’s personal religious convictions. An historiographical sub-genre is dedicated to recovering how the Protector’s beliefs shaped the Interregnum church settlement.29 Of course, while putting the religion back into politics has provided a far more comprehensive understanding of rulers’ motivations, it has focused on Protestantism for the simple reason that no Catholics held positions of power during

25 Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue,” 118, 154-61.

26 Steven C.A. Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism: Ideologies and the Making of English Foreign Policy, 1650- 1668, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 14, 22, 37-9.

27 John Morrill, “The Religious Context of the English Civil War,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th Series, 34 (1984): 178.

28Ann Hughes, “Preachers and Hearers in Revolutionary London: Contextualising Parliamentary Fast Sermons,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 24 (2014): 57-77.

29 Blair Worden, “Providence and Politics in Cromwellian England,” Past & Present 109 (1985): 95-6, argued that seeking signs of God’s providence in the political workings of the Civil War and Interregnum was as natural to Cromwell as breathing. J.C. Davis, “Cromwell’s Religion,” in Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution ed. John Morrill, (London: Longman Group, 1990), 207, argues that Cromwell was caught between his inclination toward antiformalism in worship (which suggested radical toleration) and his providentialism which inculcated distrust in human decisions, leading to a church settlement that satisfied few.

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the Interregnum.30 Reassessing the role of anti-popery in the lead-up to the Civil War with the inclusion of actual Catholics in the story, as Caroline Hibbard and Michael Braddick have, is the model to which I have most closely adhered.31 No analogue currently exists for the Interregnum: neither of these studies, nor Peter Lake’s foundational article, continue past the raising of the royal standard in 1642. Here, I show how the propagation of self-perpetuating assumptions born of anti-popery combined with the circumstances of the 1650s to provide Interregnum regimes with a variety of tools to punish their enemies and yet consistently complicated constitutional discussions, producing surprising outcomes.

Religion and politics were inextricably intertwined in the Interregnum. The Civil War was not fought over the balance of secular power or the Church of England’s liturgy but over the religio-political settlement in its entirety. Rebuilding the system post-regicide necessarily involved both church and state. Despite the English Catholic community’s incisiveness as a lens into both the philosophies that underpinned post-Reformation religio-political settlements and specific policies resulting therefrom, the method has not been transported to the Interregnum.

The constitution, the institutional Church of England, citizenship, foreign policy: these crucial elements of political theory and governance all affected – and were influenced by – English

Catholicism. I utilize multiple methods in the following seven chapters to examine the

Interregnum with consideration of the English Catholic community.

30 The only potential exception to this is Cromwell’s son-in-law, Thomas Belasyse. Descended from a recusant family, the 2nd Viscount Fauconberg was rumored to be Catholic himself. However, there is no proof and he only emerged as a powerful politician in the last months of Cromwell’s rule, following his November 1657 marriage to the Lord Protector’s second-youngest daughter Mary.

31 Caroline M. Hibbard, Charles I and the Popish Plot, (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1983); Braddick, “Prayer Book and Protestation,” 141-3.

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Overview and Methodology

Employing the English Catholic community as the organizing principle and analytic lens of my study is my major methodological contribution. Richer understandings of politics, law, and foreign policy result from my research, and I contribute to multiple historiographical conversations. Though I do not engage in an extended dialogue with any single discourse, the nature of the English Catholic community, anti-popery, and the effect both the community and its imagined version had on the Interregnum religio-political settlements means that I challenge long-held beliefs about Cromwell’s rule.

Voluminous as the papers produced by and relating to English governance in the

Interregnum are, employing the English Catholic community as my organizing principle allows me to examine a representative cross-section of the documentation in service of a thematic study and still draw conclusions about the period as a whole. Statutes, acts, ordinances, and proclamations – official declarations of law and policy – are the foundation of my dissertation.

Documents that illuminate the thought processes of legislators and top-level government officials, particularly the debates and deliberations that preceded and produced the constituent elements of Interregnum religio-political settlements, are a major part of this study.

Parliamentary debates, minutes from the Council of State, orders from the central executive to lesser administrators, and correspondence between governors offer windows into the decision- making process. These sources combined with observations from outsiders, particularly foreign diplomats residing in London, allow me to analyze the extent to which officially announced policies were enacted. Finally, the concerted efforts of external constituencies to influence

Interregnum religio-political settlements, traced primarily through printed campaigns and personal correspondence, offer another avenue for understanding both logic and enforcement.

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My dissertation begins with an evaluation of how and why religious dissent came to constitute subversion of monarchical authority after 1558 as well as why Catholics were disproportionately identified as the perpetrators of this phenomenon. Through this analysis, the value of the English Catholic community as a lens into politics becomes clear. Dividing the community into catholics and papists – the origins, logic, and policy ramifications thereof – is also addressed. Even as the state codified the difference, the dual perceptions that the penal laws specifically targeted Catholics and that Catholics were not English colored popular opinion. The bifurcation of policy and perception is precisely what makes the English Catholic community a valuable analytic lens.

After assessing how the English Catholic community came to occupy its unique position in the post-Reformation religio-political settlement and why it retains its utility as an analytic lens for the Interregnum, I explore how the Commonwealth, the first post-regicide regime, grappled with the tasks of erecting a non-monarchical government and redefining the Church of

England in the face of constant opposition. Absent the office of monarch, many fundamental tenets of English governance in both church and state were questioned and discarded. Stopgap solutions were frequently employed as governors muddled through the theoretical ramifications of their actions between January 1649 and December 1653. One major development – the liberation of tender consciences in September 1650 – cast the English Catholic community into legal limbo. Recusancy ceased to be a crime but Catholics were still considered non-citizens and treated as though their status remained unaltered. Meanwhile, the son of the late king persisted in his campaign to claim the throne, and his cause attracted many supporters. Royalists (as this group was known) posed precisely the same threat to Interregnum regimes as papists had to monarchs for the previous century. Both groups denied English rulers’ sovereignty on the basis

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of allegiance to an external authority. Lengthy associations of King Charles I with popery reinforced the link between royalists and papists. As the architects of the Commonwealth designed a new religio-political system, the definition of “papist” evolved. I argue that during the Interregnum, not all Englishmen labeled papists by the government practiced Catholicism.

Oliver Cromwell’s rule as Lord Protector is the centerpiece of my analysis. Unwavering in his commitment to liberty of conscience, Cromwell was not averse to granting catholics limited toleration. His perception that particulars of worship and church government were adiaphora opened his mind to the possibility of tolerating catholics despite his personal puritanism.32 Elevated to the position of chief magistrate in December 1653, Cromwell was the dominant force in politics for years prior. Acquaintances with individual Catholics that

Cromwell cultivated prior to his elevation centered upon his willingness to consider toleration are the starting point of Chapter 4. From there, I examine the first thirteen months of his rule.

Unlike any previous English ruler, Cromwell was bound by a written constitution. The

Instrument of Government codified the religio-political settlement but was neither comprehensive nor unambiguous. Consequently, Cromwell, his Council, and the first

Protectorate Parliament exploited loopholes to promote competing visions of the ideal English

32 Blair Worden, “Oliver Cromwell and the Cause of Civil and Religious Liberty,” in England’s Wars of Religion, Revisited ed. Charles W.A. Prior and Glen Burgess, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 243-8, has argued that Cromwell’s consistent deployment of the phrase “civil and religious liberty” during his time as Lord Protector distorted his opinion about liberty of conscience. Worden contends that Cromwell viewed religious liberty as merely a tool to help promote godliness rather than an absolute opposition to imposing constraints upon worship. However, I find Rachel Foxley’s argument about the schema that opened Cromwell to the idea of religious toleration far more convincing. She argues that Cromwell believed “true religion resided in internals”; the corollary to this was that externals were immaterial and thus true believers could either be coerced in matters of worship or left alone to do as they pleased. If the form that worship takes is immaterial to true Christians, then Catholics should be permitted to pray and attend church services outside of a national church structure; but by the same token, it could be argued that true Christians, including Catholics, could not object to attending services at the national church because the form of worship was unimportant; see Rachel Foxley, “Oliver Cromwell on Religion and Resistance,” in England’s Wars of Religion, Revisited ed. Charles W.A. Prior and Glen Burgess, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 226-7.

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commonwealth. But the existence of a written constitution from which the government derived its authority makes it possible to recover the logic behind policies in exceptional detail.

January 1655 is commonly recognized as a turning point as Cromwell dismissed the first

Protectorate Parliament and apparently unleashed his dictatorial inclinations. An armed rebellion offered an excellent pretext for his more authoritarian tendencies. Two initiatives dominated this period: the Western Design and the rule of the Major-Generals. Anti-popery featured prominently in the pronouncements of these policies and is generally accepted as a factor in their inception. Does this wisdom still apply in the face of areligious anti-popery? Chapter 5 queries whether our perception of this period shifts with a redefinition of the term “papist”.

The second Protectorate Parliament (convened in September 1656) renegotiated the

Protectorate religio-political settlement, becoming the first parliament to draft and implement a written constitution. Chapters 6 and 7 explore the intricacies of this process. Members of

Parliament clashed with the Lord Protector over the appropriate allocation of authority in the commonwealth and confronted the meaning of religious liberty. Anti-popery was frequently invoked by Members of Parliament during this process. My focus remains on the difference between catholics and papists, and I pay particular attention to how the expanded definition of

“papist” alters the interpretation of the constitution enacted in June 1657.

Whilst parliament renegotiated the religio-political settlement, Cromwell launched a bold foreign policy. Though he only lived for fifteen months beyond the introduction of the new constitution, I argue that he made excellent use of the distinction between catholics and papists during this period. The final chapter examines the effect of the distinction upon foreign policy and explores how the new constitution affected English Catholics. I propose an explanation for

Cromwell’s contradictory statements about the English Catholic community other than prejudice

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or perfidy. An epilogue traces the fate of the Interregnum’s legal and religious innovations following the restoration of the monarchy in 1660.

By examining the logic underpinning major components of Interregnum religio-political settlements as well as their execution, I demonstrate that the monarchical practice of differentiating between catholics and papists persisted and acquired new utility for Interregnum regimes. More specifically, I argue that the anti-popery of the Interregnum was not exclusively, or even primarily, religious. This shift in definition and usage is undetectable without considering the historical utility of such rhetoric let alone what happened to actual Catholics. In this sense, my dissertation is a study of the long Reformation. But while Interregnum regimes grappled with the same set of challenges as monarchs, they did so under drastically different circumstances. I will demonstrate that Interregnum rulers, and particularly Oliver Cromwell, coopted, redefined, and deployed familiar discourses to serve new purposes. Understanding both the processes and their purposes provides new clarity into the continual upheaval that characterized the Interregnum. My analysis also explains several aspects of governance that otherwise appear illogical.

The subsequent chapters show how the regicide altered the position of English Catholics within the religio-political settlement; the gradual evolution of the term “papist” and implications thereof; and, finally, explain how these developments allowed Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell to pursue apparently opposite policies in the latter half of his rule as part of a strategy to retain authority.

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CHAPTER 2

CATHOLICS ARE “PERSONS OTHERWISE THAN ENGLISHMEN”: THE LEGAL

CREATION OF PAPISTS

How did England morph from a Catholic country whose king was lauded as defensor fidei by the pope to one in which Members of Parliament defamed Catholics as “persons otherwise than Englishmen” in just over a century? Which characteristics definitively distinguished Catholics from Englishmen? The answer to these questions lies in the peculiarity of the post-Reformation English religio-political settlement and in the unique position of the

English Catholic community within that settlement. This chapter analyzes how the gradual segregation of English Catholics on the basis of their religion generated a set of assumptions about adherents of the Roman Catholic Church which survived the system that created them.

Henry VIII’s approach to the English Reformation, in the words of Charles Prior, created problems that he then neglected to solve, leaving his successors to piece together his religio- political puzzle.1 Incremental changes to the Church of England and the regulation of religious observance between Elizabeth’s accession and Oliver Cromwell’s installation became the preferred method for resolving lingering religious problems. Not only did Henry VIII’s decision to enact the English Reformation through parliament make gradual change procedurally wise, it also ensured that individual alterations rarely occasioned mass outrage akin to what was seen in the 1530s. In the century that elapsed between 1558 and 1653, however, the incremental

1 Charles W.A. Prior, “Religion, Political Thought and the English Civil War,” History Compass 11, No. 1 (2013): 28.

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alterations accumulated; the 1653 Church of England and its ties with the body politic differed appreciably from its 1558 incarnation.

Elizabeth I and James I slowly but steadily clamped down on religious non-conformity.

Charles I granted royal assent to more radical changes. Statute by statute, monarchs and their parliaments constructed an apparatus that supposedly segregated Catholics and relegated them to permanent underclass status. Because each step seemed both necessary and logical, and built upon the previous statute, assumptions about the law’s scope accumulated. Gradually, rather than the law reflecting a burgeoning sense of English religious nationalism, national identity was assumed to be reflected in the law. Monarchical authority over both church and state made political consequences for religious nonconformity – and thus the unique position of the English

Catholic community – possible. Regicide partially demolished the legal edifice disenfranchising

Catholics and ended the system that relegated religious minorities to the political underclass.

I do not intend to rehearse the English Reformation here, nor yet offer a history of the

Church of England. My aim in this chapter is to trace the construction of the legal apparatus for prosecuting Catholics. Much as I will argue seventeenth-century Englishmen did, historians have an odd blindspot when it comes to the specifics of the penal legislation. The overarching narrative of how the Elizabethan and Jacobean recusancy laws functioned as affirmations of

English Protestant nationalism in the face of Catholic aggression is well known. So, too, are the debates amongst Protestants regarding the conformity mandated by the penal statutes. But the extremely detailed statutes included nuances that are often overlooked in the service of these two narratives. No chronological study of recusancy statutes spanning the century between

Elizabeth’s accession and Charles II’s restoration exists. Scholarship abounds on related topics but skirts around the periphery of this specific issue. Many scholars have simply accepted John

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Bossy’s interpretation of the post-Reformation English Catholic community as part of “the

English non-conforming tradition” and have not bothered to explore the anti-Catholic legal lineage.2 Local studies offer excellent portraits of the English Catholic community but by their nature have a limited geographic scope.3 Administrative studies, often local in scale, have noted that the Crown preferred to use the penal laws as a tool rather than as a bludgeon.4 Anthony

Milton’s study of the wide space between “the Manichean extremes” of true religion and anti- popery adroitly explains how the mentality that promoted ideological anti-popery also encouraged shielding friends and neighbors from the penal laws when possible.5 Legal historians, meanwhile, tend to study the development of the constitution or attempts to reform legal and judicial procedure and ignore the branch of the law created solely to punish religious nonconformity.6

2 Bossy, ECC, 7. Cultural studies in particular take for granted this status and focus on excavating recusants’ attempts to retain their faith and alter worship practice to suit new conditions. See, for example, Lisa McClain, Lest We Be Damned: Practical Innovation and Lived Experience Among Catholics in Protestant England, 1559-1642, (New York: Routledge, 2004), 37, which examines how Catholics accessed the functions of traditional practices when the forms (particularly regular attendance at mass) were inaccessible; Peter Davidson, “Recusant Catholic Spaces in Early Modern England,” in Catholic Culture in Early Modern England ed. Ronald Corthell, Frances E. Dolan, Christopher Highley, and Arthur F. Marotti, (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), 20-1, who demonstrates that developing recusant art that was both symbolic and innocuous infused public spaces with meaning; Michael Hodgetts, “The Godley Garret, 1560-1660,” in English Catholics of Parish and Town, 1558-1778 edited by Marie B. Rowlands (London: Catholic Record Society, 1999), 37, who explores how secret catholic chapels fit into the space and routines of gentry houses.

3 These studies are far too numerous to list, but N.C. Elliott, “The Roman Catholic Community in Essex, 1625- 1701,” Essex Recusant 25/26 (1983/4), 1-70; N.C. Elliott, “The Roman Catholic Community in Essex, 1625-1701,” Essex Recusant 27 (1985), 1-75, in many ways epitomizes both the pluses and minuses of the local study.

4 Jeffrey R. Hankins, “Papists, Power, and : Catholic Officeholding and the Rise of the ‘Puritan Faction’ in Early-Seventeenth-Century Essex,” The Catholic Historical Review 95, No. 4 (October 2009): 697-698, makes a convincing case that, given the local nature of much government in Tudor-Stuart England, patronage networks continued to incorporate Catholics even as royal edicts banned the practice.

5 Anthony Milton, “A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities of Early Stuart Anti-Catholicism,” in Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts ed. Arthur Marotti, (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999), 88, 100-102.

6 The quintessential study is J.G.A. Pocock, The Ancient Constitution and the Feudal Law: A Study of English Historical Thought in the Seventeenth Century, 2nd Edition, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). For a representative sample of the wide-ranging perspectives within this historiographical conversation that unite in ignoring religious nonconformity, see R. Robinson, “Anticipations under the Commonwealth of Changes in the Law,” in Select Essays in Anglo-American Legal History, ed. E. Freund et al, (Boston: Little, Brown and Company,

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This chapter will narrate the development of the penal legislation from Elizabeth’s accession and settlement of the Church of England through the establishment of the Protectorate in 1653. I argue that the increasing focus on popish recusants in statutory language and the frequent promulgation of new statutes in response to popish threats indelibly linked the penal legislation with the English Catholic community in the national consciousness. This in turn highlighted the specific challenge, simultaneously religious and political, that papists posed to the English monarch. Challenges to the ecclesiastical establishment from radical puritans were also identified and punished, but the regime did not commonly invoke the recusancy statutes in such cases. Segregating Catholic and Protestant nonconformity bolstered the association of

Catholics with recusancy, casting Catholics as an existential threat to the English Protestant church and monarchy while Protestants dissidents merely debated adiaphora. The dialectic manner in which statutory regulation of religion twined with conceptions of national identity between 1558 and 1653 is only discernable over this extended timeline. Interregnum religio- political settlements, based on these long-held assumptions, ignored the carefully crafted legal and theoretical bases for the monarchical religio-political system.

Beginning the Exclusion: The Elizabethan Settlement

One of Elizabeth’s first actions as queen was to summon a parliament. Her religion mandated this: Mary had reunited the Church of England with Rome through parliamentary acts, leaving Elizabeth no choice but to have parliament once again break the Romish yoke.

Reaffirming Protestantism as the national religion was her top priority and her parliament agreed.

1907), I:467-491; Christopher Brooks and Kevin Sharpe, “History, English Law, and the Renaissance,” Past & Present 72 (August 1976): 133-142.

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1 Eliz. c.1 reestablished the independence of the Church of England from Rome.7 Reinstated as head of the Church of England, Elizabeth enshrined her desire for religious uniformity in law.

An Acte for the Uniformitie of Common Prayoure and Dyvyne Service in the Churche, and the

Administration of the Sacramentes, required the use of the in all church services. This pair of acts established what many now think of as the status quo for the Anglican

Church. Within months of her accession, Elizabeth thus indicated her intention to regulate expression of religion within the realm. What became a multi-year process of imposing increasingly harsher penalties for heterodoxy began innocuously. Technically 1 Eliz. c.1 and c.2 constituted a programmatic statement and unambiguously excluded anyone who wished to worship according to the Roman rites and retain allegiance to the pope from the Church of

England. Absent from the acts, however, was any description of punishment for failing to belong to the national church.

A dozen years passed without further legislative action, though new rules were instituted.

Puritans who sought a closer union with Geneva chafed under the ecclesiastical trappings of the

Church of England. Clerics across the country rebelled against the mandated priestly costume during the 1560s. Dozens in London were suspended for refusing to wear “popish” garments such as the surplice and threatened with expulsion from the Church of England.8 Prophesyings, in which preachers delivered open-air sermons to eager throngs of worshippers, gained popularity throughout the 1560s and 1570s. Conducted outside the buildings and discipline of the national church and drawing large crowds, the potential for violence and subversion that the prophesyings represented deeply disturbed Queen Elizabeth. Archbishop of Canterbury Edmund

Grindal, a supporter of the movement, eventually fell from power and retired in disgrace as a

7 Statutes of the Realm, 4:350-5.

8 Patrick Collinson, “Grindal, Edmund (1516x20-1583),” DNB.

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result of the prophesyings.9 Near the end of the sixteenth century, the Admonition Controversy consumed divines in a debate about the fundamental nature of the Church of England. Church government and the right to determine its shape were at stake. Presbyterians argued that the scriptures mandated as the only divinely-approved form of church organization while Anglicans maintained that the Bible contained no such instruction and the Christian magistrate should determine the structure of the national church. Peter Lake has shown how the

Admonition Controversy launched a full-scale attack on puritanism from within the Church of

England.10 With such an intense controversy raging within the national church amongst regime- approved clerics – in Lake’s terms the Admonition Controversy proved the existence of a

“puritan threat from which the church needed to be protected” and molded men into

“professional anti-puritan[s]”11 – the natural assumption was that varieties of Protestantism, regardless of how threatening they seemed, were factions within the church jockeying for control and influence. Catholics, on the other hand, were an external threat.

This logic was borne out beginning in the 1570s. The first in a string of papist provocations (or what were deliberately interpreted as challenges to Elizabeth’s authority) prompted stricter delimitation of appropriate religious behavior with escalating punishment for flouting religious uniformity. Legislating in response to visible Catholic challenges or maneuvers made parliament’s (and Elizabeth’s) intent to target the English Catholic community clear. Overt intent and a parallel attempt to restrain Protestant dissent within the Church of

9 Patrick Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, (Berkeley: University of Press, 1967), 169-71; Patrick Collinson, Archbishop Grindal, 1519-1583: The Struggle for a Reformed Church, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 233-235; Peter Lake, “The Monarchical Republic of Queen Elizabeth I (and the Fall of Archbishop Grindal) Revisited,” in The Monarchical Republic of Early Modern England: Essays in Response to Patrick Collinson ed. John F. McDiarmid, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 138-144.

10 Peter Lake, Anglicans and Puritans?: Presbyterianism and English Conformist Thought from Whitgift to Hooker (London: Unwin Hyman, 1988), 13.

11 Lake, Anglicans and Puritans?, 239.

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England did not alter the reality of the statutory language. It did, however, emphasize the unique position of Catholics within the religio-political settlement.

The promulgation of the papal bull Regnans in Exclesis provided the impetus for the inauguration of the penal laws. By excommunicating Elizabeth the pope provided a rationale for zealots to depose her in favor a Catholic sovereign. Faith drove a wedge between English subjects and their lawful sovereign. Papal usurpation of Englishmen’s allegiance through the incorrect arrogation of temporal authority could not pass unchallenged. Parliament retaliated by banning the importation and execution of papal bulls, though this could already have been considered prosecutable praemunire; the new statute was a symbol.12 Another elapsed, during which fears of a Catholic conspiracy to topple Protestant England grew. rattled sabers while Mary, Queen of Scots sat in prison at her cousin’s pleasure, a viable and visible alternative to Protestant rule for those inclined toward coups d’état. Against this backdrop, parliament began a campaign of legislative oppression, targeting Catholics on the basis of their religion.

An Acte to reteine the Queenes Ma[jes]ties Subjectes in their due Obedience (23 Eliz. c.1) introduced the legal reasoning that religious nonconformity was a secular offence against the state rather than a religious crime. Adherence to an authority other than the monarch was the crime for which Catholics would ostensibly be punished, creating a system in which Catholic dissidents could be identified by their religion – were, in fact, committing treason by the nature

12 Statutes of the Realm, 4:528. Calling the “Powre and Jurisdiction of the Byshop of Rome” usurped and citing appeals to Rome for bulls that justified rebellion, the act was extremely clear regarding its retaliatory intention. Marie B. Rowlands, “Introduction,” in English Catholics of Parish and Town, 1558-1778 ed. Marie B. Rowlands, (London: Catholic Record Society, 1999), 10-12, has noted that these early acts were meant to warn Catholics and discourage them from persisting in their course of action, rather than jumping immediately to stiff enforcement.

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of their beliefs – but the state claimed they were being punished for garden-variety disloyalty.13

Missionary priests had just begun working in England (Edmund Campion and Robert Parsons landed in June 1580) and this act sought to prevent the fledgling mission from taking off.

Converting any Englishman to Catholicism and swearing allegiance to a foreign power were declared treasonous, as was aiding anyone engaged in such endeavors. It instituted a hefty 200- mark fine for saying mass. It also finally put teeth to 1 Eliz. c.2, requiring attendance at Church of England services a minimum of four times per year and imposing a fine of £20 per month of disobedience.14 23 Eliz. c.1 marked a turning point in the regime’s attitude toward Catholics, and provided the foundation for the following century of persecution.

Trepidation regarding Catholic machinations intensified throughout the . In the mid-seventeenth century Englishmen would look back upon this period as the golden age of

English Protestantism and nationalism. Legislation reflected both the apprehension and patriotism of the decade. Two acts promulgated in 1585 – 27 Eliz. c.1 and c.2 – captured the essence of English sentiment. The former act thwarted assassination conspiracies by excluding

Mary Stuart from the line of succession to the English throne. The thinking was that, if there was not a viable Catholic replacement ready and legally capable of ruling, the probability of a

13 The best explanation of how this dichotomy functioned can be found in Peter Lake and Michael Questier, “Agency, Appropriation and Rhetoric Under the Gallows: Puritans, Romanists and the State in Early Modern England,” Past and Present 153 (1996): 64-107. Lake and Questier show how, by attempting to avoid the pitfalls that attended executing subjects solely for their religious beliefs and executing Catholics as traitors rather than heretics, the Elizabethan regime inadvertently opened itself to another, similarly devastating line of criticism. The gallows became a stage where Catholics performed; they took advantage of the courtesy afforded to traitors to orate a final speech and explained to a captive audience how they died as martyrs for the faith. Lake and Questier added to their argument in “Puritans, Papists, and the ‘Public Sphere’ in Early Modern England: The Edmund Campion Affair in Context,” The Journal of Modern History 72, No. 3 (September 2000): 588, arguing that removing the religious aspect from prosecutions of Catholics also allowed Catholics to profess secular allegiance. While it was the Elizabethan regime that utilized this distinction most frequently, the practice was not innovative. It was a lesson Elizabethan parliaments took from the queen’s father; Ethan Shagan has demonstrated how Henry VIII and his advisors scrupulously prosecuted opposition to royal supremacy over the Church of England as a political crime rather than a religious one. See Popular Politics and the English Reformation, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 51.

14 Statutes of the Realm, 4:657-658.

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coup d’état or regicide would be reduced.15 The latter piece of legislation, An Act againste

Jesuites Semynarie Priests and such other like disobedient Persons, made it treason merely to be a Catholic priest in the country of England. Additionally, offering succor to priests in England was felonious. Both crimes were punishable by death.16

In the wake of the Spanish Armada, another Elizabethan parliament significantly stiffened penalties for recusancy. Framed as an attempt to ensure “more speedie and due execuc[i]on of c[er]tyne Braunches of the Statute made in the xxiijth yere of the Quenes

Majesties Raigne,” 29 Eliz. c.6 was more than an attempt at efficiency. Fines for voluntary absence from Church of England services remained £20 per month but falling behind in payment of the fines instigated seizure of all goods plus loss of two-thirds of “Landes Ten[en]tes and

Hereditament[es] Leases and Fermes”.17 Failing to attend divine service was no longer the sole measure of criminality according to this act. Penalties “for saying, hearinge, or beinge at any

Masse” were introduced at this juncture; Catholics convicted of this offence surrendered any royal gifts of land “made at anye time synce the begynninge of the Quenes Majesties Raigne”.18

The definition of recusancy remained the same but the introduction of financial forfeiture for participating, even passively, in Roman rites, demonstrates that recusancy was nearly synonymous with popery as early as 1588. Reinforcing the robust anti-recusant program was a sudden show of force: fourteen Catholics were executed in 1588 alone.19

15 Statutes of the Realm, 4:704-705.

16 Statutes of the Realm, 4:706.

17 Statutes of the Realm, 4:771.

18 Statutes of the Realm, 4:771.

19 TNA SP 12/212 f.120. Sergeant Fletewood and Thomas Egerton recommended that the Privy Council deal with any “Jesuyts”, “Semynarie priests, or other lyke priestes . . . according to the Statute made in the 27th yeare of Her Highness’ Raigne”. In other words, they should be executed for high treason.

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Lest any of the previous statutes outlining mandatory adherence to the national religion and outlawing Catholic priests seem insufficient in the public’s mind, the parliament that convened in the thirty-fifth year of Elizabeth’s reign reiterated several of the salient points in previous legislation. Concerned about consequences “as might happen and growe by the wicked and daungerous practises of seditious Sectaries and disloyall p[er]sons,” parliament passed 35

Eliz. c.1. Imprisonment without bail was authorized for anyone aged sixteen and older who refused to attend “some Churche Chappell or usuall place of Com[m]on Prayer to heare Devyne

Service” for two consecutive months or who tried “p[er]swade anye of her Majesties Subject[es], or any other within her Highnes Realmes or D[omi]nyons, to denye withstande and ympugne her

Majestie Power and Authoritie in Causes Eccliasticall”. Additionally, any head of household who dared to “relieve maynteyne reteyne or keepe” persons in the household who recused themselves from Anglican services was to be fined £10 per month. However, the act stipulated that “noe Popishe Recusante or Femme Coverte shalbe compelled or bounde to abjure by vertue of this Acte,” indicating that forced conversion was not the goal of the act.20 Rather, it was to restrain mischief and prevent attempted rebellion. Couched in religious terms, the new law safeguarded monarchical authority against both political and religious challenges.

35 Eliz. c.2 is noteworthy for three further reasons. It marks the first time that the terms

“popish” and “recusant” are combined and the phrase “popish recusant” is enshrined in English law. This is a watershed moment in terms of popular understanding. Technically one could be a recusant without being a papist (both before and after this statute passed), but in the popular and legislative minds “recusant” was synonymous with “popish”. Of course, “popish” was not

20 Statutes of the Realm, 4:841-843.

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synonymous solely with “recusant”; as Peter Lake has shown it meant a great deal more.21 But combining the terms in this manner meant that recusants were assumed to be Roman Catholics.

Second, it provided a template for preventing those who “doe secretlye wander and shifte from

Place to Place within this Realme, to corrupt and seduce her Majesties Subject[es], and to stirre them to Sedicion and Rebellion,” mainly itinerant missionary priests. Convicted popish recusants who refused to conform and persisted in avoiding Anglican services were to be confined within “about Fyve Myles” of their place of abode. Ignoring this order would result in forfeiture of “Goodes and Chattells, and . . . all the Landes Ten[n]t[es] and Hereditament[es] and all the Rent[es] and Annuyties of everie such p[er]son soe doing or offendinge, during the Lief of the same Offendor.”22 Finally, it started a grand English tradition: requiring Catholics to formally profess obedience to the English monarch and renounce Rome’s authority. Ending one’s legal tenure as a recusant entailed more than attending Anglican services. Upon returning to the fold of the national church, recusants also had to proclaim publicly:

I A.B. doe humblie confesse and acknowledge that I have grevouslie offended God in contempninge her Majesties godlie and laufull Government and Auctoritie, by absenting myselfe from Churche and from hearinge Devine Service cont[ra]rie to the godlie Lawes and Statut[es] of this Realme, and I am hartelye sorie for the same, and doe acknowledge and testifye in my conscience that the Bysshoppe or Sea of Rome hath not nor oughte to have any Power or Auctoritie over her Majestie or within any her Majesties Realmes or D[omi]nions: And I doe p[ro]myse and p[ro]teste, without any Dissimulac[i]on or any Colour or Meanes of any Dispensac[i]on, that from henceforthe I will from tyme to tyme obey and p[re]forme her Majesties Lawes and Statut[es] in repayringe to the Churche and hearinge Devine Service, and doe my uttermost Endevor to maynteyne and defende the same.23

21 See Peter Lake, “Anti-Popery: the Structure of a Prejudice,” in The Early Stuart Church ed. Richard Cust and Ann Hughes, (New York: Longman, 1989), 74-78.

22 Statutes of the Realm, 4:843-844.

23 Statutes of the Realm, 4:845-846.

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Ministers who received these declarations of conformity had to record them in a special book maintained by the parish for this purpose and certify the person’s conformity to their bishop within ten days. This confession was abhorrent to Catholics, of course, but was nonetheless tame compared to later oaths formed in this mold. Part of the impetus for the confession was to prevent Catholics from conforming outwardly to avoid paying fines. A heated debate over the moral imperative of segregating oneself entirely from the Church of England raged within the

English Catholic community.24

Between An Acte to retayne the Quenes Subject[es] in Obedyence and An Acte against

Popishe Recusant[es], Elizabeth’s thirty-fifth regnal year was a watershed in the isolation of the

English Catholic community from both the religious and political nations. Religious nonconformity remained primarily a transgression of monarchical ecclesiastical authority, demonstrated in the requirement that Englishmen attend Church of England services. But it was also clear that the Elizabethan regime considered Catholicism a challenge to its temporal authority. Formally rejoining the national church required acknowledging that the offense of denying the queen’s jurisdiction was based upon an erroneous extension of papal authority. In this sense, though Protestant nonconformists were still technically recusants, it became clear that the English Catholic community posed a specific threat to the religio-political settlement by virtue of their allegiance to the pope.

Capping off four decades of incremental isolation under Elizabeth, in 1597 a new precedent was set which indicated how thoroughly Catholics were segregated from their

24 Robert Parsons, A Brief Discours, (Doway: Iohn Lyon, 1580), 6r-68r, preached separatism, outlining the reasons why Catholics could not, in good conscience, attend Church of England services. Cardinal Allen, in contrast, urged mercy to those who suffered occasional infirmity out of a desire to save their families, even though they repeatedly lapsed away from strict practice; see SP 12/243 f.221v. See also Elliot Rose, Cases of Conscience: Alternatives open to Recusants and Puritans under Elizabeth I and James I, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 83- 8.

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countrymen. Following custom, Elizabeth offered a “most gratyous gen[er]all and free Pardon” to her subjects (39 Eliz. c.28). Pardons of this nature exempted a number of crimes; this act began a pattern of exempting those who

have committed or done any Offence or Offences contrary to the Tenor or Effecte of the Statute made in the seaven and twentith yere of her Majestyes Raigne, entituled An Acte againste Jesuites Semynary Preest[es] and other such disobedient persons . . . [and] all persons which have committed or done any Offence contrary to the Statute mad in the thre and twentith yere of her Majestyes Raigne, entituled An Acte to retayne the Queenes Mat[es] Subject[es] in their due Obediens, or any part thereof; And all Outlawries Proceeding[es] and Judgement[es] and Execuc[i]ons uppon the same Offenc[es] or any of them, for such and so longe tyme as they shall continewe disobedient or willfully obstinate in any the same Offenc[es]25 from enjoying the pardon unless they conformed with the national religion. And to cover all bases, the penultimate clause of the legislation stated “That neither this Acte nor any thinge therein contayned shall extende to pardon or discharge . . . any Offence committed or done by any against the Ecclesiasticall Estate or Governement established in this Realme; Or any Heresy or Schisme in Religion whatsoever”.26 Technically this would exclude radical puritans from enjoying the pardon as well, but the framing of the exception – listing Jesuits, seminary priests, and similar disobedient persons first – strongly indicated that Catholics, rather than puritans, were the target. Furthermore, given that such acts of clemency were closely modeled on previous pardons, the exclusion of a class of offenders would likely eliminate them from future benevolences as well. Four years later Elizabeth issued another pardon (43 Eliz. c.19) that repeated these exclusions: a pattern had been established.

Elizabethan parliaments required little encouragement to punish recusants, and the actions of the English Catholic community provided ample pretexts for the increasingly harsh

25 Statutes of the Realm, 4:956.

26 Statutes of the Realm, 4:957.

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statutes that were enacted during the latter half of the sixteenth century. Except for 29 Eliz. c.6, which criminalized saying, hearing, or attending Catholic mass and retracted royal gifts as punishment, close examination of the Elizabethan penal laws shows that they fell into two categories: recusancy statutes and anti-clerical statutes. Several acts specifically targeted ordained Catholic clergymen, but the laity were to be left in relative peace so long as they did not harbor priests. All the other recusancy statutes were based upon non-attendance at Church of

England services. As recusancy increasingly became associated with Catholicism laws enacted later in Elizabeth’s reign specifically targeted popish recusants, a class that did not legally exist.

Papal claims of jurisdiction in both temporal and ecclesiastical matters, backed by repeated demonstrations of aggression, bolstered the subtle association of religious nonconformity with

Catholic disoloyalty: recusing oneself from Anglican church services undermined the monarch’s dual realms of authority. The prohibition on pardoning Catholics for their crime reinforced the heinous nature of their offence. A corollary of this was to reinforce that England was a

Protestant nation. The Elizabethan legal precedents cast papists as unrepentantly disloyal subjects. They also provided a blueprint for subsequent governments to attack the English

Catholic community.

The Early Stuart Church

Initially, Catholics were cautiously optimistic about their prospects under the House of

Stuart. The new king’s mother had been a Catholic, after all (albeit an infamous one): surely he must harbor some affection for his mother’s co-religionists? Covert meetings with James in the waning days of Elizabeth’s reign reinforced these hopes. And his wife had recently converted to

Catholicism, giving James an opening to suggest circumspectly that toleration might be on the

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table.27 Unfortunately, these hopes were dashed. James was too politique to repeal the penal laws no matter what he insinuated in private. Instead, Elizabeth’s cousin swiftly indicated that he intended to continue her practices, albeit with a keen eye toward increasing royal income. His first parliament confirmed that all Elizabethan statutes against “Jesuites Seminarie Preistes

Recusants &c.” remained in force, highlighting the practice of sequestering two-thirds of recusants’ estates in payment for arrears of the £20 monthly fines.28 Furthermore, 1 Jac. I c.4 announced that heavy financial penalties would be assessed for travelling abroad to receive a popish education or for sending one’s children or wards abroad for the same purpose.

Grandiose ambitions of embodying King Solomon’s legacy and healing the rift between

Catholics and Protestants motivated James throughout his reign.29 Initially he treated Catholics and puritans equally, in that he disappointed both camps.30 While James clung to his dream of unification, the events of November 1605 necessitated a hard line against disloyal Catholics akin to what had been seen in the middle years of Elizabeth’s reign. Discovered on the eve of its

27 Maureen M. Meikle and Helen Payne, “Anne [Anna, Anne of Denmark] (1574–1619),” DNB; H.G. Stafford, James VI of and the Throne of England, (New York: 1940), 238. Stafford argues that Anne even suggested to the pope that James might legalize Catholicism in exchange for papal support when he claimed the English throne. See Jenny Wormald, “Gunpowder, Treason and Scots,” Journal of British Studies 24, No. 2 (1985): 148-149 for a counterpoint perspective that James had no intention of tolerating Catholicism, except to perhaps avert his eyes from private masses.

28 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1020-1.

29 The fullest exploration of James’s ambitions can be found in W.B. Patterson, James VI and I and the Reunion of Christendom, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), passim, especially ix, 37, 152-154.

30 Puritans were disappointed when, after the 1604 theological disputation at Hampton Court, the king pronounced his disinclination to remodel the Church of England along the presbyterian lines of his northern kingdom; see Patrick Collinson, “The Jacobean Religious Settlement: The Hampton Court Conference,” in Before the English Civil War: Essays on Early Stuart Politics and Government edited by Howard Tomlinson, (Palgrave, 1983), 27-52; Lori Anne Ferrell, Government By Polemic: James I, the King’s Preachers, and the Rhetorics of Conformity, 1603- 1625, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 38-50; Peter Lake and Kenneth Fincham, “The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I,” in The Early Stuart Church, 1603-1642 edited by Kenneth Fincham, (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1993), 25-27. James further demonstrated his lack of sympathy for the radical puritan position when he prosecuted men involved in the creation and distribution of a libel maligning the recently deceased Archbishop Whitgift through , thus avoiding the common law; see Alastair Bellany, “A Poem on the Archbishop’s Hearse: Puritanism, Libel, and Sedition after the Hampton Court Conference,” Journal of British Studies 34, No. 2 (1995): 145.

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enactment, the Gunpowder Plot was an intricate, if deluded, conspiracy to assassinate James, his male heirs, and both Houses of Parliament. Jesuit involvement in the machinations validated what Englishmen had feared since Regnans in Exclesis: that the pope would wield his authority to persuade English papists to abandon their loyalty to a heretical monarch and plot regicide. In the wake of this revelation the attitude of Englishmen toward the English Catholic community shifted dramatically. Legislation reflected the cascade of negative sentiment, growing significantly harsher and incorporating a strong strain of surveillance.

An Acte for the better discovering and repressing of Popish Recusant[es] (3 Jac.I c.4) was the first piece of post-Plot legislation. The act indicated that the government had recently discovered the existence of church papists and wanted to prevent Catholics from merely giving up a few hours once a quarter in an Anglican church to avoid recusancy penalties. The phenomenon was not new, nor had the regime suddenly been enlightened.31 Nevertheless, in the wake of the Powder Treason the Jacobean regime ended the pretense. Englishmen would henceforth be required to partake in the sacrament of the Eucharist within the Church of England at least once every year or be labeled recusant and subject to all recusant penalties. While merely attending Anglican services was a grey area and English Catholic clerics split in their advice on the matter, celebrating the Anglican Eucharist was an entirely different matter altogether.32 It forced English Catholics into the open.

As a failsafe to catch any Catholics who evaded detection in the Anglican Church, King

James and his parliament devised an oath that subjects could be compelled to swear. The Oath

31 Alexandra Walsham, Church Papists: Catholicism, Conformity and Confessional Polemic in Early Modern England, (Rochester, NY: The Boydell Press, 1993), 1, 9-10, notes that the term “Church Papist” first appeared in the 1580s and presents evidence that the government was cognizant of the phenomenon by 1593 at the latest.

32 See Walsham, Church Papists, passim, but especially 33, 37, 52, 63-72, for details of the internecine debate about recusancy and conscience. While some priests (particularly Parsons) believed that nothing but recusancy was acceptable, others, including Cardinal Allen, saw the pragmatic side and thought that retaining members of the flock was more important than potentially pushing them into the arms of heretics by insisting on rigid nonconformity.

36

of Allegiance was born not only of the Gunpowder Plot but also of the belief that Catholics, because they owed allegiance to a foreign power, were not considered English and needed to prove their loyalty to the sovereign.33

I A.B. doe truely and sincerely acknowledge p[ro]fesse testifie and declare in my Conscience before God and the Worlde, That our Soveraigne Lorde Kinge James is lawfull and rightfull King of this Realme and of all other his Majesties Dominions and Countries; And that the Pope, neither of himselfe nor by any Authority of the Churche or Sea of Rome, or by any other meanes with any other, hath any Power or Authoritye to depose the King or to dispose any of his Majesties Kingdomes or Dominions, or to authorize any Forraigne Prince to invade or annoy hym or his Countries, or to discharge any of his Subject[es] within his Majesties Dominions . . . I will beare Faithe and true Allegiaunce to his Majestie his Heires and Successors, and hym or them will defend to the uttermost of my power against all Conspiracies and Attempt[es] whatsoever which shalbe made against his or theire persons theire Crowne and Dignitie by reason or colour of any such Sentence or Declarac[i]on or otherwise, and will doe my best endevour to disclose and make knowen unto his Majestie his Heires and Successors all Treasons and traiterous Conspiracies which I shall knowe or heare of to be against hym or any of them. And I doe further sweare, That I doe from my heart abhor detest and abjure as impious and hereticall this damnable Doctrine and Position, that Princes which be excom[m]unicated or deprived by the Pope may be deposed or murthered by theire Subject[es] or any other whatsoever. And I doe beleeve and in my Conscience am resolved, that neither the Pope nor any p[er]son whatsoever hath power to absolve me of this Oath or any parte thereof, which I acknowledge by good and full Authoritye to be lawfully ministred unto mee, and doe renounce all Pardons and Dispensac[i]ons to the contrarie; And all these thing[es] I do plainly and sincerely acknowledge and sweare, according to these expresse wordes by me spoken, and according to the playne and com[m]on sense and understanding of the same wordes, without any equivocac[i]on or mentall evasion of secret reservac[i]on whatsoever; And I doe make this recognic[i]on and acknowledgement heartily willingly and truly upon the true Faithe of a Christian: So help me God.34

This oath was far more detailed and pointed than the oaths introduced in the thirty-fifth and thirty-ninth year of Elizabeth’s reign. The conclusion of the Oath of Allegiance – reiterating the sincerity of the promise according to its plain text – took aim at the burgeoning Jesuit practice of

33 Kenneth Fincham and Peter Lake, The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I,” 29, argue that the Oath of Allegiance was an attempt to integrate moderate, loyal Catholics into the regime by circumventing their foreign allegiances. Walsham, Church Papists, 84, sees a similar intention.

34 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1074.

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casuistry.35 Denying that the pope had the right to incite his flock in crusade against heretical rulers was anathema to devout Catholics. Or it should have been. Framing the oath as a mere affirmation of allegiance to the English monarch and disavowal of any danger to him was a clever maneuver. Enough Catholics were satisfied that the oath would not damn them that a

Europe-wide debate on the subject commenced. Pope Paul V swiftly condemned the oath, issuing bulls against it on September 22, 1606 and August 23, 1607, but many missionary priests stationed in England favored the oath, defying the pope in print and emphasizing not only the factions within the English Catholic community but also the similarities between Catholics and

Gallicans.36 The Gunpowder Plot thus spurred England to codify a legal distinction between loyal and dangerous Catholics.

An Acte to p[re]vent & avoid dangers which may grow by Popish Recusant[es] (3 Jac.I c.5) redefined the regime’s attitude to the English Catholic community. The act required

Catholics to depart from London and return to their primary abodes. Any recusant who resided

35 For a brief overview of the range of casuistry that actually existed in the early seventeenth century, see M.C. Questier, “Loyalty, Religion and State Power in Early Modern England: English Romanism and the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance,” The Historical Journal 40, No. 2 (June 1997), 318.

36 Thomas Clancy, “English Catholics and the Papal Deposing Power, 1570-1640. Part II,” Recusant History 6, No. 5 (April 1962): 208-14, explains the papalist position (espoused by Robert Persons) that the Oath of Allegiance could not be sworn without seriously compromising one’s faith. Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed: The Roman and Protestant Churches in English Protestant Thought, 1600-1640, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 251-3, has persuasively argued that King James I himself believed that Catholics (whom he terms “moderate Romanists” in his analysis) were faithful and sincere subjects, but notes that the king was nearly alone in this perspective. Far more common is the belief that James never intended to differentiate between loyal and traitorous members of the English Catholic community but rather to divide the community against itself and thus repress the religion altogether; see Maurus Lunn, O.S.B., “English Benedictines and the Oath of Allegiance, 1606- 1647,” Recusant History 10, No. 3 (October 1969): 147; M.C. Questier, “Loyalty, Religion and State Power in Early Modern England: English Romanism and the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance,” The Historical Journal 40, No. 2 (June 1997): 311-19. However, even these analyses of the regime’s intentions acknowledge that the king cleverly concealed his aim in moderate rhetoric, specifically designed to promote the perception that there were loyal and disloyal factions within the English Catholic community. Related to this view is Johann P. Sommerville, “Papalist Political Thought and the Controversy over the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance,” in Catholics and the ‘Protestant Nation’: Religious Politics and Identity in Early Modern England, ed. Ethan Shagan, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 178, who argues that the king, councillors, and parliament who devised and enacted the oath did not differentiate between catholics and papists, an absurd conclusion. On the links with Gallicanism, see Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 255-4.

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in London was required to register with a Justice of the Peace. Positions within the regime and offices with significant power were closed to recusants and to men with recusant wives.

Children of recusants were to be removed from their parents’ household and brought up with a properly orthodox Anglican family. Finally, Catholics were obliged to surrender any arms, munitions, and gunpowder in their possession to county officials. If such weapons were voluntarily relinquished, the recusant would retain ownership and could reclaim them should the need to defend the country arise; if the armaments were not relinquished, county officials were authorized to search recusant houses and permanently confiscate all weaponry.37 The new laws were scrupulously enforced, if the Spanish ambassador’s reports to King Philip III were accurate; he described full prisons and locked-down ports.38

When James I’s next parliament convened, in 1610, it built upon the legislation of the

1606 parliament, instituting further measures designed to identify and exclude Catholics from political and court society. 7 Jac.I c.2 introduced the requirement that all such as are to be

“naturalized or restored in Blood” receive “the Sacrament of the Lordes Supper” within the month prior to gaining citizenship and “take the Oath of Supremacy and the Oath of Allegiance in the Parliament Howse” before receiving the legal status they sought.39 Being English meant being Protestant, and after 1609, anyone who wished to become English had to prove their

Protestantism prior to naturalization. According to 7 Jac.I c.6, all officials and members of the court would be required to swear the Oath of Allegiance. Furthermore, women recusants

37 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1077-82. Specifically, the act stipulated that recusants may not “practise the Com[m]on Lawe of this Realme as a Councellor Clerke Attourney or Sollicitor in the same, nor shall [they] practise the Civill Lawe as Advocate or Proctor, nor practise Phisicke, nor exercise or use the Trade or Arte of an Apothecarie, nor shalbe Judge Minister Clerke or Steward of or in any Courte or keepe any Courte,” be an officer of militia or command any of His Majesty’s ships or fortresses.

38 A.J. Loomie, ed., Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, 1603-1612, (Catholic Record Society, 1973), 1:82-3.

39 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1157.

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throughout the country would be imprisoned unless their husbands paid a monthly fine of £10 to ensure their freedom; previously, they had been covered under the provision of the £20 per month fine applicable to all recusants regardless of gender.40

After these innovations, Jacobean parliaments were apparently satisfied with their work and the legal status of Catholics; no further changes were made to penal legislation throughout

James’s reign. Of course, the “personal rule of James I” reduced the opportunity to enact further punishments.41 And in the waning years of James’s reign, it became clear that the king sought a

Catholic princess as his son’s bride, making further actions against recusants politically unpalatable, as at least one virulent puritan discovered.42 To complete his self-appointed mission as “Great Britain’s Solomon”, James needed to balance his daughter’s marriage to the Protestant

Elector Palatine with a Catholic princess for Charles. Initially, James sought a match with Spain.

But Charles’s attempt to woo the Spanish Infanta failed spectacularly. The only other eligible and prestigious bachelorette was the French princess . Negotiations for the moved swiftly and concluded in November 1624.

James passed away on March 27, 1625 and his unmarried son Charles succeeded him. So

King Charles I took a Catholic wife as one of the first acts of his reign. The marriage treaty provided for an interfaith household, with the bride retaining her Roman faith and receiving provisions for her religious needs. Toleration was not extended to the English Catholic

40 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1164.

41 Andrew Thrush, “The Personal Rule of James I, 1611-1620,” in Politics, Religion and Popularity in Early Stuart Britain: Essays in Honour of Conrad Russell ed. Thomas Cogswell, Richard Cust and Peter Lake, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 84-5. R.W.K. Hinton, “The Decline of Parliamentary Government under Elizabeth I and the Early Stuarts,” Cambridge Historical Journal 13, No. 2 (1957): 116-117, argues that the middle part of James’s reign fit within a broader pattern of Elizabethan and early Stuart governance. He shows parliaments declined in both frequency and productivity over the Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Caroline reigns, which each monarch calling parliament less often than his or her predecessor.

42 Thomas Scott was forced to flee the country following the publication of a seditious pamphlet criticizing James I’s pro-Spanish policy in 1620; see P.G. Lake, “Constitutional Consensus and Puritan Opposition in the 1620s: Thomas Scott and the Spanish Match,” The Historical Journal 25, No. 4, (December, 1982): 805.

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community at large. Charles quietly promised to suspend enforcement of penalties against

Catholics, but this pledge was not part of the formal treaty.43

The king’s promise to relax enforcement of penal statutes was undermined by his first parliament. Provisions of the marriage contract that could incite public outrage remained secret, but the allowance for the queen’s religious needs was more than sufficient to engender opposition to the queen’s faith, a sentiment that the 1628 parliament expressed in new legislation. MPs extended recusancy fines far beyond what Elizabethan and Jacobean parliaments had done. This permitted them to retain the framework established by parliamentary precedent while expressing dissatisfaction for their king’s concessions to his bride. First, the parliament indicated its opposition to the practice common among Catholic aristocratic and gentry families of sending their sons and daughters abroad to seminaries and convents.44 An Act to restraine the Passing or Sending of any to be popishly bred beyond the Seas indicated the government’s intention to strictly enforce laws already entered in the statute rolls regarding this practice. However, it augmented the penalties. Men and women convicted of ignoring the restriction would be disabled from prosecuting suits at law, taking on wards, executing deeds, or holding any office. Additionally, such persons “shall loose and forfeite all his Good[es] and

Chattell[es] and shall forfeit all his Land[es] Tenement[es] and Hereditament[es] Rent[es]

43 Caroline M. Hibbard, “Henrietta Maria [Princess Henrietta Maria of France] (1609–1669),” DNB.

44 Since the founding of the College at Douai in 1570 and the beginning of the English mission a few years later, Catholic families who had the means often sent their sons and daughters to educational institutions on the continent. According to Bossy, ECC, 415, there were somewhere between 140 and 202 seminary students across Douai, Rome, and Valladolid from 1592 until 1620; the figure dropped slightly to 86 until 1630. And on the female side, Bert Roest, “‘Scollers Bredd Vp in the Monastery’: Educating English Catholic Girls on the Continent,” in Worth and Repute: Valuing Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, Essays in Honour of Barbara Todd edited by Kim Kippen and Lori Woods, (Toronto: Center for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2011), 180, 188, has demonstrated that girls as young as four years old could be sent to one of the twenty-plus English convents on the continent.

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An[n]uities Offices and Estates of Freehold for and during his naturall Life.”45 Even given the heavy financial burden imposed upon those who refused to attend Church of England services by

Elizabeth and James, 3 Car.I. c.3 was surprisingly harsh in calling for complete forfeiture of all material goods and real estate. And this was just the opening salvo.

3 Car.I. c.8, the first subsidies granted by a Caroline parliament, marked a surprising change from previous taxation bills. Popish recusants were treated as a distinct, identifiable group and taxed at double the rate as their Anglican countrymen.46 Prior to 1628, only aliens had been singled out to pay extra taxation in subsidy bills. No Elizabethan or Jacobean parliament assessed popish recusants at double the rate of their Anglican countrymen.47 Even 3 Jac.I c.26, which the parliament passed to demonstrate “the universall and redoubted love of yor loyall and faithfull Subject[es]” in the wake of the “speciall and extraordinarie” deliverance from the

Gunpowder Plot, did not include a provision for assessing popish recusants at a higher rate.48

When a Caroline parliament next granted subsidies a decade later, it became apparent that the

1628 parliament had established a precedent. The rates of taxation outlined in 16 Car.I. c.2 included the provision requiring popish recusants to pay double the rate of their countrymen.

When this round of funding was insufficient to fund the army fighting the Scots in the north and, later, when the negotiated settlement called for the Scottish army to be paid prior to departing

45 Statutes of the Realm, 5:25-26.

46 Statutes of the Realm, 5:40, 42. Popish recusants would, along with aliens residing in the realm, have their “coyne”, “plate corne graine merchandize housholdstuffe or other good[es] jewell[es] chattell[es] moveables and unmoveable” assessed at the rate of five shillings, four pence in the pound; all others paid only two shillings, eight pence. Annual income was taxed at eight shillings per pound for popish recusants and aliens as opposed to four shillings per pound for all others. And recusants were disabled from being commissioners for the assessment, with the penalty for disobeying the provision set at £100 fine.

47 This applies to 39 Eliz. c.27, 43 Eliz. c.18, 3 Jac.I c.26, 7 Jac.I c.23, and 21 Jac.I c.33.

48 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1111-12.

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England, recusants were again required to pay twice the normal rate of taxation.49 Only recusants and resident aliens were subject to the higher rate; this seemingly innocuous move hinted that the English Catholic community was not truly English.

Twenty-five years elapsed between James’s hints that he might tolerate Catholicism and confirmation that parliament classified English Catholics with resident aliens. Despite the philosophical distance between these two positions, the first two Stuarts largely perpetuated the logic of the Elizabethan penal statutes. Legally popish recusants remained a distinct category.

Their existence threatened the stability of the monarchy, as the Gunpowder Plot proved beyond all doubt. But the government also acknowledged a difference between catholics and papists, only considering the latter truly menacing. The 1606 Oath of Allegiance codified this distinction, and Charles’s decision to marry a Catholic rendered it even more visible. Even granting Anthony Milton’s point that Charles’s government engaged in “fiscal persecution of

Roman Catholics” but rarely crossed the line into “confessionally motivated harassment” does not mitigate the fact that Catholics were increasingly viewed as interlopers.50 Thanks to

Henrietta Maria, the royal court was populated by foreign and domestic Catholics, creating a general perception that the court itself was foreign. Amidst the fierce anti-popery that emerged as the nation descended into civil war, the Long Parliament warped the definition of “papist” to suit its purposes.

Papists and Delinquents

The causes of the English Civil War are one of the most litigated areas of historiographical interpretation. I do not wish to become mired in this long-standing contentious

49 Statutes of the Realm, 5:58, 107, 146.

50 Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 61.

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debate, but one commonly recognized cause was the widespread belief that Catholics had infiltrated the court of Charles I, corrupting government and perverting the Church of England.

William Prynne’s infamous screed The Popish Royall Favourite, which appeared in December

1643, detailed Charles’s history of favoritism toward English Catholics.51 Leniency toward

English Catholics was only the tip of the iceberg; Caroline Hibbard masterfully demonstrated how the theory that a popish plot to subvert English independence from Rome spread and eventually contributed to the war.52 Peter Lake has shown that the theories of conspiracy and evil counsel had been nurtured since the opening of the public sphere following the Henrician

Reformation, and were deployed to great effect after the Long Parliament assembled.53 Tension between the godly and insular groups of Catholics in localities, already fraught, spilled into open violence once parliamentary attacks on the Caroline court and church lent a veneer of legitimacy to such actions.54 Rebellion in Ireland immediately gained a confessional tinge, offering what

51 , The Popish Royall Favourite: Or, A full Discovery of His Majesties Extraordinary Favours to, and Protections of notorious Papists, Priests, Jesuits, against all prosecutions and penalties of the Laws enacted against them, (London: Michael Spark, 1643), 1-44. Commutation of recusants’ sentences and pardons issued to Jesuits, heinous misuses of royal authority (or egregious misappropriation of royal authority, if one believed the scant cover Prynne provided by suggesting that Secretary of State Francis Windebank had acted on his own initiative) were particularly emphasized in the text. Bernard Nurse, “A Chapter in the Recusant History of Cheam in Surrey: Henry Floyd, S.J. and Bartholomew Fromond versus the Pursuivants,” The London Recusant 3 (1973): 107- 9, uses a case study from Surrey to show that Prynne’s grandiosity was rooted in fact, detailing how Catholics convinced the Secretary of State to imprison pursuivants.

52 Caroline M. Hibbard, Charles I and the Popish Plot, (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1983), passim, but especially 227-38. Hibbard demonstrates that the existence of a Catholic “clique” at court with access to both the king and the queen coincided with fears of resurgent European Catholicism and the implementation of the Laudian program in the Church of England. Together, these facts provided ample evidence to any Englishman who sought it that Catholics were trying to reunite England with Rome and had the requisite access to power in both church and state to accomplish this. Charles I’s pursuit of “politically suicidal policies” during the Personal Rule that appeared to fulfill popular perceptions of tyrannical Catholicism only added to the cloud of suspicion that enveloped the court.

53 Peter Lake, “Post-Reformation Politics, or on Not Looking for the Long-Term Causes of the English Civil War,” in The Oxford Handbook of the English Revolution ed. Michael J. Braddick, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 21-39. Lake does not argue that the tropes and communication models originating in the wake of the Henrician Reformation caused the Civil War, but rather that the ready availability and familiarity of these tropes facilitated their use in the 1640s and consequently shaped the crises of the following two decades.

54 John Walter, “Anti-Popery and the Stour Valley Riots of 1642,” in History of Religious Dissent in East Anglia, III ed. David Chadd, (Norwich: Center of East Anglian Studies, University of East Anglia, 1996), 123-6, 133-5.

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appeared to be proof positive of the Catholics’ nefarious intentions and bolstering parliament’s anti-Laudian stance. Michael Braddick has shown how the rebellion, which coincided with the emergence of the Root and Branch petition, combined to provide a rationale for constitutional innovation in the face of overwhelming threats from actual Catholics.55 Given the nearly universal perception that a dangerous nest of Catholics had infiltrated the court and were using proximity to the king to reintroduce idolatry and superstition to the Church of England, a flurry of harsh activity against that group could have been expected. Instead, the Long Parliament followed the course charted by Elizabeth and James.

On August 18, 1643, the Long Parliament dramatically expanded the category of persons who could be subject to fines based upon their religion. While the term utilized was

“delinquents” – a category created by the parliamentary ordinance of March 27, 1643 and originally encompassing men who “have been the causers or Instruments of the publike calamities, which have been hitherto imployed to the fomenting and nourishing of these miserable Distractions” and who “voluntarily contributed . . . any Money, Horse, Plate, Arms,

Munition, or other Ayd or Assistance, for, or towards the maintenance of any forces raised against the Parliament” – the ordinance passed by Lords and Commons in August classified many more people as delinquents.56 Not only were those who voluntarily absented themselves from their homes and businesses in order to join the king’s army included in the category (a logical extension of the classification), so were papists. All those who

55 Michael J. Braddick, “Prayer Book and Protestation: Anti-Popery, Anti-Puritanism and the Outbreak of the English Civil War,” in England’s Wars of Religion, Revisited ed. Charles W.A. Prior and Glen Burgess, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 128, 131-5.

56 A&O, 1:106. After the outbreak of civil war in 1642, the parliament sitting at Westminster no longer received royal approval for either its existence or for the legislation it passed. Consequently, laws that came out of the Houses were termed “ordinances” rather than “statutes”, but parliament enforced these laws both during the war and following the regicide.

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willingly harboured any Popish Priests or Jesuits in their houses or dwellings since the 29 of November 1642. or that shall hereafter so harbour any: And all and every Person or Persons which at any time heretofore have been convicted of Popish Recusancy, and so continue, or that have been or shall be thereof Indicted, and such their Indictments removed by Certiorary, or being not removed shall not by appearance and Traverse be legally discharged . . . [those who] have been at Mass, at any time within one whole year before the 26 day of March 1643. or shall hereafter be at Mass . . . whose children or Grand children, or any of them living in house with them, or under their, or any of their Tuition and Government, shall be brought up in the Popish Religion: And all such Persons as being of the age of twenty one years, or above, shall refuse to take the Oath hereafter expressed57 would be considered delinquents and subject to the penalty of sequestration. This definition neatly combined all indicators of popery mentioned in previous recusancy statutes into an all- encompassing definition. It even ensnared men whose indictments had been removed. In the unlikely event that a recusant escaped the comprehensive catalogue, the oath was designed to discover them. It read:

I A.B. Do abjure and renounce the Supremacy and Authority over the Catholick Church in General, and over my self in Particular; And I do believe that there is not any Transubstantiation in the Sacrament of the Lords Supper, or in the Elements of Bread and Wine after Consecration thereof, by any Person whatsoever; And I do also believe, that there is not any Purgatory, Or that the consecrated Hoast, Crucifixes, or Images, ought to be worshipped, or that any worship is due unto any of them; And I also believe that Salvation cannot be Merited by Works, and all Doctrines in affirmation of the said Points; I do abjure and renounce, without any Equivocation, Mental Reservation, or secret Evasion whatsoever, taking the words by me spoken, according to the common and usual meaning of them. So help me God.58

Conspicuously absent from the oath is any mention of allegiance or submission to parliament, a major component of previous oaths Catholics had been required to swear. The only tenet of

Catholicism that subscribers of the 1606 Oath of Allegiance had to renounce was the papal deposing power; otherwise, the oath affirmed subjects’ obedience to the monarch and their duty

57 A&O, 1:255.

58 A&O, 1:255-6.

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to report treasonous conspiracies to the authorities. This 1643 version of the Oath of Abjuration

(it was so named in the 1650s) isolated tenets central to Roman Catholicism but not to any strain of English Protestantism. Since anyone who refused to swear the oath would be automatically labeled a recusant, this was a neat method of trapping English Catholics: they either had to refuse the oath, thus becoming subject to the ever-increasing penalties of recusancy and delinquency, or swear it, effectively renouncing their faith.

Papists were clearly unwelcome in the Long Parliament’s vision of the commonwealth.

The conflation of papists with delinquents that parliament codified after 1643 had its origins in the popish plot Hibbard elucidated and a series of anti-Catholic riots in the early months of the

Long Parliament. Robin Clifton has shown that, at moments of political crisis, anti-Catholicism was a safe release valve for tension; in turn, he argues that this transmuted into a belief that the

Catholic conspirators were aiming at parliament.59 Regardless of whether they bore arms for

King Charles, donated funds to the royal cause, or merely clung to their faith without declaring a side, they were seen as opposed to parliament and lumped together with Cavaliers, apparently rendering them liable for massive fines.60

At length, Parliament won the Civil War by committing regicide. The death of King

Charles left the most radical portion of the Long Parliament ruling England, Scotland, Ireland,

59 Robin Clifton, “Fear of Popery,” in The Origins of the English Civil War ed. Conrad Russell, (United Kingdom: The Macmillan Press Ltd, 1973), 158-162.

60 Keith Lindley, “The Part Played by the Catholics,” in Politics, Religion and the English Civil War ed. Brian Manning, (Edward Arnold, 1973), 172-174, argued that their treatment during the Personal Rule alienated Catholics from Charles so that only 15-20% of Catholics whose estates were sequestered for recusancy turned royalist during the Civil War. P.R. Newman, “Roman Catholic Royalists: Papist Commanders under Charles I and Charles II, 1642-60,” Recusant History 15, No. 6, (October 1981): 401-402, tried to refute Lindley’s conclusions by showing that roughly 15.6% of Charles’s commanders in England and Wales were Catholic. Of course, the conclusions of Lindley and Newman are not necessarily opposed; it’s entirely possible for Catholics to comprise a not-insignificant proportion of Charles’s commanders even as the majority of the English Catholic population remained neutral. There was no incentive at all for Catholics to support the parliamentarian cause; for them, it was a choice between royalism or neutrality.

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and Wales. Within ten days of King Charles’s execution the Rump began the process of remaking both the state and the Church of England.

Eager to assert its authority and legitimacy post-Regicide, the Rump of the Long

Parliament swiftly enacted legislation intended to bolster its usurped sovereignty. Rumpers’ attempts to bind Englishmen in obedience to the new “fupreme Power in this Nation” began with the removal of obnoxious references to monarchy from the statute book.61 Altering crucial laws to retain their force in a non-monarchical government swiftly followed. Caught up in the regime’s attempts to identify and neutralize imminent challenges to their sovereignty, English

Catholics were thrust into a legally ambiguous position by the Rump’s refashioning of political allegiance.

Oaths that required Englishmen to swear allegiance to the monarchy and affirmed that the reigning king or queen was head of the Church of England were swiftly repealed. In the wake of regicide, removing explicit professions of fealty to a now-abolished monarchy seemed to be a logical step in the quest to prevent citizens from formulating resistance based on competing sources of authority found in the statute books. The act was a clean repeal, simply stating “the

Oathes commonly called, The Oathes of Allegiance, Obedience and Supremacy, mentioned in the Statutes of the First year of Queen Elizabeth, and in the Third Year of King James, and all other Oathes of Allegiance, Obedience and Supremacy whatsoever, shall be, and are hereby wholly taken away.”62 But appearances deceived in this case. The February 9, 1649 act was driven through the Commons in a single day.63 Judges refused to begin Hilary term utilizing patents issued under the new Great Seal of the Commonwealth unless these oaths were removed

61 CJ, 6:126.

62 A&O, 2:1.

63 CJ, 6:136 records only two readings instead of the usual three but notes that the act was passed, an indication that it was fast-tracked for some reason.

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as the law of the land.64 Faced with the prospect of indefinite legal delay, MPs capitulated. In so doing, they eliminated a decades-old tool for identifying recusants. Unlikely as it seems, the inaugural act of the new, godly commonwealth was to terminate a vexatious piece of anti-

Catholic legislation.

Pushed to begin the tedious process of reframing the legal code to reflect and support the new regime by recalcitrant judges, the Rump ploughed ahead. Treason had traditionally involved transgressions against the office or dignity of the monarch – assaults on the royal person, attacks upon heirs to the throne, or diminishing the monarch’s credibility (as with counterfeiting money or denying his or her right to head the Church of England) – and in the absence of a monarch it was necessary to reframe the offence as one committed against the state.

To this end, the Rump passed two acts in 1649, on May 14 and July 17, criminalizing attempts to delegitimize or otherwise destabilize the government.65 Control of the press formed another prong of parliament’s consolidation efforts. The “Act against unlicensed and scandalous Books and Pamphlets, and for better regulating of printing” of September 20, 1649 reinstituted regulations and restrictions that had been relaxed during the Civil War. Gardiner attributed the act to rumors of a forthcoming English translation of the Koran, but reading the text of the law reveals that its primary focus lay elsewhere.66 Malignants involved with any stage of producing or printing the “Scandalous, Seditious and Libellous Pamphlets, Papers and Books” tending

64 Stephen F. Black, “Coram Protectore: The Judges of Westminster Hall under the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell,” The American Journal of Legal History 20, No. 1 (January 1976): 33-4.

65 A&O, 2:120-121, 193-194. Specifically, according to the May 14 act it was treason to “maliciously or advisedly publish by Writing, Printing, or openly Declaring, That the said Government is Tyrannical, Usurped or Unlawful; or that the Commons in Parliament assembled are not the Supreme authority of this Nation,” as well as to “Plot, Contrive or Endeavor to stir up or raise Force against the present Government, or for the subversion or alteration of the same, and shall declare the same by any open deed, That then every such Offence shall be Taken, Deemed and Adjudged, by the authority of this Parliament, to be High Treason, foment mutiny in the Army, “invite, ayd or assist any Forraigners or Strangers to Invade England or Ireland,” and to counterfeit the Great Seal. The July 17 act added counterfeiting money and clipping coins to the list of treasons.

66 Gardiner, C&P, 1:56.

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towards “the subversion of the Parliament and present Government” through “lies and false suggestions . . . and by malicious misrepresentation of things acted and done,” would be subject to steep fines.67 Neither act explicitly mentioned Catholics. Odd though this was – the treason act ended a tradition of including harboring priests among traitorous actions – it likely indicates either that papists were low on the list of security concerns or Rumpers assumed that anti-papist provisions were sufficient and not in need of reinforcement. Arguing in favor of a combination of both was the wary eye trained on the exiled royalists.

Across the Channel, Charles Stuart recruited men, collected money, and prepared to fight for his throne. Portions of the population (royalists, of course, but also the Scots and some disenchanted ) preferred Stuart rule to the Commonwealth. Alarmed at these parties’ correspondence with the “son to the late Tyrant” and “many Designs now in hand,” the Rump attempted to forestall the anticipated insurrection. On February 6, 1650 Parliament, feeling that there was a “the great confluence and resort of Papists, Officers, and Soldiers of Fortune, and other disaffected persons,” ordered members of these groups to remove themselves from the cities of London and Westminster until March 20, 1651. The first of several similar measures that were passed during the Interregnum, affected persons had a few weeks to wrap up their affairs and return to their homes before they would be arrested.68 Particularly interesting is the absence of any definition of the category “papist”. Presumably the Rump saw no need for

67 A&O, 2:245-6, 249. Authors of the offending material would be fined £10, the printer would be fined £5, and the bookseller/stationer would be fined 40 shillings. All printers who wished to continue practicing their profession were required to post a £300 bond to ensure that they would not violate the terms of the act. However, control of the presses remained loose enough for Catholics to launch a propaganda campaign. See my discussion of the Beacon Controversy below, in Chapter 3.

68 A&O, 2:349, 351-2. Specifically, all affected persons had to depart not only from the cities of London and Westminster but also from within twenty miles of the Lines of Communication. Once safely ensconced at home, the restricted persons would be required to remain within five miles of their estates or obtain a license signed by four Justices of the Peace permitting them to travel and specifying the person’s itinerary and motivation. To ensure compliance, restricted persons were required to check in with a local official (several acceptable officials are named), and written lists of the potential agitators would be exchanged at Quarter Sessions.

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clarification, assuming the classification would be sufficiently clear, but this act ignored a century of legal precedent by omitting a definition. Failing to define “papists” seems even more odd given that the latter part of the act encouraged dutiful citizens to discover priests. The Rump felt that these ordained papists, “who are Traytors by the Law,” were coming into the country,

“acting the part of Incendiaries here, and lurking to do mischief”.69 Technically, this assertion was true; several of the Elizabethan statutes which remained in force rendered the mere act of entering the country after receiving the sacrament of ordination in the Roman Catholic Church treason.

Apprehension regarding the English Catholic community was also, at this juncture, well- founded: though Charles II would later renounce this position to gain Scottish support, his lieutenant promised the Irish Catholic Confederates in Charles’s name that they would have freedom of worship as an inducement for Catholics to join an insurrection.70 Ian Thackray has argued persuasively that the reiteration of the popish plot trope at this juncture was part machination on the part of the commonwealth, part genuine fear.71 Associated with plots to overthrow English governments since 1570, in the early months of the Interregnum, the English

Catholic community provided a convenient opportunity to redirect animosity away from the government and safely toward papists.72

69 A&O, 2:353.

70 Gardiner, C&P 1:70-4.

71 Ian Y. Thackray, “Zion Undermined: The Protestant Belief in a Popish Plot during the English Interregnum,” History Workshop 18 (Autumn 1984): 41.

72 This tactic had been successfully deployed during the Civil War, particularly in Yorkshire. See Andrew Hopper, “‘The Popish Army of the North’: Anti-Catholicism and Parliamentarian Allegiance in Civil War Yorkshire, 1642- 46,” Recusant History 25 No. 1 (May 2000): 12-28.

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Liberty of Conscience for (almost) all

A year and a half after the regicide, the Rump finally turned its attention to the religious half of the religio-political settlement. An unequivocal statement that England would remain a godly nation was the first step. Responding to a proliferation of monstrous opinions which tended “not onely to the notorious corrupting and disordering, but even to the dissolution of all

Humane Society,” parliament passed the blasphemy act. Claiming divinity for oneself or denying God’s righteousness were the primary concerns of this blasphemy act, though a host of activities commonly targeted by those who sought a complete reformation of manners were also included on the list of prohibited behaviors. Oddly, the sentence for blaspheming was lenient: a mere six months in jail. Repeat offenders, however, would be banished from the country and its dominions.73 The relatively light sentence was the product of a closed-door session on August 9.

Following the act’s third reading, a discussion prompted multiple questions and a division, eventually yielding legislation which was far less severe than originally intended.74

Denouncing blasphemy was merely a prelude to the Rump’s most significant piece of religious legislation: its liberation of tender consciences on September 17, 1650. Explaining that

MPs had considered “several Acts made in the times of former Kings and Queens of this Nation, against Recusants not coming to Church, enjoying the use of Common Prayer, the keeping and observing of holy-days, and some other particulars touching matters of Religion” and found that these acts brought about “the great disquiet and utter ruine of such good and godly people,”

Parliament saw fit to dispense with them. Three acts were specifically repealed but rather than combing through nine decades of legislation to cite all pertinent legislation, MPs took a shortcut.

They declared,

73 A&O, 2:409-12.

74 CJ, 6:453-454.

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all and every the Branches, Clauses, Articles and Proviso’s expressed and contained in any other Act or Ordinance of Parliament, whereby or wherein any penalty or punishment is imposed, or mentioned to be imposed on any person whatsoever, for not repairing to their respective Parish Churches, or for not keeping of Holydays, or for not hearing Common Prayer or for speaking or inveighing against the Book of Common Prayer shall be, and are by the authority aforesaid, wholly Repealed and made void.75

Sloth begat sloppiness in this instance, however. The Rump inadvertently dismantled nearly all means of prosecuting Catholics.

A handful of acts promulgated by Elizabethan parliaments were not affected by the

September 27 act. 13 Eliz. c.2, which forbade the enacting of papal bulls within England and its dominions remained in force. And it is unclear whether 29 Eliz. c.6 was nullified. Based on its title, the act should have been repealed; it was presented as a measure to ensure “the more speedie and due execuc[i]on of c[er]tyne Braunches” of 23 Eliz. c.1, which was one of the acts explicitly repealed. However, an intrepid legal mind might have been able to argue that certain articles of 29 Eliz. c.6 – namely those that imposed fines for the saying of, hearing, or attendance at mass – would retain legal force. I find it difficult to believe that such an interpretation would have held up given the explicit language that “all and every the Branches, Clauses, Articles and

Proviso’s” of acts that imposed penalties for failing to attend Church of England services were repealed, for 29 Eliz. c.6 unequivocally fell into this category. But anti-popery was a strong and illogical force. One act that remained indisputably untouched by the September 27 legislation was 27 Eliz. c.2, which defined living in England while an ordained priest treason and offering aid to men who did so a felony. However, 27 Eliz. c.2 instituted only one possible punishment for violators of the act: execution. There was no mention of fines or other options.

75 A&O, 2:423-425. The three acts specifically repealed were 1 Eliz. c.2, “An Acte for the Uniformitie of Common Prayoure and Dyvyne Service in the Churche, and the Administration of the Sacramentes”, 23 Eliz. c.1, “An Acte to reteine the Queenes Ma[jes]ties Subjectes in their due Obedience”, and 35 Eliz. c.1 “An Acte to reteine the Quenes Subject[es] in Obydence.

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Liberating Englishmen from the requirement to repair to the Church of England was only part of the Rump’s plan to end the tyranny previously imposed by monarchs and ecclesiastics.

The September 27 act declared, “all proceedings had or made by vertue of any the Clauses,

Branches or Articles mentioned and contained in any of the aforesaid Acts, and hereby Repealed, against any such person or persons as aforesaid, shall be fully and wholly superseded, made void and null.”76 Parliament repealed the recusancy fines! Given the history of aggression towards

Catholics, particularly the definition of delinquents as anyone fined for popish recusancy, it seems highly unlikely that the Rump intended to eliminate a viable and significant source of revenue. Yet the plain text of the law nonetheless did exactly that.

Ending the mandate to attend Anglican services, while a necessary step to ensure that no godly Englishmen were forced to abrogate their principles and to placate Army agitators, had the potential to unleash an avalanche of licentiousness. To prevent this, the September 27 act made clear that this was not an opportunity to eschew organized religion altogether. Since the act was

“intended onely for Relief of pious and peaceably minded people from the rigor of them,” on

Sundays as well as days designated for public fasting and humiliation, all residents of the

Commonwealth and its territories were required to “diligently resort to some publique place where the Service and Worship of God is exercised, or shall be present at some other place in the practice of some Religious Duty, either of Prayer, Preaching, Reading or Expounding the

Scriptures, or conferring upon the same.” The provision existed, the Rump explained, “to the end that no prophane or licentious persons may take occasion by the Repealing of the said Laws to neglect the performance of Religious Duties”.77 Those who failed to comply with “the true meaning” of this requirement “shall be deemed and taken to be Offenders against this Law, and

76 A&O, 2:425.

77 A&O, 2:425.

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shall be proceeded against accordingly”. However, MPs neglected to specify what the punishment was.

The act passed on September 27, 1650 technically legalized Catholicism in England once more. Or at least decriminalized the Romish religion. By removing all mechanisms through which popish recusants could be identified and prosecuted, this act left only the nebulous promise of appropriate proceedings against Englishmen who didn’t repair to common places of worship. Gardiner, possibly the only historian to appreciate that the repeal of the recusancy laws applied to Catholics as well as Protestants, thought that this was merely a source of hope for continually beleaguered Catholics for they “would hardly be allowed to shelter themselves under it.”78 Indeed, Interregnum governments behaved as if all penalties against papists were still viable.79

By 1650, “popish recusants” had lost its power as a legal classification. Even amongst members of the legislature and highest court, no one seemed to recall that the category was originally defined through the statutes they joyfully eliminated. Incremental legislation implemented across decades created a climate in which “papists” could be taxed at double the rate of their Anglican or puritan countrymen and the criteria for inclusion in the category were considered so obvious that definitions were unnecessary. Assumptions begat ignorance of the law, leading the Rump to obliterate it and assume they could still penalize the English Catholic community.

78 Gardiner, C&P, 2:3.

79 A bill “explaining the Meaning of a former Act, giving Relef to tender Consciences in Matter of Religion; and for Discovery of, and Proceeding against, Popish Recusants”, possibly indicating that the Rump realized the implications of the September 1650 ordinance, was briefly discussed on March 2, 1653. Unfortunately, as was common, the bill for clarification promptly disappeared into committee, never to emerge, so we cannot know what it said; CJ, 7:244.

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Underscoring the understanding gap was the parliament’s decision to continue its previous prohibition on papists coming near London and Westminster. As the original act (of

February 6, 1650, before the repeal of the recusancy laws) was on the cusp of expiration, a new act was passed continuing the ban until November 1, 1651. It was introduced, read twice, and sent to the printer in a single day. The text of the act was brief, merely stating that the original order would be extended for the time period indicated.80 Notably absent is any recognition that a significant portion of the group named by the bill was no longer subject to its terms, thanks to the act of September 27. Since fines for popish recusancy had been nullified, and presumably most of the “papists” confined to their homes would have been caught by this definition (rather than being a priest or sending their children abroad for popish education), the terms of the act’s extension show parliamentarians patently did not understand the ramifications of their September

27 ordinance. Other than the extension of this act, Catholics were largely unmolested. The

Commons discussed bringing in an act for suppressing popery on October 1 and 8, 1651, but no bill materialized.81

An unrelated act further revealed the gulf between assumption and law. Parliament,

“...being most desirous that the Mindes, Persons and Estates of all the People of this Nation, might be Composed, Setled and Secured, and that all Rancour and Evil Will occasioned by the late Differences may be buried in perpetual Oblivion,” offered a general pardon in February

1652.82 Reconciliation of some sort is always necessary in the aftermath of civil war, and appealing to a mythical calm and settlement was the Rump’s chosen method. However there

80 CJ, 6:551.

81 CJ, 7:23, 26. Neither the Commons’ Journal nor the Council of State’s order books include a rationale for dropping the proposed bill.

82 A&O, 2:566.

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were so many caveats and exceptions to the pardon that it was laughably ineffective.83 Priests were among those barred from benefitting. Two Elizabethan statutes were cited as grounds for this exception, one of which had been specifically repealed by the September 27 act! Two further points regarding the Act of General Pardon and Oblivion are noteworthy. First, priests could be pardoned if they were willing to swear the Oath of Abjuration.84 This was an empty offer – the act did not include the text of the referenced oath, so I assume it was the oath presented in a 1643 parliamentary ordinance – since no priest who retained his faith could deny the central tenets of Catholicism. Second, while the act specifically excluded “any Jesuit,

Seminary or Romish Priest whatsoever” from receiving the pardon, there was no mention of a similar restriction for Catholic laymen. MPs likely assumed that one of the dozens of exceptions to the pardons would apply to Catholics. However, according to the laws on the books, that was not the case. Not even the statement that debts owed to the late king, queen, or prince were exempted would have trapped recusants, as the September 27 act had erased their fines.85 This proves both that legislators during the Commonwealth were less than diligent when it came to creating a politico-legal foundation for the regime (they tended to address pressing issues requiring attention without referencing relevant statute law) and that they failed to anticipate or perceive the myriad collateral effects of the acts they passed.

Confirming that the general pardon was largely an empty gesture, a few months later parliament decided to sell the lands and estates that had belonged to royalists who were convicted of treason for fighting against parliament in the 1640s. The impetus for this decision

83 C.H. Firth, “The Royalists under the Protectorate,” The English Historical Review 52, No. 208 (October 1937): 637, described the offer of pardon and oblivion as “clogged by many exceptions which deprived it of much of its value.” David Underdown, Royalist Conspiracy in England, 1649-1660, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960), 58, concurs that the act was a wasted effort.

84 A&O, 2:572.

85 A&O, 2:573.

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was entirely financial; the Additional Act for Sale of Several Lands and Estates Forfeited to the

Commonwealth for Treason passed on November 18, 1652 declared that the estates and properties subject to the terms of the act would be collateral for a loan to finance the army.86

Men named were granted one year to compound for their estates and retain the property.87 Papist delinquents were subject to even harsher terms. Working with the same one-year limit to compound and discharge estates from composition, they also had to sell up and depart England within that year. Failure to comply with the terms of the law would result in papist delinquents having their property seized and becoming “lyable unto the Laws touching Popish Recusants.”88

Eilish Gregory has shown that sequestration commissioners, who were charged with administrating these policies, considered papist delinquents to be a distinct subset of popish recusants, only including papists who actually bore arms for Charles I, so the act did not apply to all Englishmen who professed Catholicism.89 But the bald statement contained in the act still indicates that the Rump did not associate the recusancy laws repealed in 1650 with the laws punishing popish recusants. It also explains why they continued to collect fines levied upon

Catholics.

Accidental oversight is one possible explanation as to why the Rump liberated Catholics as well as orthodox Protestants from the constraints of a national church at which attendance was mandatory. One MP later recalled how “bulky and voluminous are the statute books,” meaning that most legislators could not “spare time to read them”, which could explain the mistake.90 But

86 A&O, 2:647.

87 A&O, 2:623-645.

88 A&O, 2:646.

89 Eilish Marguerita Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration during the English Revolution, 1642-60,” (PhD diss., University College London, 2017), 211.

90 Walter Scott, ed. A Collection of Scarce and Valuable Tracts, on the most Interesting and Entertaining Subjects: But Chiefly such as Relate to the History and Constitution of these Kingdoms. Selected from an Infinite Number in

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it is more likely that the perception that “popish recusants” were a category unto themselves, distinct from Protestant dissenters, led Rumpers astray. The Long Parliament believed so many

Catholics had joined the royalist cause that a new term, papist delinquents, was necessary to describe the group. Accusations that priests were acting as incendiaries against the post-regicide government provided a pretext for further isolating the English Catholic community. But behind the proliferation of new terminology to describe different segments of the community was a general sense that these malefactors posed a political threat. Religiously, popish recusants were already punished for their faith (or so the Rump believed). New financial penalties were based on the new type of threat papists posed to the first post-regicide regime and, by using the estates of delinquents as collateral for loans to pay the armed forces, designed to defend against this new challenge.

Conclusion

Rooted in the existence of a national church at which attendance was mandatory, recusancy laws segregated Catholics (and other non-conformists) from the national faith community and the body politic. This isolation was the product of and depended upon monarchs’ dual spheres of authority. Not only did papists reject monarchs’ religious authority, the specific nature of their beliefs also denied monarchs’ temporal authority. Catholic religious dissent imperiled the English religio-political settlement in ways Protestant dissent did not, aligning national identity with religious profession. Monarchs combined the political and religious aspects of the popish threat by instructing secular officials to administer punishments for an ostensibly religious crime. Dramatic events like the Spanish Armada and the Gunpowder

Print and Manuscript, in the Royal, Cotton, Sion, and other Public, as well as Private, Libraries; Particularly that of the Late Lord Somers, 2nd Edition, (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1811), 6:277.

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Plot pitted patriotic English Protestants against foreign, threatening papists, further integrating the myriad aspects of Catholic opposition into a single term: popish. Temporal removal from the origin of the term initiative facilitated the association of popery with hostile external authorities who usurped the allegiance of Englishmen. Eventually the popular perception transcended its legal definition. Paradoxically, as “popish” became a general-use epithet, the law recognized sub-categories of popish recusants.

In addition to revealing how monarchs and parliaments cooperated to legally link membership in the body politic with membership in the national church, this analysis demonstrates how such measures gradually accreted into the perception that Catholics were, in the words of Major-General Boteler, “persons otherwise than Englishmen”.91 Caroline parliaments certainly took this view as MPs classified popish recusants as resident aliens for taxation purposes. More broadly, this analysis demonstrates the incisiveness of English

Catholicism as a lens for examining how state institutions and the church functioned. Recusancy was both a political and a religious crime; defining it required theorizing the bases for membership in the body politic, philosophies of loyalty, and theology. Penalties were both financial and criminal. Enforcing the statutes involved every stratum of government, both secular and ecclesiastical: monarch, parliament, Exchequer, bishops, churchwardens, sheriffs, and Justices of the Peace. The manner in which recusancy integrated all functions of early modern politics and ecclesiology makes it an excellent window into the attempts by successive

Interregnum governments to refashion church and state. Finally, following the liberation of tender consciences in 1650, the accreted associations no longer applied to the unique religio- political threat papists posed.

91 Burton, Diary, 2:152.

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Even as the Commonwealth eliminated the 1606 Oath of Allegiance from the statute books, thus disregarding the distinction James and Charles had made between loyal and disloyal

Catholics, it recognized that papist delinquents comprised only a small subset of the English

Catholic community. Royalism and popery went hand-in-hand, but the monarchical practice of differentiating between catholics and papists remained operative in the Interregnum, though papists were now primarily associated with Charles Stuart rather than the pope. Unmoored from the laws and institutions that initially defined it, during the Interregnum “popish” described a type of threat rather than the specific religious community, and regimes made excellent use of this new rhetorical weapon, as I will show in subsequent chapters.

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CHAPTER 3

COVENANTS, CONSCIENCE, AND CATHOLICS: THE COMMONWEALTH’S

CRISIS-BASED GOVERNING

Executing King Charles I in 1649 and abolishing the monarchy removed the foundation of the English religio-political settlement. The Rump of the Long Parliament claimed supreme authority (derived from the people) but otherwise retained the traditional shape of the English government. Parliament became unicameral as the House of Lords was abolished. A newly- created Council of State assumed many of the monarch’s executive powers.1 However, the

Rump failed to recognize that removing the monarch required more than just a reshuffling of responsibilities. They had altered the nature of English government, not just its shape, and did not comprehend the myriad implications their radical act had for governance and upon traditional administrative functions. Consequently, the Rump never felt secure in its rule but attributed this insecurity to proximate causes rather than probing to find the root.

In this chapter I argue that the new government, having been founded in opposition to several tenets of monarchical rule in England, struggled to formulate a religio-political settlement. The brief survey of early Interregnum legislation in the previous chapter demonstrated how this worked in a few particular aspects. Here I will contextualize those

1 CJ, 6:138-9; Gardiner, C&P, 1:3-8. On February 13, 1649 instructions outlining the powers granted to the new Council were read and agreed. Primacy was given to suppressing anyone who supported “the pretended Title of Charles Stewart, eldeft Son to the late King . . . or the pretended Title or Claim of any other Single Perfon womfoever, to the Crown of England,” a sure sign that the young man posed a serious threat to the fledgling republic. Other powers delegated to the forty-member Council included direction of the militia, foreign relations, and law enforcement. However, the Parliament was the supreme authority – the Council had to “advife and confult of any thing concerning the Good of this Commonwealth” with and “put in Execution, fuch further Orders as you fhall receive” from the Parliament. Councillors were elected by MPs for a one-year term.

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developments and explore how the absence of a religio-political settlement affected English

Catholics. Through this lens it becomes apparent that as the Commonwealth eliminated odious aspects of the monarchical religio-political settlement but did not clarify what a positive, comprehensive non-monarchical system would look like, MPs faced public outcries against their partial solutions. First, by neglecting to articulate a positive statement of its right to rule and then instituting a loyalty test to ensure the allegiance of the whole population, the Rump opened itself to challenges from multiple quarters. Second, the absence of an ecclesiastical settlement pitted Protestants against each other as the void was seen as an opportunity. It also offered an opportunity for Catholics to creep in. Rumors of a popish plot proliferated and the declaration of war against the Protestant United Provinces of the Netherlands seemed to prove that a corrosive force was at work. But, I argue, the succession of crises resulting from the absence of a religio- political settlement paradoxically rendered the English Catholic community less threatening. In light of the Engagement Controversy and the Beacon Controversy, the Commonwealth’s treatment of the English Catholic community is shocking and bears out how the decoupling of temporal and ecclesiastical authority lent new utility to the distinction between catholics and papists.

“the present change of Government, from Tyranny to a Free State”2

Members of Parliament arriving at Westminster on December 6, 1648 encountered a contingent of soldiers loitering in the lobby and barring entry to certain men. Colonel Pride, the commanding officer, refused entry to hundreds MPs over the course of six days. Pride’s Purge, as the episode is known, culled Members unwilling to countenance a drastic solution to the

2 England and Wales (Parliament), A Declaration of the , Exprefsing the Grounds of their late Proceedings, and of Setling the prefent Government In the way of A Free State, (London: Printed for Edward Hufband, 1648[9]), 25.

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truism that “no matter how many battles we win, the king is still king” and cleared the way for the regicide.3 A few weeks later, after erecting a High Court of Justice comprised of MPs and

Lords willing to try the king, Charles I was sentenced to death for “High Treason, and other High

Crimes”. January 30, 1649 was appointed for the regicide. Following an evening spent in prayer, the king walked through his palace at Whitehall and stepped out of the window of the splendid the Banqueting House onto a scaffold specially erected for the occasion. He protested that he was about to suffer “an unjust Sentence” and then calmly acquiesced to his beheading.4

The death of the king, regardless of the manner of his demise, should have triggered the succession. But that morning, MPs decided that they would not merely substitute one Stuart king for another. They abolished the monarchy. Charles I’s execution was delayed until an act prohibiting the proclamation of a successor to the office of king was hastily made law.5 Within a week, the House of Commons voted to eliminate both the House of Lords and the office of King and erected a Council of State which would exercise the executive power.6 England became a republic. Parliament, “chofen by and reprefenting the People,” declared that it held “the fupreme

Power in this Nation”.7 It was not until May that parliament passed an act officially constituting the nation as a commonwealth, however.8

The most radical portion of the Long Parliament believed that, by executing the king and eliminating the hereditary aspects of government they had ended the lengthy struggle over

3 Austin Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 427-8. The best account of the affair is David Underdown, Pride’s Purge: Politics in the Puritan Revolution, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), passim, but especially 143-172.

4 Howell, State Trials, 4:1138.

5 Gardiner, History of the Great Civil War, 4:321; CJ, 6:125.

6 CJ, 6:132-3; A&O, 2:2-4. However, the acts abolishing the monarchy and House of Lords were not published until March 17 and 19, respectively, however. See A&O, 2:18-20, 24.

7 CJ, 6:126.

8 A&O, 2:22.

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power. Having begun the Civil War by exerting parliamentary authority and contesting the king’s, parliament ended the war by arrogating all authority to itself. The source of this authority, however, was the people. Even when governed by a monarch, authority stemmed from citizens, who vested it jointly in king (or queen) and parliament.9 MPs maintained this view regarding the source of authority as they reorganized the government. Their declaration gave “the people” the “supreme Power” and described themselves as representatives “chosen by” the holders of authority. The latter claim was dubious, however. Aside from the fact that far less than half of the 507 elected MPs voted for the transformation of England into a republic, the

Long Parliament had ceased to fully represent the nation years earlier.10 If parliament truly represented the people, it would have to acknowledge the portion of the population that wanted

Charles II crowned as king. The Rumpers believed they were safeguarding England’s best interests, but they were not delusional; they knew that their chosen course of action did not represent the majority’s desires. The gap between claim and reality left the Rump vulnerable to

9 John Selden, Titles of Honor, (London: William Stansby for John Helme, 1614), 3-5, argued that monarchy grew out of “a popular ftate” and that monarchy “cannot but prefuppofe a popular State or Democracie”. This indicated that the people were the source of authority. J.P. Sommerville, “John Selden, the Law of Nature, and the Origins of Government,” The Historical Journal 27, No. 2 (June 1984): 444, shares this interpretation. J.G.A. Pocock, The Ancient Constitution and the Feudal Law: A Study of English Historical Thought in the Seventeenth Century, 2nd edition, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 16-17, noted that one reason the notion of the ancient constitution was attractive in the seventeenth century was that if the law could be proven to predate the monarchy, then the source of authority was the people rather than the monarch. The Commons affirmed this principle on January 4, 1649 as a prelude to the king’s trial, declaring “That the People are, under God, the Original of all juft Power”; CJ, 6:111.

10 The pre-purge strength of the House of Commons was 507 Members, but was effectively only 471 in December 1648 due to vacancies and several chronic absentees; Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 428. Figures of those excluded by the Rump differ somewhat. Underdown, Pride’s Purge, 153, argues that “far more than 100” Members were removed, but Worden, The Rump, 23, 387-92 makes a persuasive case that around 110 men were actively prevented from sitting though the total excluded was closer to 270 because a number of MPs withdrew either in sympathy or because they preferred not to test their chances. Underdown and Worden agree that the average attendance in the Rump was around 210. Numbers alone do not adequately explain how representative the House was, however. Years earlier, parliament split when nearly one-third of the Lords and MPs (if one includes Charles’s newly-created Lords and all men fighting for him in the field) travelled to Oxford at the king’s order and the Westminster assembly continued without them; Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 274.

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challenges. And the greatest embodiment of a challenge to the new government’s authority remained at large.

While parliament in Westminster enacted a law prohibiting a successor to Charles I, their northern neighbors registered disapproval. The morning of Charles I’s execution, the Scottish parliament voted to officially protest the proceedings of the House of Commons.11 And a few days later, Scotland proclaimed that Charles Stuart was “by the providence of God and by the lawful right of undoubted succession and descent king of Great Britain, France and Ireland,” adding that all Scottish subjects were “bound humbly and faithfully to obey, maintain and defend according to the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant”. The new king needed to “give satisfaction to this kingdom in those things that concern the security of religion

. . . according to the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant” before he would be permitted to exercise his royal authority, but even with the qualification this was an unequivocal rejection of the Commonwealth.12 Scottish legislators squarely targeted the Rump’s vulnerability. Proclaiming Charles Stuart king not only offered citizens on both sides of the border an official imprimatur to oppose the Rump, it created a champion.

The alternative to being ruled by the Rump was to recognize the authority of King

Charles II as lawful successor to his father’s throne. Parliament only defeated Charles I because it had an efficient and disciplined army fighting for its cause. Effecting the extreme solution of regicide had required military intervention in the Houses of Parliament. Buried under rhetoric about power flowing from the people was the bare fact that the Commonwealth’s true power was its ability and willingness to use brute force in the form of the New Model Army to achieve its

11 K.M. Brown et al, eds., The Records of the Parliaments of Scotland to 1707, (St Andrews, 2007-2018), 1649/1/60. (Date accessed 12 January 2018)

12 Brown, Records of the Parliaments of Scotland, 1649/1/71. (Date accessed: 12 January 2018). The Long Parliament did not purport to represent Scotland.

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aims. Confident of Scottish support, Charles II was emboldened to pursue his throne. Financial assistance from the Dutch combined with loyal English and Scottish soldiers enabled him to do so. The Rump thus faced both internal and external threats to its authority.13

The Scottish declaration of King Charles II contained an even more pernicious threat to the Rump’s authority, however. The Solemn League and Covenant provided justification for the move. Intended to advance true religion and end the division that existed betwixt the king and his subjects, The Solemn League and Covenant originated as a thinly veiled attack on the

Laudian Church of England. Many parliamentarians swore the oath. However, adherents specifically pledged “to preserve and defend the King’s Majesty’s person and authority”.14 With

Charles I dead, his son claiming his title, and the representatives of Scotland using the covenant as justification to oppose the Rump and support Charles II, the Rump had cause for serious concern. A device used to gain support for the parliamentary cause in the early days of the conflict was now being used to undermine its authority. Such claims could not go unchallenged.

A Declaration, Exprefsing the Grounds of their late Proceedings, and of Setling the prefent Government In the way of A Free State, received approval from the House on March 17 and appeared in bookstalls on March 22. This timing underscores the Rump’s increasing insecurity. The Declaration was the centerpiece of an attempt to boost the Rump’s authority and popularity. Rehearsing the tyrannical actions of Charles I and underlining the oppression that

Englishmen endured under his rule occupied the majority of the pamphlet. Justifying the radical action taken to end the war was its aim. A brief foray into political theory – arguing that precedent existed for parliamentary deposition of a king and that consent to being governed by a king did not imply consent to be governed by a tyrant – was followed by promises of just rule

13 Gardiner, C&P, 1:18, 60-4.

14 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 269.

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according the laws of the land.15 By way of conclusion, the Declaration outlined parliament’s aims going forward. Its top priority was to end the current strife and prevent further war.

Scarcely less important, however, were the lofty aims of providing “for the due Worfhip of God, according to his Word, the advancement of the true Proteftant Religion, and for the liberal and certain maintenance of Godly Minifters” and “to procure a just Liberty for the Confciences,

Perfons, and Eftates, of all men conformable to Gods glory, and their own peace”.16

Undoubtedly this was sincere. It also echoed the pledge to pursue “the reformation of religion

. . . in doctrine, worship, discipline and government, according to the Word of God, and the example of the best reformed Churches . . . [to] live in faith and love, and the Lord may delight to dwell in the midst of us” given in 1643.17 Prominently placing language similar to that of the

Solemn League and Covenant in the Declaration may have been an attempt to reassure wavering supporters that the substance of their vow (and thus their consciences) remained intact.

Carefully crafted, the Declaration sought to entice supporters with promises of Protestantism, liberty, and peace, common desires of all Englishmen. At a glance it may seem surprising that liberty of conscience was one of the freedoms specifically enumerated, but not if one recalls how dearly the Army held this principle. Restricting it to those who were “conformable to Gods glory” also offered sufficient cover to either expand or contract the promise as necessary.

The Declaration failed to achieve its purpose. Increasingly concerned about the threats to their tenuous grasp on power, the Rump attempted to consolidate its power. Francis Rous, a

Member of the Long Parliament who kept his seat at Pride’s Purge (though he did not sign

Charles I’s death warrant), mounted a valiant propaganda effort. The Lawfulness of Obeying the

15 A Declaration of the Parliament of England, 14-16, 25-7.

16 A Declaration of the Parliament of England, 25-26.

17 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 268.

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Present Government, published by Rous on April 25, 1649, provided multiple rationales for supporting the current regime. Normally treated as a milestone in the development of de factoism, I approach The Lawfulness from a different angle. The foundation of Rous’s argument was Romans 13, in which Paul urged his audience to render unto Caesar the things that are

Caesar’s and render unto God the things that are God’s.18 Implicit in this opening was the disqualification of religious objections (and possibly the Solemn League and Covenant) to the

Commonwealth. Next, Rous identified three means by which previous English governments had attained power: just conquest, title of inheritance, and “meere force”. He then presented examples of each means post-Norman Conquest. Following his brief review of English history,

Rous determined that the frequency of war and deposition indicated that any oaths taken to be faithful to the “King, his Heires, and Succeffors” must, by a plain reading, encompass the possibility that a king’s successors might not be his heirs.19 He concluded that the word

“successor” in England must mean “him that actually fucceeds in Government, and not for him that is actually excluded”.20 Aside from offering a fascinating interpretation of English dynastic history, The Lawfulness was an explicit attempt to discredit objections to the Commonwealth based on the Solemn League and Covenant.

Still the Rump sought clearer manifestations of its authority and citizens’ allegiance. A new treason act was passed in May. Fresh restrictions on the press followed.21 When Charles

Stuart issued printed declarations at the end of October reminding his subjects of “their duety to

God, their Allegiance to Vs, their feverall Oaths, & Proteftations,” the Rump was pushed to an

18 Francis Rous, The Lawfulness of Obeying the Present Government, (London: John Wright, 1649), 1.

19 Rous, The Lawfulness, 3-6, 12.

20 Rous, The Lawfulness, 12.

21 A&O, 2:120-1, 193-4, 245-54. See Chapter 2 for a full discussion of this new definition of treason and the printing act.

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even more drastic expedient.22 Months earlier the Council of State had sworn an oath of loyalty to the new commonwealth.23 Towards the end of 1649 the Rump gradually imposed the oath upon the population, until eventually all men over the age of eighteen were required to swear the

Engagement.24 In the absence of significant, sustained opposition to the new government, the imposition of the Engagement is unintelligible. Though the actual Engagement was brief – “I Do declare and promise, That I will be true and faithful to the , as it is now Established, without a King or House of Lords”25 – when the act imposing it upon the entire population passed on January 2, 1650, the outcry was immediate.

A majority of the population was happy to go along to get along – and the lives of most

Englishmen would not have differed appreciably under republican rule – but actively pledging to support the government that executed the king was another matter entirely. Contradicting a sworn oath endangered one’s soul.26 Vociferous opposition to the oath took the form of a

22 England and Wales (Charles II), His Majesties Declaration to all his loving subjects in his kingdome of England and dominion of Wales. Published with the advice of his Privie Councell, (Hage: Samuel Broun, 1649), 7.

23 Gardiner, C&P, 1:4-7 argued that the Engagement was instituted both to ensure that no member of the Council would seek self-aggrandization and to prevent a summary or military dissolution of the Parliament. Sarah Barber, “The Engagement for the Council of State and the Establishment of the Commonwealth Government,” Historical Research 63, No. 150 (February 1990): 49, rebutted Gardiner, arguing that the Engagement was an attempt to erect a coherent political ideology that “came unstuck at an early state”. While Barber corrects many of the factual elements of Gardiner’s account, the two positions are not necessarily incompatible.

24 CJ, 6:306, 320-1, 337, 342. The Council of State had sworn several versions of the Engagement in February 1649. October 11, 1649 saw the Rump extend the requirement to its members and to any future MPs. Sheriffs were ordered to take the Engagement as part of their oath of office on November 7, 1649. Two days later, on November 9, a committee was appointed to make plans for requiring all Englishmen to swear the Engagement. While it took some time for the bill to be drafted and passed, this was accomplished by January 2, 1650.

25 A&O, 2:325. Edward Vallance, “Protestation, Vow, Covenant and Engagement: Swearing Allegiance in the English Civil War,” Historical Research 75, No. 190 (November 2002): 422, argued that the version of the Engagement tendered to the population at large contained diction specifically designed so that takers did not feel they were agreeing with the method by which the Commonwealth had been established.

26 Swearing an oath while harboring any doubts about its lawfulness or about one’s ability to fulfill it was the accepted early modern definition of perjury; see John Spurr, “‘The Strongest Bond of Conscience’: Oaths and the Limits of Tolerance in Early Modern England,” in Contexts of Conscience in Early Modern Europe, 1500-1700 ed. Harald E. Braun and Edward Vallance, (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 157. Jonathan Michael Gray, “So Help Me God: Oaths and the English Reformation,” (PhD diss., Stanford University, 2008), 10-12, 538-41, has shown that, since both Henry VIII and Elizabeth I established their preferred ecclesiastical settlements through the use of oaths (a practice which Jesuits detested), the practices of breaking oaths or swearing oaths with mental

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pamphlet war popularly known as the Engagement Controversy. “Engagers” defended the

Commonwealth with a wide variety of rationales against men who denied the legitimacy of the government. Scholars have been drawn to the Engagement Controversy because it offers an opportunity to observe the development of political theory in real time.27 Leviathan, Thomas

Hobbes’s contribution to the Western canon, has also been linked to the Engagement

Controversy.28 In addition to illustrating the depth of opposition to the Commonwealth, the episode reveals the intensity of the new government’s insecurity. Vocal supporters of the Rump

“abandoned for two or three years the high-minded claims of the revolution to represent the people, and fell back on the categorical assertion that the victors had a just title to rule by right of providence.”29 In other words, while parliament claimed de iure legitimacy from the

Declaration, it was clear they perceived their position as sufficiently tenuous as to accept the support offered by de facto theorists. An extended analysis of the various arguments put forth by

Engagers and opponents is not necessary to appreciate this fact. reservations became associated with the Jesuits. Aside from the serious spiritual ramifications of perjury, oath- breaking would thus associate one with the most hated portion of the English Catholic community. Vallance, “Protestation, Vow, Covenant and Engagement,” 408-424, has complicated this view by showing there was a special brand of Protestant equivocation that was widely used during the Civil War and Interregnum. Because the penalties for refusing to swear oaths were so severe, some Englishmen (both laity and clergy) equivocated in a “Protestant” manner to avoid forswearing themselves.

27 See, for example, Glenn Burgess, “Usurpation, Obligation and Obedience in the Thought of the Engagement Controversy,” The Historical Journal 29, No. 3 (September 1986): 515-36, who argues that de facto thinking was essentially providentialist; Edward Vallance, “Oaths, Casuistry, and Equivocation: Anglican Responses to the Engagement Controversy,” The Historical Journal 44, No. 1 (March 2001): 59-77, who traces the development of peculiarly Protestant conceptions of casuistry; David Martin Jones, Conscience and Allegiance in Seventeenth Century England: The Political Significance of Oaths and Engagements, (Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 1999), 148-58, examines how casuistry existed on both sides of the debate.

28 Quentin Skinner, “Conquest and Consent: Thomas Hobbes and the Engagement Controversy,” in The Interregnum: The Quest for Settlement, 1646-1660 edited by G.E. Aylmer, (Archon Books, 1972): 94. Skinner does not argue that Leviathan was intended as an intervention in the Engagement Controversy but rather posits that the timing of the work’s publication provided a systematic formulation of what the de facto theorists supporting the Commonwealth had been arguing.

29 John M. Wallace, “The Engagement Controversy 1649-1652: An Annotated List of Pamphlets,” Bulletin of the New York Public Library 68 (1964): 384. Edward Vallance, Revolutionary England and the National Covenant: State Oaths, Protestantism and the Political Nation, 1553-1682, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2005), 165-9, similarly argues that the Rump was so desperate for legitimation that it even sanctioned (at least tacitly) the practice of taking the Engagement with mental reservations.

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Three years of printed debate ended in November 1653 when the Nominated Assembly partially repealed the oath. Long before then, however, it became moot. The majority of the population subscribed, though not necessarily sincerely.30 And the immediate threat to the

Commonwealth receded. General Cromwell twice vanquished Stuart loyalists in battle: Dunbar on September 3, 1650 and Worcester on September 3, 1651. These catastrophic defeats forced

Charles II to flee the country. A distant and defeated foe did not immediately imperil the regime.

No visible alternative source of authority remained in the British Isles after Worcester.

Following these military victories, the Rump tried a new tactic to encourage allegiance.

MPs extended an olive branch to royalists. The Act of General Pardon and Oblivion passed on

February 24, 1652 belatedly delivered on the promise of peace made three years earlier in the

Declaration. In order to settle the kingdom in peace and freedom and bury “in perpetual

Oblivion” all the “Rancour and Evil Will occasioned by the late Differences”, parliament pardoned all crimes committed before September 3, 1651. If the pardon had been offered in good faith, designed to draw a veil over the turmoil of the preceding decade, history of the

Interregnum may have been very different. Exceptions to the general pardon rendered it laughably ineffective. Post-regicide rebellion – including Charles II’s recent campaign – was not pardoned. Nor were sequestration fines eliminated.31 The Act of General Pardon and Oblivion was essentially a rhetorical ploy.

What is the significance of the Rump’s various attempts to assert its authority and ensure the allegiance of Englishmen? First, they exposed a flaw in the Rump’s reasoning. Because

30 Wallace, “The Engagement Controversy,” 387. Vallance, “Protestation, Vow, Covenant and Engagement,” 423, believes that the Engagement was not as widely tendered as usually believed. Though he acknowledges that taking the Engagement was a prerequisite for legal proceedings, he argues that judicial scruples may have meant it was only broadly imposed “in areas where zealously republican officials . . . were in control.”

31 A&O, 2:565-577. For a discussion of the act’s ineffectiveness, see C.H. Firth, “The Royalists under the Protectorate,” The English Historical Review 52, No. 208 (October 1937): 637; David Underdown, Royalist Conspiracy in England, 1649-1660, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960), 58.

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Rumpers claimed to represent and derive their authority from the people while enforcing a minority agenda with military force, they were vulnerable to challenges from multiple quarters.

Charles II was, at least until September 1651, the most serious of these threats, but the resistance to the Engagement revealed a more pernicious, passive form of opposition to the government.

Though the Commonwealth weathered the storm and imposed the Engagement broadly, accepting the support of de facto Engagers ultimately compounded its problem by promoting the appearance that the Rump’s claim of de iure sovereignty was disingenuous. Second, they exposed the reactionary nature of the government. No comprehensive statement of the parliament’s right to rule was formulated or disseminated; propaganda sprinkled with political theory appeared in response to threats. Insecurity was the only consequence in this instance, but

Rumpers’ inability to comprehend the intricately intertwined nature of ruling England created larger problems in other areas of governance.

A Beacon set on Fire

Regicide removed a tyrant from power but did not resolve the tyranny the Church of

England wielded over men’s consciences. Commonwealth governors initially focused on solidifying their position, but they could not long postpone ecclesiastical reform. Neither their own nor the Army’s scruples would permit the continuation of a system that forced men to worship in opposition to their consciences. An ordinance passed May 9, 1644 removed all idols and other vestiges of the Laudian “beauty of holiness” program; another ordinance passed in

January 1645 abolished the Book of Common Prayer.32 Odious ceremonial aspects of the

Caroline Church of England were thus dismantled. And, as I showed in Chapter 2, in September

32 A&O, 1:425-6, 582.

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1650 the Rump liberated tender consciences. Both of these reforms were essentially negative acts: obnoxious practices ended but there was no accompanying positive plan for the national church. Initially this failure passed unnoticed. Anxiety born of the Anglo-Dutch rivalry that escalated into full-blown war combined with bold (yet accurate) assertions that the legal landscape liberated Catholics in addition to Protestants added to the malaise that haunted

Westminster. Debates over the religious settlement (or lack thereof) illustrated how disorganization created a space in which papists could conceivably creep in and obliterate the providential opportunity to create a godly republic.

The United Provinces of the Netherlands were the new Commonwealth’s natural allies.

The only two Protestant in Europe, both countries had gained their independence through revolt. The Rump envisioned a grand alliance, possibly even a union, of the two nations.33 Believing that the United Provinces were “committed to the crusade against Popery and tyranny” the Rump anticipated a joint venture against the papacy.34 But the Dutch, content with their position, declined the offer. Shattering the idealized English view of the United

Provinces, Rumpers explained the United Provinces’ reluctance for a union as a sinful prioritization of avarice over religion.35 Traditionally these accusations led to an economic explanation for the increasing bellicosity: mercantile rivalry escalated over time and war was the logical, if economically ruinous, culmination of this trend. The protectionist Act for increase of

Shipping, and Encouragement of the Navigation of this Nation (popularly known as the

Navigation Act), designed to promote English shipping at the expense of the Dutch, passed on

33 Steven C.A. Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism: Ideologies and the Making of English Foreign Policy, 1650- 1668, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 25-6.

34 Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism, 19-22, 38. Pincus demonstrates that this idea was universally popular in parliament, even uniting factions normally at odds. The rationales MPs used to support this course differed but, until 1653, agreed on the end: an aggressive foreign policy focused on promoting Protestantism.

35 Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism, 36-8, 78-9.

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October 9, 1651 was used as evidence that the first Anglo-Dutch war was essentially an enlarged trade dispute.36

Steven Pincus has rebutted this conventional interpretation. Viewing the accusations of avarice levied against the Dutch as fundamentally religious, rather than economic, he convincingly argues that the Anglo-Dutch War which erupted on May 19, 1652 was an expression of the Rump’s deep disappointment at the Dutch rebuff. Men who attributed their current position to divine providence had to seek an equally religious explanation for this roadblock. Avarice, a deadly sin, was identified as the root of this inexplicable division. A perceived slight – Dutch Admiral Van Tromp’s refusal to strike his topsail when encountering

English Admiral Blake, followed by sightings of Dutch ships sporting Charles Stuart’s monarchical colors – precipitated the war itself. Insecurity regarding the Commonwealth’s position and stature in the eyes of other nations thus led to war. Primed to view Dutch actions through a negative lens due to their rejection of a providential alliance, Pincus has shown how religious anxiety combined with political anxiety to yield war. Challenges with the English ecclesiastical settlement, I argue, further exacerbated this anxiety.

Mere weeks before the formal declaration of war, the depths of disagreement over the religious settlement erupted into the public sphere. At stake was the degree of control the state would exercise over the population’s worship, though the issue was not framed in those terms.

In the spring of 1652, MPs considered a positive, comprehensive ecclesiastical settlement. John

Owen, Dean of Christ Church, Oxford and Cromwell’s personal chaplain, joined “divers” ministers to formulate a new model for the Church of England. Aimed at “the furtherance and propagation of the Gofpel in this Nation,” the Humble Proposals encapsulated the program of

36 A&O, 2:559-62.

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the group Sarah Cook has called the “Congregational Independents”.37 This loosely-affiliated group of politicians and Army officers advocated for limited liberty of conscience while the civil state encouraged the spread of Protestantism.38 As specified in the Humble Proposals, England would finally have an educated clergy. The civil state retained control over the preaching and administration of the church: ministers would be accountable to parliament through a county- based system of examination.39 Attendance at national church services was not an element of the

Humble Proposals, though they did require that all residents of the nation attend some sort of public worship service on the Lord’s day, and that local officials be informed of these meetings.40 In short, the Humble Proposals would achieve the godly’s long-sought goal of an educated preaching ministry but retain liberty of conscience for the Army. Importantly, Owen offered parliament multiple tools for controlling religious behavior while appearing to do nothing of the sort.

“[D]ivers ministers” including Owen presented the Humble Proposals to the Rump on

February 10.41 The Journal notes that the ministers presented a petition together with a “printed book”, indicating that the Humble Proposals may have circulated from mid-February though

Thomason dates it to March 31. A week later, the ministers presented the proposals to a parliamentary committee appointed specially for the occasion. Word of the ministers’ scheme and parliament’s openness to suggestion spread, resulting in a proliferation of counter-

37 et al., The Humble Proposals, (London: Robert Ibbitson, 1652), 3.

38 Sarah Gibbard Cook, “The Congregational Independents and the Cromwellian Constitutions,” Church History 46, No. 3 (September 1977): 338-9; Carolyn Polizzotto, “The Campaign against The Humble Proposals of 1652,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 38, No. 4 (October 1987): 569, uses a less rigorously defined framework to explore why sectaries felt betrayed when the “Congregational Independents” (to borrow Cook’s term) rallied behind Owen’s proposal.

39 Owen, The Humble Proposals, 3.

40 Owen, The Humble Proposals, 5-6.

41 CJ, 7:86.

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proposals.42 The Fourth Paper, Presented by Major Butler proposed a radically different settlement for the national church. Noted independent divine Roger Williams joined the titular

William Butler in advocating for complete liberation of conscience.43 Williams, of course, is best known for establishing a colony in New England because his views were too outlandish for a variety of Massachusetts congregations.44

The Fourth Paper derided the Humble Proposals as replicating the “Soul-Bars and Yokes which our Fathers have laid upon the neck of this Nation” instead of steering away from “the

Rocks on which our Fathers (as touching a State-Religion) both Papift and Proteftant have made moft woful fhipwrack.”45 Mandatory attendance at services on the sabbath not only constituted

“the foundation of all the perfectuion and confufion which hath been in the Churches”, it also directly contradicted the example Jesus set when commissioning his preachers.46 Propagating the Gospel should not require licenses, let alone commissions issued by a committee of approbation; true preachers were animated by the Holy Spirit alone. The authors did not stop there, however. Even if they were to grant the need for preaching commissions, the authors

42 Geoffrey F. Nuttall, “Presbyterians and Independents: Some Movements for Unity 300 Years Ago,” The Journal of the Presbyterian Historical Society of England 10, (1952), 5; Peter Toon, God’s Statesman: The Life and Work of John Owen, Pastor, Educator, Theologian, (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 1971), 83-5. Toon suggests that the parliamentary committee actively invited alternative proposals but does not cite a source for this.

43 Paul H. Hardacre, “William Boteler: A Cromwellian Oligarch,” Huntington Library Quarterly 11, No. 1 (November 1947): 3, argues that Major Butler was an alternate spelling of Boteler, and that the man who would later receive a commission as Major-General and is known for his uncompromising imposition of harsh puritan principles, inexplicably joined Williams in 1652. Christopher Durston, Cromwell’s Major-Generals: Godly Government during the English Revolution, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 46, argues far more convincingly that the author was not Boteler, but more likely Captain William Butler, who is known for his deep commitment to universal toleration and advocated for this position at the Whitehall debates.

44 Francis J. Bremer, “Williams, Roger (c. 1606-1683),” DNB.

45 R.W. [Roger Williams], The Fourth Paper, Presented by Major Butler, To the Honourable Committee of Parliament, for the Propagating the Gospel of Christ Jesus. Which Paper was humbly owned, and was, and is attended to be made good by Major Butler, Mr. Charles Vane, Col. Danvers, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Wall and Mr. Turner. Also A Letter from Mr. Goad, to Major Butler, upon occasion of the said Paper and Proposals. Together with A Testimony to the said fourth Paper, By way of Explanation upon the four Proposals of it, (London: Printed for Giles Calvert, 1652), 17.

46 [Williams], The Fourth Paper, 8, 12.

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absolutely rejected the notion that parliament had the authority to grant such approbation.

Turning the Commonwealth’s rhetoric back upon it, The Fourth Paper noted parliament could only give “what the People gave the Parliament their Reprefentative; which could not poffibly be a Spiritual and Soul-power.”47 Even with the attempt to coopt General Cromwell’s statement that he would “rather that Mahumetanifm were permitted amongst us, then that one of Gods

Children fhould be perfecuted”, and in so doing appeal to the Army, The Fourth Paper’s non- settlement never had a realistic chance of being enacted.48 What it did was underscore the broad range of potential ecclesiastical settlements and strike once again at the extent of the

Commonwealth’s authority. The strict limits The Fourth Paper placed upon the Rump’s powers showed that the government had to worry about attacks on its legitimacy ecclesiastically as well as politically.

One point on which both the Humble Proposals and The Fourth Paper expressed agreement was that England was a Protestant nation. Privately, it appeared that not all men were convinced Catholics should necessarily be excluded from these conferences. Richard Baxter, a conservative puritan minister, conceded in a letter to John Durie, one of the signatories to the

Humble Proposals, that he believed “there are godly persons among” the papists. Further, he thought these upstanding Catholics might be admitted to discussions about church government and liberty of conscience after the Protestants had united among themselves.49 A few years in the future Williams argued that freedom of worship should be extended to all men, including

47 [Williams], The Fourth Paper, 16.

48 [Williams], The Fourth Paper, Epistle to the Christian Reader.

49 Nuttall, “Presbyterians and Independents,” 8. It is unclear from the context whether Baxter thought that the papists should be admitted as part of a “pious and laudable” attempt to convert them or to formally establish an English Catholic community with restrictions, similar to the Huguenots in France.

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Papists, Jews, and Turks. 50 Tolerating Catholicism was not on the Commonwealth’s agenda in

1652, however.

While the Rump and Protestant ministers pondered how much control the state should wield over consciences, a bold soul provocatively argued that the matter had already been decided. Coopting Protestant rhetoric, John Austin argued that any definition of “tender consciences” sufficiently broad to shelter all manner of Protestants could not conceivably exclude Catholics. Publishing under the pseudonym William Birchley, Austin used The

Christian Moderator to present a fictional epistolary exchange between the author and a recusant.51 In the course of this drawn-out explication, the recusant convinces the author that

“the meafures I had cut out for tender Confciences would fit the Papists as well as if they had been made for them.”52 Parts of Austin’s treatise fall flat but his argument that most members of the English Catholic community met the requirements to enjoy liberty of conscience were accurate.53 The Christian Moderator, printed in 1651, may have inspired the clear prohibition on

Catholicism in the Humble Proposals a few months later.

With ministers dueling over the ecclesiastical settlement in print and at least one Catholic joining the fray, all the pieces were in place for another public debate. The Beacon Controversy encapsulated the attitudes toward the church settlement and, conducted in the shadow of the

Anglo-Dutch war, reflected serious anxiety that the providential opportunity to establish a godly nation was slipping away amidst internecine squabbling. Little attention has been paid to the

50 Francis J. Bremer, “Williams, Roger (c. 1606-1683),” DNB; [Williams], The Fourth Paper, 3, 18-19, did, however, make a case for the readmission of the Jews to England. Owen, The Humble Proposals, 3-4, assumed that Catholics could not become ministers, and also made provision for removing popish schoolmasters.

51 J. Blom and F. Blom, “Austin, John [pseud. William Birchley] (1613-1669),” DNB.

52 William Birchley, The Christian Moderator: Or, Persecution for Religion Condemned, (H.J., 1651), 8.

53 Austin’s attempts to refute charges of idolatry and disloyalty are the least convincing parts of his treatise. Otherwise, he makes a strong case that Catholics live peaceably, are constant in their faith (even suffering for their beliefs), and scrupulously observe the law.

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debate, especially in comparison with the other public debate over the basis of the religio- political settlement, the Engagement Controversy. Thomas Clancy argued that the affair concerned freedom of the press and minimized the religious implications of the pamphlet war.54

Jeffrey Collins also views The Beacon Controversy as a debate over censorship, though he argues that it constituted the first attempt to suppress Thomas Hobbes’s Leviathan. Collins acknowledges the effect of other issues upon the pamphlet war though this is ancillary to his focus on the initial reactions to the publication of Leviathan.55 In contrast, Clancy dismisses the content of the pamphlets as unimportant, merely a vessel for the censorship debate. This subject matter – the printing of Catholic books – is, I argue, important in itself and aligned with various groups’ efforts to mold the Church of England. Approaching the incident as part of the discussion Owen, Williams, and even Austin had in public in the preceding months adds weight to the affair and provides insight into the consequences of the Rump’s failure to settle the church.

A group of stationers alerted the nation to dangers stemming from the current ecclesiastical state. A Beacon set on Fire appeared on September 21, 1652, six months after parliament effectively abandoned the Humble Proposals and four months after England formally declared war against the United Provinces.56 Anxiety that the work of the Reformation had stalled pervades the pamphlet. Praising the intentions of the Parliament with regard to the extirpation of popery and their aims toward “the higheft degrees of Reformation, even beyond

Presbytery it felf,” they nonetheless feared that, in the absence of a positive church settlement,

54 Thomas H. Clancy, “The Beacon Controversy, 1652-1657,” Recusant History 9, No. 2 (April 1967): 63.

55 Jeffrey Collins, “Silencing Thomas Hobbes: The Presbyterians and Leviathan,” in The Cambridge Companion to Hobbes’s Leviathan ed. Patricia Springborg, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 483, 487-8.

56 Toon, God’s Statesman, 84-8. Toon notes that the proliferation of alternative proposals – particularly The Fourth Paper – inspired Owen and his group to add doctrinal components to the Humble Proposals. Entirely orthodox in content, this addition nonetheless offended Cromwell and consequently the Humble Proposals were dead in the water.

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Jesuits and similar degenerates were taking advantage of the void to promote popery.57 A populace bereft of strong guidance from the government might gravitate toward “the old vanquifh’d Popifh Party, Jefuits and Papifts,” who indefatigably endeavored to entice the populace back into the bosom of Rome. More worryingly, these stationers reckoned that thirty thousand popish books had been printed in the last three years and were circulating throughout the nation, undermining true religion. The Christian Moderator was among them.58 To prevent the harm these books were undoubtedly causing, the stationers pleaded for stringent enforcement of the licensing requirements. While the concluding – and undoubtedly sincere, if economically motivated – plea of the authors was to reinstitute controls on the press, thus leading Clancy and

Collins to view the pamphlet as well as all responses to it as concerned with censorship, the concerns which produced this plea were unquestionably religious in nature.

Two weeks later, another stationer (who seemed slightly disgruntled at not being invited to join the beacon-firers) registered his objections. Michael Sparke was a deeply committed and politicized Protestant. Regulatory authorities under Charles I frequently censured Sparke for publishing William Prynne’s works: he was summoned to Star Chamber, fined hundreds of pounds, and even pilloried on one occasion.59 A Second Beacon fired by Scintilla appeared on

October 4 and echoed the concerns expressed in its namesake. It too expressed anxiety that the

Reformation was being abandoned only partly finished.60 Praising the parliament for having

“made a greater profeffion for Reformation, then any heretofore” and taking “exceeding care in

57 Luke Fawne et al, A Beacon Set On Fire, (London, 1652), 4-5.

58 Fawne, A Beacon Set On Fire, 5-6, 9-16. They helpfully provided a list of these popish books they hoped would be suppressed.

59 S.A. Baron, “Sparke, Michael (b. in or before 1586, d. 1653),” DNB.

60 Michael Sparke, A Second Beacon fired by Scintilla: with his humble information and joynt attestation to the truth of his brethrens former declaration & catalogue, that fired the first Beacon, (London: Printed for the Author, 1652), 10-11.

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demolifhing Images, Pictures in windowes, and burning fome Books that have been Popifh and

Erroneous, and alfo fome few Balfphemous and Scandalous Books,” he nonetheless lamented the numerous works that escaped parliamentary attention. As a product of this laxity he bemoaned

“how people fwarme to Maffes, and the Gentry do fend their daughters to make Nuns”. He urged

MPs to “Look with your eyes, hear with your Ears, pity with your Hearts, and confider, O confider, the grievous complaint, (and not without caufe) True Religion is corrupted”.61

Licensing controls were also his proposed solution. Frustrated with what they perceived as the failure to realize the work of the revolution, the stationers proposed press control as an easy means of stemming increasing licentiousness that endangered souls.

But they did not merely request the reinstatement of licensing requirements. A nefarious attempt to undermine the Reformation spearheaded by Jesuits made such action imperative.

Europe’s two Protestant republics, both of whom had battled to earn that designation, were at war. Some viewed this conflict as part of a popish conspiracy to divide the two commonwealths, a view that appealed to providentialists who could not otherwise explain the Anglo-Dutch War.62

And in the midst of this conflict, as Sparke observed, attendance at embassy masses increased.

The Christian Moderator made a compelling case that Catholics should enjoy the fruits of godly labor. When combined, these elements – proliferation of popish books, war with a Protestant republic, visible attendance at mass – could easily be perceived as a nefarious popish plot that was flourishing amidst the lack of an ecclesiastical settlement. If February’s dueling proposals for the national church settlement were insufficient evidence of the difficulties in political settlement of religious matters, replies to the stationers revealed why, in the face of creeping popery, the Commonwealth permitted this state of affairs to persist.

61 Sparke, Second Beacon fired by Scintilla, 5, 7.

62 Mercurius Politicus 154 (May 19-26, 1653), 2466; Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism, 185-9.

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Explicitly responding to the stationers’ plea and obliquely denouncing the Humble

Proposals, a coalition of army officers and concerned citizens published their own manifesto.

Opening with vivid imagery, The Beacons Quenched accused presbyterians of conjuring up a second iteration of the Gunpowder Plot in order to distract parliament from the true danger threatening “your Selves, the Councill, and Army, our Victories, our Families, our Freedoms,” namely the titular “Machivilian defign of the Prefbyterians”.63 The authors opposed any form of coercive church organization, citing the nation’s deliverance from both “a Prelatical bondage, and a Presbyterian flavery”.64 Though popery had been considered the greatest threat to English

Protestantism for much of the previous century, the authors of The Beacons Quenched took the bold and unusual step of declaring “that this rigid party of foul-drivers hath been the onely confiderable party that hath oppofed all along the proceedings and eftablifhment of our

Parliament and Common-wealth, even beyond all Jefuits and Popifh party whatfoever”.65 While the framing of this statement is by no stretch of the imagination an endorsement of popery, arguing that presbyterians were worse than papists was a radical stance. Colonel Thomas Pride, the man who effected the eponymous Pride’s Purge four years earlier, was the first signatory of the prefatory epistle. This was the underlying reason the ecclesiastical settlement remained unresolved. Aside from widely divergent opinions on the matter – as seen with the Humble

Proposals and The Fourth Paper – the Army, the source of the Rump’s authority, would not countenance restrictions on their consciences, let alone presbyterianism. Most would not go so far as to label presbyterianism worse than popery but opposition to the control exerted by elders

63 Thomas Pride et al, The Beacons Quenched: Or The Humble Information of divers Officers of the Army, and other wel-affected persons, to the Parliament and Commonwealth of England; Concerning the Machivilian defign of the Presbyterians, now carrying on by the Stationers of London, (London: Henry Hils, 1652), 6.

64 Pride, The Beacons Quenched, 9.

65 Pride, The Beacons Quenched, 10.

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and even the lesser control exerted by requiring approbation of preachers was widespread among soldiers.

This radical repositioning of Catholicism vis-a-vis presbyterianism did not go unchallenged. The Beacon Flameing, a robust riposte to The Beacons Quenched, rolled off the presses December 15. The same committee of concerned citizens who wrote A Beacon Set on

Fire read The Beacons Quenched as an invitation for Jesuits and blasphemers to come into

England and preach.66 Appalled that “thofe that have given up their Name to the Proteftant

Caufe . . . fhould plead for a General Toleration,” The Beacon Flameing proceeded to a point- by-point refutation of everything contained in The Beacons Quenched. Their primary concern was to demonstrate that liberty of conscience should have clearly defined limits. In particular, the authors repeatedly emphasized that idolaters, heretics, blasphemers, and, of course, papists, would necessarily be excluded from any appropriate religious settlement; they argued that abundant Scriptural evidence supported the role of the magistrate in suppressing such odious practices.67 While the Army officers declined to respond a second time, the stationers felt it necessary to renew their cautions and pleas two years later, when the Commonwealth had perished and Oliver Cromwell presided as Lord Protector. A Second Beacon Fired, Humbly

Presented to the Lord Protector and the Parliament by the Publishers of the First appeared on

October 17, 1654, as the first Protectorate Parliament was in the midst of its grand debate of whether to accept the Instrument of Government (and consequently the Army’s ecclesiastical

66 [Francis Cheynell] et al, The Beacon Flameing with a non obstante: or a Justification of The Firing of the Beacon, by way of animadversion Upon the Book entituled The Beacon’s Quenched, Subscribed Col. Pride, &c., (London: Printed by Abraham Miller, 1652), epistle to the reader. Francis Cheynell is not one of the signatories but listed as the author by the British Library.

67 [Cheynell], The Beacon Flameing, 12, 14-16.

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settlement).68 In form and substance it was similar to the original Beacon set on Fire – warning of the danger unchristian sects posed to the nation, providing a list of blasphemous and erroneous books printed recently, and hailing reinstatement of licensing controls as the solution to this problem – but the authors worried not only about popery, but also the threat posed by

“Socinianifme, and inchanting Quakerifme”.69 Economic self-interest again emerged in pleas to limit freedom of the press, but this was intermingled with serious concern about the state of the

Reformation and the effects of the Army’s leniency toward tender consciences.

The vehemence with which the stationers denounced the army officers for suggesting that popery was no longer the most serious and immediate threat to English Protestantism speaks to the legacy of anti-Catholicism in England. But by the same token, the fact that Pride and other army officers were willing to venture even the sparsest defense of Catholicism spoke volumes about their religious radicalism. A scant ten years earlier, the fact that King Charles I was married to a Catholic and, in accordance with the terms of their marriage treaty, permitted her to attend mass, was a major motivating factor in the beginning of the Civil War. Now certain segments of the army argued for liberty of conscience and did not categorically exclude

Catholics from potentially enjoying the same freedom. The Humble Proposals, The Fourth

Paper, and the Beacon Controversy made clear that the question of the optimal English religio- political settlement was very much open and opinions on the matter encompassed such a broad spectrum that compromise would be nearly impossible.

Ample evidence that the Reformation – and the godly Commonwealth that should be promoting it – was under siege by popish forces existed for any who cared to look. Perfecting

68 This was the major issue that preoccupied the first Protectorate Parliament. For more about this issue, see Chapter 4.

69 Luke Fawne, A Second Beacon Fired. Humbly Presented to the Lord Protector and the Parliament by the Publishers of the First (London: Printed for the Subscribers hereof, 1654), 1.

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the Reformation by introducing a new ecclesiastical settlement and ordering other government functions (such as press controls) to suit would have thwarted this popish conspiracy and fulfilled the providential promise Rumpers saw in their victory over King Charles I. Insecure and concerned about the loyalty of its citizens – which had been called into question during the

Engagement Controversy – the Commonwealth could not afford to alienate the Army whose officers who refused to countenance anything other than expansive liberty of conscience.

Providing a backdrop to both the Engagement and Beacon Controversies was the English

Catholic community. Most Catholics were not as bold as Austin in publishing their views, but their behavior nonetheless supported paranoid suppositions about a concerted papal effort to undermine the Commonwealth, as we shall now see.

Catholics under the Commonwealth

Fear of a popish plot sparked the Civil War. Initially, godly Englishmen rejoiced when the tyrannical Charles I was executed and tender consciences were liberated. But by 1652 with the reformation apparently stalled, the pope’s hand was once again detected in England. In such a climate, harsh treatment of the English Catholic community would be expected. Even without rumors of a popish plot, with radical Protestants governing the country, a crackdown on the

English Catholic community was the natural response. Yet this did not occurr.

Financially, there is no question that Catholics suffered under the Commonwealth.

Subject to sequestration of their estates, the state extracted a heavy price from men on the basis of their religious affiliation. In all other respects, however, the regime was shockingly lenient.

Rhetorically, the Commonwealth denounced papists, blaming them for discord and division.

Priests were occasionally arrested. But the recusancy laws were not amended, nor were priests

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routinely executed. The bifurcation of action and rhetoric is only explicable if the regime was able to – and did – differentiate between papists and catholics.

I argue that the regime’s insecurity manifested in anti-papist rhetoric. Perceived as owing allegiance elsewhere, papists threatened the Commonwealth, especially given their links to the alternative source of authority in the nation: Charles Stuart. Catholics, on the other hand, were known quantities. Their religious practices might have been offensive, but they were loyal

Englishmen who did not inherently threaten the Commonwealth. At moments when danger seemed particularly acute, temporary measures were instituted for extra security, but no permanent action was taken.

A significant factor in this was the paradox the English Catholic community presented.

Representing a serious hazard to the regime’s authority as a group, individual catholics did no such thing, especially given the heavy fines levied upon them. And the regime was dependent upon these payments, commissioning reports on the “Abftract of the yearly Values of the Eftates of Papifts, Delinquents, and Two Third Parts of Papifts under Sequeftrations,” to accurately assess the financial value of popery to the state.70 The concept and system of sequestration used by parliament to extract revenue from royalists during the Civil War was based upon Charles I’s attempt to compound with recusants in the late 1620s. But, as Eilish Gregory has recently shown, Parliament “revolutionised the sequestration process by using it as a financial tool to punish both religious and political enemies”.71 Because the sequestration process was implemented in time of war, Gregory argues, persons who posed the greatest threat to the parliament were prioritized as targets for the committee. Catholics were at the bottom of this

70 CJ, 6:511.

71 Eilish Marguerita Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration during the English Revolution, 1642-60,” (PhD diss., University College London, 2017), 40.

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hierarchy, and, she further shows, the committee differentiated between classes of papist.72

Gregory makes a compelling case that this ability to differentiate between types of papist allowed some Catholics to escape relatively unscathed, even claiming that they were only in royalist garrisons because they feared religious persecution at the hands of puritans, though

“papists in arms” were heavily fined.73 Ultimately, she convincingly demonstrates that the

Rump valued political loyalty above religious affiliation, and if catholics could prove that they were well-affected to the Commonwealth, they stood a decent chance of escaping some, if not all, financial penalties. Gregory’s focus is limited to Catholic laymen who navigated the byzantine system of petitioning to avoid fines. Her research, while providing a useful backdrop for my own, deliberately ignores the clerics who are the focus of this section.

While the Rump determined the financial penalties and periodically considered updates to the legal code that would have affected Catholics, MPs took no part in executing the laws they made. It fell to the Council of State, as the executive authority in the country, to enforce the law and to reprimand foreign diplomats for their abuses of ambassadorial privilege. While many

Councillors also held seats in the House, they strictly separated the tasks of drafting new legislation and enforcing existing law. Further, because the Council’s primary responsibility was to suppress support for Charles Stuart’s pretended claim to the throne, unless there was strong evidence that papists were involved in such activities, the English Catholic community did not merit significant attention. This prioritization, I will show, applied even to Catholic priests, who were unambiguously traitors by the laws of the land.

Tumult and frantic efforts to consolidate power characterized the first months of the

Commonwealth, as seen above. As the dust settled and retaining power was no longer

72 Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration,” 86-8.

73 Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration,” 96-7, 166, 211.

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governors’ all-consuming focus, Catholics appeared on the radar. Early in October 1649, the

Council of State, being “informed there are divers Popifh Priefts now refiding in or neere the

Cittyes of London & Weftm & many other places of this Nation,” decided that the prudent course of action was to eliminate the threat. A warrant to search for the priests along with their harborers, and seek out “Mifsalls & Breviaryes & all other veftments & utencells belonging to the Mafse” was issued. Major Jackson and Peter Gifford were permitted to enlist the aid of both civil and military officers in their pursuit of these malefactors.74 For the next three months, Peter

Gifford (or Giffard) was the face of the regime’s hunt for Catholics, robbers, and counterfeiters.75 Pleased with Gifford’s success, the Council of State rewarded him “for his paynes” and encouraged him to expand his efforts in the future.76 Adept at discovering concealed sums of money as well as persons, Gifford informed the Council about the importation of illegal goods in December and a Benedictine who inherited his family estate.77 Gifford’s tenure as the Council’s pursuivant of choice proved to be short-lived.78 But the policy that he represented continued.

74 TNA SP 25/63/2 f.123.

75 Two Peter Giffords appear in the State Papers during the Civil War and Interregnum periods. Though Gifford the pursuivant is never identified by hometown or occupation (beyond occasionally receiving the designation of “Gent”, it is easy to distinguish between the two men. The other Gifford was a well-known recusant in Staffordshire who offered Charles II refuge in his priest hole after the ; see Gardiner, C&P, 2:50-52 for more details. For this act of treason against the Commonwealth, the Rump passed an act placing his estates for sale in order to raise money for the navy; A&O, 2:591-592.

76 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 192.

77 Council Order Book, December 10, 1649, SP 25/63/2 ff. 375-376.

78 In late January 1650 a committee was appointed “to Examine what is obiected ag[ain]st Mr Gifford”; TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 566. The following day he was apprehended by soldiers and imprisoned; TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 570. In March, a Mary Hulme was permitted to “take her legall course against Peter Gifford” and the pursuivant was remanded in custody at the pleasure of the Council; TNA SP 25/64 f. 128. A month later, Gifford was released on £200 bail upon condition of appearing when summoned; CSPD 1650, 516. Following his release, Gifford laid low for several years. It appears, however, that the temptation to use his knowledge of the government’s prize system to his financial advantage was too great, for in December 1654 he was implicated as part of a ring of counterfeiters forging public faith bills and swindling thousands of pounds from the government; TNA SP 18/77 f. 166v; TNA SP 18/77 f. 171.

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Embassy masses had been a point of contention for multiple regimes and the Council took aim at this flagrant abuse of diplomatic privilege. Councillors knew of priests residing with the Spanish ambassador.79 One of their informants in this matter spoke from personal observations; was a renegade Benedictine turned Anglican minister who gave “the

Councell fome information concerning fome Preifts now in England contrary to the Lawes” in

November 1649.80 Possibly because they wished to make an example without risking an international incident, the Council targeted Anthony Fortescue. Mr. Fortescue claimed to be an agent from the Duke of Lorraine and took this employment as license to behave as an ambassador. Even credentialed ambassadors accepted at court were barred from permitting their clerical attachés from ministering to Englishmen; for Fortescue to do so was inviting attention from the regime. Serjeant Dendy, Serjeant-at-Arms to the Council of State, received a warrant on December 14 ordering him to search Fortescue’s house “for all Jefuits and preifts” and “all

Crufifixes, or other Images and superftitious pictures Agnus Dei, Copes, Veftments, and other

Idollitrous furniture”.81 Fascinatingly, the warrant ordered Dendy to “search for all Jefuits and preifts, who By the Law, are Traitors”.82 This proves that the Council recognized the implications of the Elizabethan penal statues. In light of this knowledge many of the Council’s later actions are even more surprising. Despite considering Fortescue a liar and harborer of priests, the warrant focused only on priests and massing implements. Why would the Council arrest Fortescue’s priests but leave the harborer – who was, by the same law, a felon – free and armed? Such a course of action is only explicable if it was intended as propaganda rather than

79 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 249.

80 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 249.

81 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 391.

82 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 391.

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the start of a concerted effort to eradicate popery. By targeting the retinue of a pseudo- ambassador the Council telegraphed its disapproval of the practice without risking a serious diplomatic kerfuffle.83 Further suggesting that the Fortescue affair was largely posturing, while

Gifford conferred with the Lord Chief Justice about the matter, the Florentine ambassador received assurances “yt this Councell, will give Order yt noe search shall bee made in his houfe, unlefs some particuler Information bee given unto them” regarding his harboring priests.84

Councillors apparently upheld their promise to the Florentine ambassador: I did not find records of his house being searched. Information regarding illegal activities at other ambassadorial residences periodically reached the Council, however. Reports that ambassadors employed English chaplains or invited English Catholics to participate in embassy masses – explicitly illegal acts – required that official notice be taken. The Council learned in October

1650 that Count Egmont, a wealthy man from Flanders who disguised himself as a French baron, was hosting meetings of popish priests; the Council’s Committee for Examinations desired that attendees “may bee apprehended in such way as they shall thinke more convenient”.85 Whatever action taken was ineffective, for in December people were still flocking to mass at Egmont’s house. A second instruction ordering “the priest or priests faying Mafse to be apprehended and both them & all thofe that shall be prefent at Mafse to be examined & proceeded againft effectually according to the Lawes” followed in December.86 Either the second instruction

83 CSPD 1649-1650, 399, 454. Feathers were ruffled by the Council’s actions, however. In January 1650 the Duke of Lorraine’s secretary of state visited Mr. Peter Thelwall and intimated that if “prefent fatiffactione and repaire of honnor” not be given to Fortescue for the prejudice and affront he suffered, things would not go well for Thelwall; TSP, 1:137. At the same time that Councillors ordered Dendy to search Fortescue’s house, they issued a second warrant to search the house of the Portuguese ambassador for English priests and Jesuits; CSPD 1649-1650, 558. However, since King John IV of Portugal offered shelter to Prince Rupert – who had recently been attacking and capturing English vessels – the Commonwealth considered the Portuguese royalist allies; Gardiner, C&P, 1:181.

84 TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 430.

85 TNA SP 16/392 f. 49; TNA SP 25/11 f.8.

86 TNA SP 25/15 f.68.

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reduced the frequency and flagrancy of the masses or the government’s attention was distracted; there is no further mention of services at Egmont’s house. As they had the previous year, the

Council targeted a man posing as an ambassador but lacking official standing. And like

Fortescue, Egmont himself – the instigator – was left unmolested; it was the priests that perturbed the regime. These annual demonstrations of the regime’s attitude toward embassy masses were thus calculated to communicate disapproval and hopefully halt the practice without risking reprisal.

Twice more the Commonwealth attempted to halt embassy masses. In March 1651 the

Council Order Book lamented “ye frequent resort to Ambassadrs Houses for celebration of ye

Idolatrous masse to ye great dishonour of Almightie God . . . & ye present Governmt”. This time, however, they selected a new course of action. Mr. Gurdon, a Councillor and an MP, was appointed to ask parliament “that such course may bee taken for ye prevention whereof for ye future as they in their wisedomes shall thinke fitt”.87 The Commons Journal does not record any action in this matter. January 1653 saw the Council once again disturbed at “the great dishonour of God and scandall of this government” caused by embassy masses. The Council asked parliament “to make some signification thereof to the said Ambassadors and publique

Ministers”.88 Gurdon dutifully informed the Rump of the Council’s desire the following day.

Agreeing that action was needed, MPs requested that the Council draft a statement to ambassadors. MPs also resolved, according to the provisions of 3 Jac. I c.5 (which had been repealed by the 27 September ordinance) to offer one third of any penalty levied by the state upon recusants to the man responsible for catching the said recusants. The same day, the House

87 TNA SP 25/19 f. 8.

88 TNA SP 25/68 f. 188.

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finalized a proclamation requiring priests and Jesuits to leave England and Wales by March 1.89

Three days later the Council assigned the task of drafting the letter “to ye Ambassadors &

Publique Ministers of Foreign States & Princes residing within this Com[m]onwealth to signify the Sence of the Parliamt to the concerning ye resorting of severall people to their house to

Masse” to Mr. Thurloe.90 A pro forma reprimand was issued, but no further action taken.

Why, after two years of direct action, did the Council suddenly alter its tactics and involve parliament? It is possible that, recognizing their approach had been ineffective,

Councillors merely sought assistance in remedying a problem. According to A.J. Loomie, the friendless Commonwealth invited ambassadors back to London in May 1652 following the outbreak of war with the United Provinces, exacerbating the problem of embassy masses. He explains the appeal to the Rump as part of a dispute between Army and Council. Radicals in the

Army, Loomie believes, were determined to eradicate priests in London, even those in embassies, but the Council wanted international recognition for the new Commonwealth, which wouldn’t come if ambassadors were molested at home.91 I believe the appeal was a product of the circumstances. There was no more low-hanging fruit. All the pseudo-ambassadors had been forced to halt their ministries but the problem of attendance at embassy masses persisted. In fact, because the embassies reopened just as the two Protestant commonwealths went to war, it appeared that the pope was indeed flourishing at Protestants’ expense. In this context, the

Council had to act but was uncomfortable proceeding without parliamentary assent. As their actions show, embassy masses were deemed a nuisance but not a threat. Official disapproval was the harshest response issued.

89 CJ, 7:243-4.

90 TNA SP 25/132 f. 33.

91 Albert J. Loomie, “London’s Spanish Chapel Before and After the Civil War,” Recusant History 18, No. 4 (October 1987), 412-13.

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Amidst the regime’s periodic, ineffectual attempts to halt embassy masses, it took a much sterner line against priests at large in the country. On March 4, 1650, the Council of State ordered Serjeant Dendy to “proclaim with trumpet and drum the Act for removing Papists . . . from London and Westminster . . . and for encouraging discoveries of priests, Jesuits &c”.92 The act referenced had been passed by parliament a week prior, on February 26.93 While Papists were the first category of miscreants targeted by the act, they were not the only group: “Officers, and Soldiers of Fortune, and other disaffected persons (who have borne arms against them, and adhered to the Enemy in the late Wars)” were also included in the order to vacate London and

Westminster. Given the “many Designs now in hand, endeavoured to be carried on by

Correspondencies with the son to the late Tyrant,” the regime feared conspirators might “with much ease make use of such dangerous and discontented persons now in and about the said

Cities, if suffered there to remain”.94 These persons were also suspected of becoming “Spyes and Intelligencers for the Common Enemy . . . [and planning to] corrupt and seduce the good

People of this Commonwealth”.95 To prevent such mischief, all identified persons were required to leave London and Westminster and remain within five miles of their homes.96 Reducing

Charles Stuart’s prospects for reclaiming his throne – for at this moment he was preparing to negotiate with commissioners from the Scottish parliament for official military support from the northern kingdom – was clearly the objective of this act. The language used to identify the pretender’s likely allies reveals how the regime viewed the English Catholic community.

92 CSPD 1650, 528.

93 CJ, 6:371.

94 A&O, 2, 349.

95 A&O, 2:350.

96 A&O, 2:350-1. The act was to remain in force until March 20, 1651. As that date approached, however, the Rump voted to extend the prohibition for another seven months, continuing the act until 1 November 1651; CJ, 6:551.

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“Papists and ill-affected persons” or “Papists and Delinquents” were the terms used: not only are papists continually linked with those who opposed the Commonwealth, “papists” is the only moniker applied. “Catholic” never appears in the document. As I showed in Chapter 2, this coupling dated to the earliest days of the Civil War when belief in the popish plot bred the common assumption that Charles I’s royal army was full of papists. The pairing also elided any distinction between the groups, revealing a belief that, while not all royalists were Catholic, all papists were royalists and the two groups colluded so closely as to make differentiation useless.

Almost as an afterthought, the act accused “Priests and Jesuits, who are Traytors by the Law” of

“acting the part of Incendiaries here, and lurking to do mischief” and promised to reward anyone who discovered priests.97

A year later, after extending act through October 1651, parliament considered a permanent solution to the problem of papists. In June 1651 the Council asked Attorney General

Prideaux “to draw up a Declaratorie Act for ye driving out of ye Nation all Priests and Iesuits in which a tyme certaine is to bee sett by which they are to bee gone out of ye land or to bee lyable

^to the penaltie of ye Law”. Instructions to initiate legal proceedings against the “severall Iesuits

& Priests lurke about the Citty, whose major Imployment is Defigneing & doeing Mifchiefe to this Comon Wealth” in July suggest the Council was serious.98 Prideaux was less than effective in the latter endeavor however, for in October Colonel John Mildmay was examined “concerning what hee knowes of ye manie priests and Jesuits now about this towne”.99 Fleeting references to

“the Act for suppressing of Popery” in Parliament on October 1 and again on the 8th indicate that the Attorney General completed the former task, but the act faded from view without being

97 A&O, 2:353.

98 TNA SP 25/20 f. 7; TNA SP 25/96 f.286.

99 TNA SP 25/23 f. 65.

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passed.100 Most noteworthy about the act – aside from the fact that something as uncontroversial as warning priests to leave the country or prepare for martyrdom failed to make it through the

Rump – was its superfluity. Even without the common misperception that the September 1650 ordinance left anti-Catholic laws in force, the act declaring all ordained priests to be traitors was explicitly exempted from repeal.

Death was already mandated for anyone caught in England after receiving the sacrament of ordination. Missionary priests were fully aware of the risk they took in ministering to their countrymen. The annual letter of the English College at Rome recorded seminarians’ devotion to the goal of freeing “England from the yoke of heresy, even though the sword of the foe bar their path, and their own life-blood be the price they have to pay for ransoming the souls from the dark captivity of falsehood and error. This is the constant topic of their domestic exhortations and sermons, as well as of private conversation.”101 Declaring that priests caught in

England would be subject to the penalties of law served no legal purpose nor would it function as a deterrent. Its only purpose was rhetorical: to lend the appearance of action while in actuality the Council did virtually nothing. Examining how the Council proceeded against captured priests suggests that rhetorical camouflage may have been necessary.

On the same day that trumpets and drums informed denizens of London and Westminster that papists and ill-affected persons must depart the city, a prisoner was consigned to Newgate.

100 CJ, 7:23, 26. The original act banning papists from London and Westminster expired on November 1, 1651 and was not renewed. Later attempts to pass an act “for ye banishing priests and Jesuits” were similarly abandoned; TNA SP 25/27 f. 30.

101 Henry Foley, Records of the English Province of the , (London: Burns and Oates, 1880), 6:82. Christopher Haigh, “The Continuity of Catholicism in the English Reformation,” Past & Present 93, (November 1981), 55-7, vehemently argued against the use of the term “mission” to characterize the work of seminary priests and Jesuits in the 17th century. He correctly notes that the primary purpose of their return to England was not to convert heretics but to offer pastoral care to confirmed English Catholics. However, to capture the reverence with which priests approached their task and in acknowledgement of the dangers they faced, I feel that mission is the appropriate term to use.

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The Council of State issued a warrant transferring custody of one James Yates to the Keeper of

Newgate “upon his confession of being a Roman Catholic, and upon suspicion of his being a priest”.102 Despite the coincidence of timing, the Council was lacksidaisical when it came to dealing with Mr. Yates. No further mention is made of him until June 7th, when a committee was appointed to examine him and determine whether he was a priest or merely a papist.103

Councillors were apparently satisfied that he was not a priest, for on June 11 he was “discharged hee giving securitie to goe out of Towne within five daies and do goe without the limites of the late Act”.104 Releasing Yates so long as he departed the vicinity of the capital showed the

Council’s consistency in its approach to English Catholics; the months that elapsed between

Yates’s arrest and examination indicate a surprising lack of urgency.

Six months later, the Council repeated this approach. Quartermaster-turned-pursuivant

Robert de Luke apprehended a Jesuit pretending “himselfe a Servant to ye Spanish Ambassadr” in

January 1652. Many “writings [were] found wth Wm Smith”, the alleged Jesuit, at the time of his arrest. Either the Lord Chief Justice or the Recorder of London was “to proceed against the said Jesuite according to Law.”105 And a committee was appointed to examine both his writings and “likewife the trunks of . . . [several] popishe Recufants” also in custody. Marginalia in the

Council’s draft Order Book noted that the committee was specifically instructed to search for

“things tending to Malignancie” in the writings.106 A stunning lack of follow-through with this

Jesuit and potentially malignant recusants ensued. Smith was not proceeded against “according

102 CSPD 1650, 528.

103 TNA SP 25/64 f.430.

104 TNA SP 25/64 f.440; TNA SP 25/120 f.45. He was released upon £200 recognizance. His bond, however, was not recorded until September 27; I do not know if this was slovenly bookkeeping or if he was imprisoned until his bond was taken.

105 TNA SP 25/16 f. 27; TNA SP 25/16 f. 34. For Robert de Luke’s service as quartermaster to Colonel Henry Martin’s troop of horse, see TNA SP 46/97 ff. 23-24.

106 TNA SP 25/16 f. 57.

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to law”, for the only penalty proscribed by the law was a traitor’s death, and this Jesuit was not executed.107 And there is no further mention of the matter until November, when the Committee of Examinations was instructed to consider the proper course of action with the trunk de Luke had discovered.108 Presented with a traitor and potential evidence proving the link between recusants and royalists, the Council demonstrated no urgency. This episode further suggests that, as a group, papists and priests were threatening, particularly when linked with the rival claimant to power, but when confronted with individual priests, the Council’s fear evaporated.

Even after declaring war against the United Provinces, the process continued. On June

19, 1652 the Council learned of “Smith a merchant and apprehended upon suspicions of beinge a

Jefuite, and for holdinge correspondecye wth the Enemys of this Comon Walth”. He was committed to the Gatehouse and an examination was ordered.109 Less than a month later, the

Council ordered Smith released on bail or, “in cafe he canot finde fureties the Comittee may take his owne bond, & thereupon . . . fett him at libertie”.110 The order for his release noted that he was suspected of being a Jesuit but provided no indication as to whether this suspicion had been confirmed or denied. Mere weeks into the Anglo-Dutch war the Council of State freed a man they presumed was a Jesuit without bail!

Conciliar treatment of two confessed priests, and Thomas Budd, illustrates the degree to which affiliation with the royalist cause dictated the treatment of English Catholics.

Wright earned the dubious distinction of being the only priest executed by the Commonwealth.

Prior to answering his vocation, Wright served as a soldier. After ordination he served as a

107 Peter Wright was the only priest executed in 1651, and he was not apprehended until February 2, at the Marquess of Winchester’s house; see Thompson Cooper and Geoffrey Holt, “Wright, Peter (1603-1651),” DNB.

108 TNA SP 25/24 f. 33.

109 TNA SP 25/29 ff. 31-32.

110 TNA SP 25/29 f. 96.

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chaplain to English forces in Belgium before returning to England in the midst of the Civil War and continuing his military ministrations. Seized by pursuivants as he was preparing for mass,

Wright attempted to flee but was caught red-handed.111 Budd, in contrast, ended up in Newgate after supposedly serving in the New Model Army as a trooper, being found out as a priest, condemned, and escaping execution thanks to the intervention of several Army officers.112 The

Council declined to hear a petition from Budd in September 1652.113 But in February 1653 the

Council responded to a widow’s petition by agreeing that, if a physician certified that he was ill, he could be released “for three moneths for ye Recovery of his health” (so long as he promised not to use his liberty to act “to ye prejudice of ye Com[m]onwealth” or “exercise ye Priestly

Office”), at which point he would need to depart the country “according to a late Act of Parlt.

Requiring all priests & Jesuits to depart this Nation”.114 Why was Wright executed while Budd was liberated?

Part of the reason may be Budd’s ties to the regime. If Prynne is to be believed, Budd fought with the New Model Army, which may have inclined the Council to leniency.115 So might the identity of the woman who petitioned on Budd’s behalf. Elizabeth Alkin, the petitioner, had been widowed when her husband was executed by the royalists for spying during

111 Foley, Records of the English Province, 2:510-11, 515-6.

112 William Prynne, The substance of a Speech Made in the House of Commons by Wil. Prynn of Lincolns-Inn, Esquire; On Munday the Fourth of December, 1648, (London: Michael Spark, 1649), 111. Of course, Prynne’s accounts should always be read with a healthy dose of skepticism. Regardless of how he wound up in Newgate, it is certain that he was there by August 1649 as evidenced by the warrant for his transfer; TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 34.

113 TNA SP 25/32 f. 84.

114 TNA SP 25/39 f. 10.

115 Prynne, The Substance of a Speech, 111. I have not been able to substantiate Prynne’s claim that Budd served in the New Model Army. However, he was in custody by April 8, 1647, for that day the House of Lords summoned Budd (spelled Budde) along with three other priests to them; LJ, 9:129. He was apparently tried as a priest, but was later reprieved, a decision that caused the Lords to inquire as to the Lord Mayor of London’s reasoning in reprieving him; LJ, 9:578, 580. The entries in the Lords’ Journal for December 16 and 17, 1647 do not name the priest who was reprieved. On January 19, 1648, however, the Lords ordered in response to a petition from Thomas Budd, prisoner in Newgate, that he be informed of the Lords’ earlier decision regarding his reprieve, indicating that he was the unnamed priest in December; LJ, 9:667.

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the Civil War. Undeterred, she assumed her husband’s duties and worked for the

Commonwealth in the 1650s, seeking out printers who published materials seditious to the state.116 During the winter of 1652-1653 she nursed the sick. Her appeal on Budd’s behalf aligned with her requests to nurse maimed seamen and funds for their care.117 It would have been difficult for the regime to refuse a reasonable request from one of its most trusted servants.118 In contrast, one of the regime’s trusted informants, Thomas Gage, the apostate priest, testified against Wright. Gage’s brother literally died in Wright’s arms on the battlefield during the Civil War, but this personal connection did not override the renegade Dominican’s animus. At Wright’s trial, Gage compared the Jesuit to his martyred religious brother Henry

Garnet: Gage said that Wright deserved death for hearing the confessions of conspirators and deciding not to dissuade the men from their wicked intentions, emulating Garnet’s involvement with the Gunpowder Plotters.119 Connections with Englishmen (and women) who supported the regime sealed the disparate fates of the two priests.

Many of the country’s governors believed that divine providence had granted them victory over the popishly affected Charles I. Yet once in power, the regime continually declined to eradicate the English Catholic community. Not only did they shy away from a Protestant crusade at home – even while proposing an international version of this to the Dutch – they

116 Maureen Bell, “Alkin, Elizabeth [nicknamed Parliament Joan (c.1600–1655?),” DNB. She was repeatedly remunerated for her “good services to ye public”: see, for example, TNA SP 25/35 f. 61; TNA SP 46/103/10 f. 10.

117 TNA SP 18/33 f. 163; TNA SP 25/41 f. 57.

118 Budd may also have benefitted from lucky timing. Alkins’ petition arrived on February 4, 1653, less than one month after parliament issued a proclamation requiring all “Jefuits, Seminaries and Romifh Priefts to fhip themfelves, and to depart thence into any Foreign Parts” by March 1. Jailors were supposed to inform the Council of any priests in custody so that Councillors could determine whether to write passes for these priests’ departures or not; England and Wales (Parliament), By the Parliament a Proclamation Commanding all Jesuits, Seminary Priests, and other Romish Priests, to depart out of this Commonwealth, (London: John Field, 1653), n.p. Despite Parliament’s clear instructions, the Council Order Books do not record a flood of letters certifying priests in custody, making Budd’s case still an anomaly.

119 Foley, Records, II:520-5.

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actively avoided enforcing the law against priests and priest-harborers. Rhetoric remained a potent weapon. Limited efforts to capture priests and stop embassy masses – the bare minimum of effort required to prove the regime’s anti-popish credentials – supported the rhetoric. Behind the scenes, however, the Council of State went to absurd lengths to avoid executing or even, at times, imprisoning, the multiple suspected priests that fell into its hands. Even as public pronouncements of a popish plot proliferated and the Reformation apparently stalled, the Council continued to actively differentiate between catholics and papists, as the divergent fates of Peter

Wright and Thomas Budd show.

Conclusion

The Commonwealth never formulated a comprehensive religio-political settlement. At various points the Rump and Council of State articulated the theoretical basis for their sovereignty and attempted to secure the population’s allegiance. Ecclesiastical settlements went nowhere. Put another way, the Commonwealth governed according to negative principles: neither monarchy nor national church at which attendance was mandatory. Considering how the

English Catholic community factored into the politics of the Commonwealth rather than merely assuming they were defeated, demoralized, and financially crippled paints these well-known facts in a very different light.

If Charles Stuart’s repeated attempts to claim his throne were not sufficient evidence that real threats to the Commonwealth’s authority existed, the Engagement Controversy proved this.

Englishmen were not necessarily inclined to support the regime when an alternative ruler – who made a legitimate claim to already have their sworn allegiance – was present. Protestants divided amongst themselves, both within England (as the Beacon Controversy showed), and

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across Europe (illustrated in the Anglo-Dutch War). Circumstances such as these should have produced an outburst of anti-popery. Similar conditions, in fact, provoked both the Civil War and anti-popish riots, as we saw in Chapter 2. Claims that a nefarious popish scheme was dividing the Protestant Commonwealths and dissuading Englishmen from true religion proliferated in the latter half of 1652. Yet there was no popular outburst of anti-popery and the regime did not even enforce laws against priests. Why was the reaction by the Commonwealth so different from that of the Long Parliament?

By disestablishing the hierarchical Church of England and abandoning Tudor-Stuart claims of ecclesiastical, in additional to temporal, authority, the Commonwealth decoupled religious profession and allegiance. Post-Reformation and pre-Civil War, the English Catholic community posed a particular threat because the nature of their faith undermined the sovereign’s claims to authority in both jurisdictions. This was no longer the case after 1650. In fact, it was now Protestant Englishmen who deployed a combination of secular and religious reasoning to oppose the government in favor of an external authority. Paradoxically, the English Catholic community was less threatening: many, if not most, Catholics were known to the regime and could be monitored through fines and travel bans. Now, as Vallance showed, it was Anglicans and Presbyterians who supported an external authority and promoted casuistry (however reluctantly).

Rhetorically, the Commonwealth acted as though nothing had changed when it came to the English Catholic community. On June 30, 1652 the Rump even drafted an act to handle

“Popish Recusants that shall conform” without addressing to what these Catholics were supposed to be conforming.120 But, as I have shown, the Council of State’s actions proved this rhetoric

120 CJ, 7:147.

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was hollow. For the previous century, Catholic priests had posed arguably the single greatest threat to English sovereignty. Now the supposed vanguard of the Reformation who envisioned a

Protestant republican crusade against popery routinely released priests from prison. Removing odious restrictions upon religious worship ironically eliminated one of the best tools to enforce the regime’s authority (or at least to differentiate between loyal and disloyal Englishmen). It also moved a host of Protestant Englishmen into the same threat category as the English Catholic community, a fact not discernible without looking at priests.

Insecurity led the Rump to impose the Engagement and to declare war against the Dutch, two actions which exacerbated their anxiety. Fundamentally, the Rump’s insecurity stemmed from the fact that their claims to derive authority from the people were hollow. The Army was the source of the regime’s power. The Engagement plainly demonstrated this and the Beacon

Controversy reinforced how necessary the Army was to the regime. A comprehensive religio- political settlement consequently remained stubbornly out of reach for the Rump.

April 20, 1653 ended the Rump’s blundering. For months, the Army had been increasingly frustrated with the Rump’s refusal to set a date for fresh elections so that the

Commonwealth’s claim of representing the people could be true. General Oliver Cromwell could no longer swallow his irritation and, on April 20, marched into St. Stephen’s Chapel.

When it became apparent that MPs were intent on passing a measure he bitterly opposed,

Cromwell denounced his fellow MPs, summoned soldiers he had stationed outside the House, plucked the mace from its ceremonial place, and declared the Rump dissolved.121 A brief interregnum ended with the gathering of the Nominated Assembly (a radical experiment in godly

121 Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 530.

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rule), on July 4. No religio-political settlement emerged in the summer or autumn of 1653.122

Little changed for the English Catholic community under the Nominated Assembly. Though the

Dutch war continued and the Nominated Assembly was even more religiously radical than the

Rump, evidence that swarms of priests were manipulating intra-Protestant divisions in order to restore Catholicism did not inspire any reaction.123

Frustrations mounted both within and with the Nominated Assembly. Quiet negotiations between several leading members of the “parliament” and the Army Grandees resulted in the assembly’s decision to dissolve itself and renounce its authority “for the Good of the

Commonwealth” on December 12.124 Four days later General Oliver Cromwell was named Lord

Protector and presided over the first positive post-regicide religio-political settlement.

122 Austin Woolrych, Commonwealth to Protectorate, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), is the essential reading on this topic. Focused on explaining why this experiment failed, he portrays the Nominated Assembly as one in a series of expedients cobbled together to fill the governmental void left by the regicide.

123 An informant in The Hague provided the names of seventy-seven priests working against the republic; TNA SP 18/38 ff. 191v-192r. A Spaniard bolstered the popish plot theory by reporting to the Council’s secretary John Thurloe that “a very numerous company of jefuits, monks, and fryers” was swarming in London, taking orders from a superior lodged in the Spanish ambassador’s house. They were “heightening the animofities between parties; glorying and rejoicing in nothing more than in the prefent war between the two commonwealths” because the divisions would make the work of restoring Catholicism easier; TSP, 1:403-4.

124 CJ, 7:363. The best and most thorough explanation what occurred can be found in Woolrych, Commonwealth to Protectorate, 312-51. In short, growing tensions between religious radicals and more moderate views culminated in a division over the ministry on December 10 in which the radicals (unlike before) managed to prevail. Moderates resigned from the Nominated Assembly in protest, leaving the radicals in control of the House but not numerous enough to muster a quorum, and causing cabals of Army officers and radicals to meet on the night of December 11 to come to the solution which was announced and implemented the next day.

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CHAPTER 4

THE PLACE OF THE ENGLISH CATHOLIC COMMUNITY IN THE

CROMWELLIAN CONSTITUTION

Oliver Cromwell, born a country squire, died Lord Protector of England, Scotland,

Ireland, and the Dominion of Wales. His meteoric rise from parliamentary backbencher to Lord

General of the New Model Army and then to chief magistrate of the three nations has fascinated generations of scholars. Myriad disparate interpretations of the man, his motivations, and his actions speak to his ambiguous legacy. A prolific speechmaker, Cromwell left almost no private writings behind; to discern his motivations requires careful comparison of his speeches and actions. How does one reconcile his apparent reverence for the institution of parliament with his continued interference in the legislative body’s running? How did his famed personal piety coexist with his commitment to liberty of conscience? Why did he promise the English Catholic community toleration and then unequivocally exempt them from enjoying liberty of conscience?

This chapter proposes an explanation for Cromwell’s seemingly contradictory actions.

Elected to both the Short and Long Parliaments, Cromwell became a political force as an officer in the victorious parliamentary army. One of the few commanders who retained his position following the 1645 reorganization of the military into the New Model Army,

Cromwell’s clout with the soldiers steadily grew. Following the Army’s famous declaration that it was “not a meere mercinary Army”, Cromwell’s political stature increased. As the Army became a third actor in what had previously been a contest between king and parliament,

Cromwell emerged as a pivotal figure. He was never the man composing statements of political

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theory – his comrades Henry Ireton and claimed that job – but he clearly had input behind the scenes and enacted his friends’ plans. While Cromwell seldom acted alone, he was the face of the Army’s policy and his stature was such that, after 1647, few consequential decisions were taken without his approval or, at a minimum, his consent.

This chapter begins in the summer of 1647, as the newly-politicized Army flexed its muscle by trying to negotiate a religio-political settlement that would end the war. In tandem with the Heads of the Proposals, as the prospective settlement is known, several of the Army

Grandees spoke with priests about the position loyal members of the English Catholic community might occupy in the refashioned body politic. Six years later, in the wake of regicide and two failed republican experiments, a cadre of Army officers attempted to resolve political fractiousness by instituting a version of the proposed 1647 settlement, embodied in the

Instrument of Government. Oliver Cromwell reluctantly accepted the position of Lord Protector, making him chief magistrate, though he had to govern according to conciliar advice. For the first nine months of their rule, Cromwell and his Council (which primarily consisted of his comrades in arms1) constructed a legal framework intended to ensure their vision of the religio-political settlement was enshrined in law. Preoccupation with drafting ordinances speaks to the

Protectorate regime’s plan for retaining power. Having observed how the Rump cloaked “the work of military violence . . . in the merest tatters of legality” and was then unable to “rear the temple of recovered freedom”, the men who ruled during the Protectorate intended to avoid the

1 Peter Gareth Irvine Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate, from December 1653 to September 1658,” (Ph.D. diss, University of , 1983), 329-350. Twelve of the eighteen Councillors appointed by the Instrument of Government had seen military action, though not all of them as members of the New Model Army: Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, John Disbrowe, Nathaniel Fiennes, Charles Fleetwood, Philip Jones, John Lambert, Humphrey Mackworth, Edward Montagu, Edmund Sheffield, Philip Sidney, Philip Skippon, William Sydenham. Of these, Disbrowe, Fleetwood, Lambert, Skippon, and Sydenham could be considered Grandees. The remaining six members – Henry Lawrence, Richard Major, Sir Gilbert Pickering, Francis Rous, Walter Strickland, and Sir Charles Wolsely – were civilians, though Lawrence had been President of the Council of State for the Commonwealth.

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fate they delivered to the Commonwealth.2 Conveniently ignoring the illegal and undemocratic means through which they established the government, Cromwell and his Council rebuffed challenges to their authority with the law. Meticulous legal defenses served as both shield and sword for the regime. The final sections of this chapter, which cover trials in which the state’s authority was at stake and the brief, eventful life of the first Protectorate Parliament, show how this policy operated.

The ideals articulated in 1647 – which transformed civil war into revolution – remained dear to Protector and Council throughout the Interregnum. After the Instrument of Government was unveiled and implemented in December 1653, preserving the regime’s authority and protecting its principles became prongs of the same project. The first thirteen months of the

Protectorate showed that the country’s new governors would deploy the law in unexpected ways to preserve these principles. I argue in this chapter that Cromwell’s seemingly contradictory actions were actually reasoned defenses of a comprehensive, coherent religio-political system.

Using the English Catholic community as my analytical lens shows that Cromwell and his coterie were sincere in their desire to divorce religious identity from political allegiance; so long as loyal Englishmen did not challenge their authority, religious profession was not a barrier to membership in the body politic. But the Protectorate regime’s reliance on the law as its weapon of choice also revealed that vestiges of the monarchical religio-political system, in which religious and national identity were one and the same, remained.

2 Gardiner, C&P, 1:1.

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1647: A Turning Point

The eventful summer of 1647 began as the Army seized the king and culminated with the

Army’s presentation of the Heads of the Proposals to Charles I in August. In a season defined by discussions about the future of England’s religion and government, possibly the most consequential announcement appeared on June 14. On that historic date the New Model Army famously proclaimed that it was “not a meere mercenary Army” and what had been a contest between king and parliament became a three-way struggle to refashion the religio-political settlement. At stake were the same issues that had sparked the Civil War: limits on the monarch’s power, legal safeguards for the regular assembly of parliament, and the structure and doctrine of the Church of England. Essentially, king, parliament, and Army would need to determine the nature of authority and allegiance in post-bellum England. Charles and parliament battled for political authority in the form of limits and safeguards. The ecclesiastical settlement would partially determine authority (whether king would remain Supreme Head of the national church) and partially determine the nature of allegiance (how religion and membership in the body politic would be linked).

A Declaration, Or, Representation from His Excellency, Sir , And the

Army under his command, did not simply announce the Army’s political pretensions, it outlined the causes for which New Model soldiers fought: “our own and the peoples juft rights, and liberties”.3 These self-appointed defenders of English liberty refused to disband until they completed their task. To prove their commitment to the cause (and prevent parliament from peremptorily dismissing them), the Army seized the most valuable piece on the political

3 England and Wales (Army), A Declaration, Or, Representation from His Excellency, Sir Thomas Fairfax, And the Army under his command, Humbly tendred to the Parliament, Concerning the Juft and Fundamentall Rights and Liberties of themfelves and the Kingdome. With Some humble Propofals and Defires, (London: Printed for George Whittington, 1647), 6.

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chessboard: King Charles. Military campaigns were on hiatus that summer as king and parliament discussed terms, at least until the Army spirited him away.4

The story of the New Model Army’s radicalization is well-known and indisputably changed the course of English history.5 Scholars, aware that the summer of 1647 marked the debut of two political theorists who shaped the Interregnum religio-political settlements (Henry

Ireton and John Lambert), frequently search the period for hints of what was to come.6 S.R.

Gardiner argued that the summer prefigured the settlement of 1689.7 But a consequence of this retrospective approach is that actors who only appeared in the first act of a three-part drama

(1647, 1653-58, 1688-9) can be eliminated without affecting the conclusion. An intrepid group of Catholic priests worked with the Army Grandees to create a position for English Catholics in

England’s future religious settlement. Since the Army Grandees eventually abandoned the negotiations, and the group did not figure prominently in the Interregnum or in the Glorious

Revolution at all, the connection has been dismissed. In this section, I approach the summer of

1647 through the lens of English Catholics who seized an opportunity for toleration. I argue that the Catholics’ involvement not only illuminates the issues of authority and allegiance at stake in the Civil War, it also reveals how the country’s future governors, the Army Grandees, came to differentiate between catholics and papists.

4 Austin Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 1625-1660, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 361-5.

5 See Austin Woolrych, Soldiers and Statesmen: The General Council of the Army and Its Debates, 1647-1648, (Oxford: 1987), for an excellent narrative of the process.

6 On Ireton’s authorship of the Declaration and his later theory of rights, see Sarah Mortimer, “Henry Ireton and the Limits of Radicalism, 1647-9,” in Revolutionary England, c. 1630-c. 1660: Essays for Clive Holmes ed. George Southcombe and Grant Tapsell, (London: Routledge, 2017), 55-72. Derek Massarella, “The Politics of the Army and the Quest for Settlement,” in ‘Into Another Mould’: Aspects of the Interregnum ed. Ivan Roots, (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1981), 103-4, argues that the drafting of the proposals in the summer and the realization of parliament’s intentions marked the dawning of the Army’s awareness that it could use its martial force to enact its preferred political settlement, a tactic repeated many times.

7 S.R. Gardiner, History of the Great Civil War, 1642-1649, New Ed., (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1905), 3:330.

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The group with whom Cromwell, Ireton, and Fairfax spoke in the summer of 1647, though ordained priests, were hardly papists. Blackloists, as the group was known in honor of its putative leader, Thomas White (alias Blacklo), were a collection of English secular priests and a few lay supporters who wished to see episcopal jurisdiction restored in England. Jesuits fiercely opposed this plan, for with the reintroduction of bishops they would lose much of the freedom they had enjoyed since England was re-classified as a missionary territory. All of the Blackloists were familiar with the mercurial nature of English politics in the mid-seventeenth century. None were strangers to internecine fighting or papal displeasure. They knew the stakes of this venture and, as will be seen, planned accordingly. Yet because their designs did not come to fruition, their actions – and even their interactions with the Grandees – have been largely omitted from the political historiography.

A separate, closed historiographical conversation has explored the Blackloists’ involvement with the Army Grandees in 1647. Robert Bradley considered 1647 as part of his explorations of Blacklo’s life and work.8 Thomas Clancy conducted a detailed review of the events in order to demonstrate both that the English Catholic community uncharacteristically united to pursue this venture and that segments of the Army were truly radicalized if they were considering extending toleration to Catholics.9 A serious misreading of evidence by Clancy clouds his analysis and invalidates one of his conclusions, however, as I will show below.

Despite Clancy’s erroneous analysis, his article remains the definitive study of 1647 from the

Catholic perspective. Stefania Tutino and Jeffrey Collins have reexamined 1647 as part of

8 Robert I. Bradley, “Blacklo and the Counter-Reformation: An Inquiry into the Strange Death of Catholic England,” in From the Renaissance to the Counter-Reformation: Essays in Honor of Garrett Mattingly ed. Charles H. Carter. (New York: Random House, 1965), 360-1; Robert Ignatius Bradley, “Blacklo: An Essay in Counter-Reform,” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1963), 172-6.

9 Thomas H. Clancy, “The Jesuits and the Independents: 1647,” Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 40 (1971): 67, 89.

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broader theological and political theoretical conversations in Europe, respectively.10 More recently, Alexandra Tompkins has used the episode to show that the Blackloists were prepared to repudiate papal authority.11 No one has attempted a serious reconstruction of the negotiations since Clancy; I will, in order to excavate their significance to the Interregnum.

Belying historiographical dismissal of the negotiations based on the low probability of success, two independent contemporary observers believed that the Army officers were earnest in their promises. Pompone de Bellièvre, the French ambassador, and Alonso de Cardenas, the

Spanish ambassador, thought Commander-in-Chief Thomas Fairfax and General Oliver

Cromwell acted in good faith. Cardenas was particularly well-placed to comment upon the affair due to his longstanding relationship with parliamentary Independents, with whom Cromwell was affiliated. At the time, Cardenas urged Charles I to make peace with the Army; this would both remove the parliament (which seemed increasingly inclined to strict presbyterianism) from the negotiating table and had the possibility of securing limited toleration for Catholics, as demonstrated by the Grandee-Blackloist discussions.12 Bellièvre took a more active role in the summer of 1647, meeting with Cromwell and Ireton. Charged with facilitating peace between

Charles I and his Parliament, Bellièvre tried to do so while also angling for Catholic toleration.

In the course of these negotiations, he extracted a semi-promise from Cromwell and Ireton that

Catholic worship would be permitted in the privacy of homes.13

10 Stefania Tutino, Thomas White and the Blackloists: Between Politics and Theology during the English Civil War, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 43-63; Jeffrey R. Collins, “Thomas Hobbes and the Blackloist Conspiracy of 1649,” The Historical Journal 45, No. 2 (June 2002): 306, 312. Collins uses the Blackloists’ negotiations with Independents to explain Hobbes’s support for the group while Tutino approaches the episode from the Vatican’s perspective.

11 Alexandra Kate Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue, 1640-1662: Factionalism, Perceptions and Exploitation,” (PhD diss., University of London, 2010), 120-8.

12 Albert J. Loomie, “Alonso de Cárdenas and the Long Parliament, 1640-1648,” The English Historical Review 97, No. 383 (April 1982): 304.

13 Gardiner, Great Civil War, 3:316-317.

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The summer of 1647 was, in many ways, the culmination of English secular priests’ lengthy effort to restructure clerical oversight mechanisms.14 During the Personal Rule, the

Blackloists took their scheme to Charles I as part of a bid for toleration. Henrietta Maria usually served as intermediary but the group occasionally received encouragement from the king himself.15 Once it became clear in the late and early 1640s that Charles would need to raise and equip armies they had received half-promises of toleration from the royals. Charles’s welcome for Catholics willing to fight for the royalist cause suggested sincerity.16 By the time the Army took custody of Charles in 1647, Blackloists knew he was not a hairsbreadth away from legalizing Catholicism as the more optimistic of them had hoped in the 1630s. In fact, in a letter to the House of Lords on May 12, Charles indicated he would “confirme the Prefbiteriall

Goverment, the Affembly of Divines at Weftmr and the Directory for 3 yeeres”. He also assured the Lords that he was ready to quash Catholicism and would approve an act designed to accomplish this.17 Overtures from the Army to the Blackloists were, consequently, most

14 For an excellent overview of the beginnings of the dispute, see Michael C. Questier, ed., Newsletters from the Caroline Court, 1631-1638: Catholicism and the Politics of the Personal Rule, Camden Fifth Series 26, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press for the Royal Historical Society, 2005), 1-9. Debates on the topic began in the 1620s when the pope appointed a bishop for England. Jesuits strenuously objected and the debate expanded throughout the 1630s as both sides gathered allies. Interested parties eventually included the English colleges abroad, the French court, the English court, and of course the . The 1620s debates were, in turn, rooted in the Archpriest Controversy of the 1590s.

15 Questier, Newsletters from the Caroline Court, 48, 157. Southcot reported in 1632 that Charles I had told a Catholic “that he hated neither the papists nor their religion, and that (notwithstandi[n]g they were more under the lash of the law) he would be as gratious to them as to his other subjects”. In 1633, Southcot reported that Charles “is not against bishops and might be soon persuaded to admitt of them, and to think them convenient for the government of his Cath[olic] subjects.”

16 Henrietta Maria, A Copy of first, the letter sent by the Queenes Majestie, Folger C6196, 2. Charles’s permission for Catholics to openly serve and command in his army spawned rumors about the “papist army” from the earliest days of the conflict. Parliamentary propaganda spread the term further, as it supported their claims that the Laudian Church of England was part of a popish plot to reunite England with Rome; see Andrew Hopper, “‘The Popish Army of the North’: Anti-Catholicism and Parliamentarian Allegiance in Civil War Yorkshire, 1642-46,” Recusant History 25, No. 1 (May 2000): 13-28. Gardiner, History of the Great Civil War, 1:35-6; Joyce L. Malcolm, “A King in Search of Soldiers: Charles I in 1642,” The Historical Journal 21, No. 2 (June 1978): 270-2, have shown that Charles actively recruited Catholics as early as 1642.

17 TNA SP 16/515/1 f. 129v, 130v.

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welcome in the summer of 1647. Negotiations with even a slim chance of success were preferable to the imposition of presbyterianism, and the Army’s decision to seize the king suggested the groups at least shared an aversion to “the Prefbiteriall Goverment”.

Blacklo’s Cabal, a compendium of correspondence published in the 1680s, provides the best source for the Blackloists’ activities during this period. Printed by a Jesuit as part of a campaign to retroactively besmirch the reputation of Blacklo and his followers, the book reproduced the Blackloists’ letters from the 1640s. Editorial bias pervades the commentary but the epistles themselves are authentic.18 As the letters printed in Blacklo’s Cabal demonstrate, the

Blackloists eagerly pursued the opportunity in front of them. Between the capture of Charles I by the Army in June 1647 and the regicide in 1649, the Blackloists worked with the

Independents, though their contacts were concentrated in the late summer and early autumn of

1647. Notwithstanding the presentation of the Heads of the Proposals to Charles on August 1, which explicitly excluded Catholics from the proposed religious toleration, the Blackloists’ hopes rose throughout August.19 Sir Kenelm Digby, Henrietta Maria’s Chancellor and a lay supporter of the Blackloists, received an optimistic letter dated August 30. Peter Biddulph, the author of the letter, was the head of the English Chapter of secular priests, and reported to his friend that “not only the Independents, but the King himfelf do giue vs folid hopes of a liberty of confcience for Catholicks in England in cafe that we can but giue fecurity, that our fubiection to

18 Simon Johnson, “‘Papists of the New Model’: the English Mission and the Shadow of Blacklow,” in Getting Along?: Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England ed. Nadine Lewycky and Adam Morton, (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Group, 2012), 223, mis-characterizes Blacklo’s Cabal as partly fictitious and “indicative of Jesuit paranoia at the height of the Popish Plot”.

19 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 321. The religious settlement in the Heads of the Proposals was to be based upon “repeal of all Acts or clauses in any Act enjoining the use of the Book of Common Prayer” as well as “all Acts of clauses of any Act, imposing any penalty for not coming to church, or for meetings elsewhere for prayer or other religious duties, exercises or ordinances”. However, provision was to be made “for discovering of Papists and Popish recusants, and for disabling of them, and of all Jesuits or priests from disturbing the State”.

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the Pope fhall bring no preiudice to our allegiance towards his Maiefty.”20 As Biddulph reported, the central barrier to Catholic toleration was the community’s allegiance to an authority other than the English sovereign. The letter continued to state that Biddulph had been given to understand that the king “hath aduifed the Catholics to treate with the army about it.”21 Bellièvre confirmed the same day that “the army and the Independents” were “treating with” Catholics.22

The French ambassador, who sought to restore Charles to the throne with full royal powers, expressed skepticism as to whether such negotiations were in earnest. Believing that the

Independents hated the very title of king and the Army’s proposed settlement was most injurious to the royal position, Bellièvre was disposed to view their actions in the worst possible light, but despite this bias he still acknowledged the fact of the talks.23

Heartened by this turn of events, the Blackloists spent weeks drafting their plan. Their vision for the Catholic Church in England was plainly Gallican, which made sense given their ties to France. Six or eight bishops who, following the apostolic model, would be “independant of all other fpirituall power, euen of the Pope himfelf” would direct the English Catholic church.

All clerics in England (even the regulars) would be under the jurisdiction of these bishops.24

These Catholic bishops would have spiritual authority only; all temporal authority would remain with the state and bishops could be called to answer for their flock’s crimes.25 A bonus of this

20 Robert Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal: Discovered in severall of their Letters Clearly expressing Designs Inhumane against Regulars, unjust against the Laity, Scismatical against the Pope, Cruel against Orthodox Clergy men And owning the Nullity of the Chapter, their opposition of Episcopall Authority, 2nd Ed., (1680), 21.

21 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 21.

22 J.G. Fotheringham, ed., The Diplomatic Correspondence of Jean De Montereul and the Brothers De Bellièvre French Ambassadors in England and Scotland 1645-48, (Edinburgh: University Press for the Scottish History Society, 1899), 2:243.

23 Fotheringham, The Diplomatic Correspondence, 2:196, 204, 221.

24 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 33-34.

25 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 33-34.

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plan was that it would likely strengthen the seculars to the point that they could “thruft the Iefuits out of England”.26

This arrangement emphasized Blackloists’ desire to live as peaceable subjects loyal to the

English king. It was also designed to obviate one of the two objections English monarchs had to

Catholicism: that it required adherents to recognize an authority other than the king and rendered them disloyal. In 1647, Charles focused only on this point when speaking to Catholics. The second objection – that Catholicism undermined royal authority because the English monarch was head of both church and state – was not a concern at this point since both parliamentary factions sought to eliminate the monarch’s authority over the Church of England. Scholarly opinion has variously characterized the plan as a combination of “shrewd calculation and idealistic naïveté” and “inflammatory if not deluded”.27 Stefania Tutino has argued persuasively that the scheme had a high probability of success so long as it were presented to the pope as a fait accompli. By basing their scheme on the existing Gallican model, the Blackloists had a powerful example of recognizing only the pope’s spiritual authority.28

Loyalty to the English monarch and deference to his authority in all matters secular was an integral part of the Blackloists’ vision for the English Catholic community, so Digby,

Biddulph, Dr. Henry Holden, and Thomas White drafted an oath of allegiance which would be administered as a test of fealty. The proposed oath was substantially similar to the 1606

Jacobean Oath of Allegiance, though more circumspect about denying the papal deposing power, which was only obliquely referenced. Allegiance to the English monarchy was emphasized, and the swearer undertook to defend English liberty (including the institution of parliament) against

26 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 28.

27 Bradley, “Blacklo: An Essay,” 174; Johnson, “Papists of the New Model,” 225.

28 Tutino, Thomas White, 48; Stefania Tutino, “The Catholic Church and the English Civil War: The Case of Thomas White,” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58, No. 2 (April 2007): 254-5.

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any outside interference. The subscriber further agreed he would not consider being freed from the oath by another power.29 Refusal to swear would result in an invitation to depart the country but those who pledged would be permitted to exercise their faith openly.30 The oath was carefully crafted to appeal to both Charles and the Army. Pledges of allegiance would satisfy the king’s plainly expressed reservations about catholic toleration while the promises to safeguard

English liberty were closely modeled on the Army’s June 14 Declaration. In short, the oath was designed to remove any doubt that professing Catholicism automatically rendered one a disloyal subject.

Having agreed upon the text of the oath, the Blackloists then had to wrangle their contacts into persuading the power-players – king, parliament, and pope – to approve the scheme and repeal the penal statutes. Digby, as Henrietta Maria’s Chancellor, was confident that the queen could persuade her husband to agree. (Additionally, Charles had already half-promised toleration.) Two of the Army Grandees – Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton – promised to deliver a copy of the proposals to parliament. Though it is unclear whether they would advocate for the plan or simply serve as messengers, this was a big step in the right direction. Papal approval would be the most difficult to achieve. Henrietta Maria wrote to the pope, reminding him of the dangers which English Catholics faced daily, and noted that Digby had been dispatched to share her views on the current situation; his mission was to gain papal approval for the plan.31

Multiple manuscript copies of suspiciously similar propositions suggest that the

Blackloists may have launched a popular campaign as part of their quest for papal approval.

29 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 49-50.

30 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 32-3.

31 CSPD 1645-1647, 571; Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 48.

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e th Undated, the copies refer to “y 12 proposall published some months agoe by his Excellence Sir

Thomas Fairfaix,” suggesting that these were circulated in the autumn of 1647.32 Three propositions were presented, which were to “bee lawfully anfwered unto in the Negative” by

Catholics:

1. That the Pope or church, hath powre to abfolve any perfon or perfons whatfoever, from his or theyr obedience to the Ciuill Gouernement established in this Nation. 2. That it is lawfull in it felfe, or by the Popes dispenfation to breake eyther word or oath with any Heretickes. 3. That it is lawfull by the Pope, or churches command or dispenfation to kill, destroy, or otherwife to iniure or offend any perfon or perfons, whatfoever beecaufe hee or they are accufed, or condemned, cenfured, or excom[m]unicated for Error, schifme or Herefy.33

An unnamed theologian in Paris provided a learned opinion that the propositions comported with

Catholic doctrine. Claiming to have consulted with men at the Sorbonne, he explained that opposition to the scheme was due to factionalism rather than genuine theological concern.34 The propositions were eventually submitted for papal approval with the note that denying the papal deposition power seemed a small price to pay for toleration.35 One copy of the instructions has a note that “five or six Catholiq[es] Lords, & fifty other persons of quality in London” subscribed their names to the document; another appended the names of nine signatories.36

Clancy argues that the three propositions were the result of the Jesuits’ negotiations with the Army in the early summer of 1647. An ex post facto anonymous account and the fact that the

Vice-Provincial of the Jesuits subscribed to the plan are his only concrete evidence for this

32 AAW, A XXIX, no. 128, f. 407. The AAW holds three distinct copies of the petition in English (AAW, A XXIX, no. 128; AAW, A XXX, nos. 86 and 87) as well as a fourth in Latin (AAW, A XXX, no. 88).

33 AAW, A XXX, no. 86, f. 271.

34 AAW, A XXX, no. 91, ff. 285-288.

35 AAW, A XXX, no. 92, f. 289.

36 AAW, A XXIX, no. 128, f. 407; AAW, A XXX, no. 86, f. 272.

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conclusion.37 Not only did the signatories represent multiple clerical orders (among them

Jesuits, Dominicans, Franciscans, Carmelites, Benedictines, and seculars), making two signatures from members of the Society of Jesus far from conclusive, the reference to factionalism by the Parisian theologian suggests the Jesuits opposed the plan rather than favored it. After all, the Jesuits had spent the better part of three decades opposing episcopacy and would hardly be amenable to any scheme which reduced papal authority. Further, Clancy undermines his own argument by conceding there is little evidence “the generality of English Jesuits ever heard about the negotiation”.38 It is far more plausible to view the circulation of the propositions as another arm of the Blackloists’ strategy than as the resurgence (after months of silence) of

Jesuit efforts to close with the Army.

A sense that the Jesuits would oppose their plan preoccupied the Blackloists. Detailed preparations to counter these anticipated attacks run counter to Clancy’s claims. Biddulph predicted in August, “I doubt not but that the Iefuits, and Benedictins there will be tampering vnderhand about it,” and warned Digby to begin preparing a defense. Specifically, he anticipated that denying the papal deposing power (as any oath of allegiance would certainly require) would result in charges of heresy from Rome.39 Planning to defend their scheme against charges of heresy demonstrates that the Blackloists viewed the potential of toleration as very

37 Clancy, “The Jesuits and the Independents,” 70-3, 76-8. Clancy assumes that because a Jesuit newsletter written in 1648 (a year after the events in question) recounted negotiations between the Army and Catholics, Jesuits must have been directing the negotiation. The portions of the newsletter Clancy quotes do not name any Jesuits, though he claims Fr. George Ward, S.J. engaged in a formal disputation with the Army’s Agitators. Though Clancy’s anonymous newsletter writer reported that the Army – not the Jesuits – began the negotiations, and though he provides no direct evidence of sustained Jesuit negotiation with the Army, Clancy claims that when the Blackloists entered the picture they benefitted from extensive groundwork laid by the Jesuits. The same erroneous logic is evident in his discussion of the three propositions. Again, Clancy concedes that Jesuits did not draft the proposals – they came from the Independents – and notes that there is no evidence any member of the Society of Jesus other than the two signatories even saw the propositions, but still claims that the propositions were the result of the Jesuits’ labors to win over the Army early in the summer.

38 Clancy, “The Jesuits and the Independents,” 76-9, 86.

39 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 21.

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serious. None of these men were unaware of what papal displeasure felt like – Biddulph had been involved in an escapade dubbed “Fitton’s rebellion” while he was a student at the English

College in Rome that resulted in his expulsion from the college; White had been condemned for several books of unorthodox theology by the Inquisition; Digby had failed as Henrietta Maria’s ambassador at Rome and come close to receiving censure for the incident40 – yet the fact that they knew the potential punishments which awaited them and still continued speaks to their level of faith in the proposed settlement.

Confidence remained high through October. The proposed oath of allegiance was circulated among the Blackloists at the beginning of the month. Trumpeting the success of negotiations thus far, Biddulph further boasted, “by Authority from his Excellence Sir Thomas

Fairfax that the penall ftatutes inforce against Roman Catholicks fhall be repealed. And farther that they fhall enioy the liberty of their Confciences by grant from the Parliament.”41

Particularly noteworthy is the use of the term “Roman Catholick” rather than “papist”, which

Biddulph repeats when sharing the three propositions sent by the Army.42 This suggests that the

Grandees felt comfortable with English Catholics who denied aspects of the pope’s authority and thus were not “papists”. The language in this instance is Biddulph’s, but the sentiment was the

Army’s. Fairfax’s authority was behind the proposal, but apparently he was far from the only parliamentarian who supported the Blackloists’ scheme. Biddulph reported a few weeks later that he had delivered a copy of the propositions with multiple signatures “to Cromwell & Ireton”.

40 On Biddulph, see William Joseph Sheils, “Biddulph [alias Fitton], Peter (1602–1657),” DNB; Anstruther, 2:25-6; on Thomas White see Beverley C. Southgate, “Covetous of Truth”: The Life and Work of Thomas White, 1593- 1676, (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1993), 36; Anstruther, 2:350-4.

41 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 49-50. The army selected Lord Brudenal [Brudenell] to circulate the propositions amongst Catholics. This was an interesting choice, as Brudenell in some ways represented Charles’s favoritism toward Catholics during the Personal Rule; see TNA SP 16/437 f.107. A year later, Brudenell was specifically named by the House of Lords as some one who should not receive pardon for his wartime activities; TNA SP 16/516 f. 157.

42 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 49-51.

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Further, “Cromwell & Ireton promift to deliuer [the paper and a petition] to the Parliament, in du time, as a thing avowed & approved by the whole army”.43 Scrupulous rejection of foreign authority and “faithfull loyaltie and true alleagence to my Sayd King, State, Parliamt and

Country” which loyal Catholics would be ready to support “wth there Blood” characterized the petition.44 With Henrietta Maria (and hence, likely, King Charles) as well the Army Grandees

(who promised to persuade parliament) on board with the scheme, papal approval was the only piece of the puzzle left.

Encountering little enthusiasm for intervening in English affairs in Rome, Digby perceived that a concluded agreement requiring only the pope’s assent would perhaps be the only way to gain approval from the Vatican. He urged his colleagues to “Clofe with the

Independants. Make them fee their intereft to ftrengthen themfelves, by vnion with Catholick party, which may adhere to them, when after the Parliament & Army diffolved, the Presbiterians will grow too hard for them fingle.”45 While Catholics and Presbyterians were certainly considered antipodes in the seventeenth century, the identification of Catholics as a bulwark against the restructuring of the Church of England along the lines of the Scottish Kirk was an interesting manner of appeal. Grandees and Independents, the Blackloists perceived, saw tolerating quiescent catholics as preferable to wholesale presbyterianism. It was likely a correct analysis: one of the reasons the Army secured Charles’s person in May was to prevent the

Presbyterian faction in parliament from imposing their preferred form of church government

43 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 57. The substance of the paper (without signatures) was printed the following year by T.H. under the title Articles Proposed To the Catholiques of England, whereunto it was required they should subscribe their negative answers, whereby it might be understood, they professed that there is nothing contained in these three Articles which doth necessarily belong to the Catholique Faith and Religion; insomuch, that they may and will abjure (if it be thought needfull) the practise and execution of them all, (1648), 9-16. Appended to the paper was a refutation of the Vatican’s grounds for condemning the proposal, which happened in January 1648.

44 AAW A XXX, no. 84, ff. 266-267.

45 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 53.

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upon the whole population.46 And the June 14 Declaration suggested that the Army was moving in this direction. The Grandees opposed monarchical religious authority and demanded that those who differed in their form of worship would not “be debarred from the common Rights,

Liberties, or Benefits belonging equally to all . . . Members of the Common wealth” so long as they lived “foberly, honeftly, and inoffensively towards others and peacefully and faithfully towards the State”.47 In other words, from June 1647, the Army divorced political and religious allegiance. Digby’s suggestion remains noteworthy, however, as an illustration of how far the

Grandees were prepared to go in the service of their ideals. Compared to kidnapping the king, purging parliament, and regicide, a statement that Catholicism was preferable to presbyterianism might appear insignificant but it constituted a radical revision of priorities.

Momentum and progress were both arrested at the start of November, however. Troubled by internecine disputes all summer, the Army retired to Putney Church at the end of October for its famous set of debates about its purpose going forward.48 And, unwisely, a group of unidentified Catholics chose to petition the House of Commons directly for relief from the penal legislation. From mid-October, parliament had been consumed in debates about the Church of

England’s structure and the extent to which worship would be permitted outside the national church. Gardiner and Clancy both argue that, in the midst of these debates, a group of Catholics

46 Whig scholars categorized factional membership according to religious inclinations: Presbyterians obviously advocated for a national system of presbyterianism while Independents favored worship outside of the national church. These religious inclinations also mapped onto political positions, as the Independents aligned with the New Model Army (if they were not actually officers in it), and Presbyterians opposed the regicide. J.H. Hexter “The Problem of the Presbyterian Independents,” The American Historical Review 44, No. 1 (October 1938): 29-49, demolished the Whig methodology and incited a long-running debate about how to classify Members of the Long Parliament into factions. The conversation persists today; see, for example David Scott, “Party Politics in the Long Parliament, 1640-8,” in Revolutionary England, c. 1630-c. 1660: Essays for Clive Holmes ed. George Southcombe and Grant Tapsell, (London: Routledge, 2017), 32-54. The upshot of the debate is that it is clear the Army’s political position in 1647 was the minority position.

47 England and Wales (Army), A Declaration, Or, Representation, 15.

48 Austin Woolrych, “Putney Revisited: Political Debate in the New Model Army in 1647,” in Politics and People in Revolutionary England: Essays in Honour of Ivan Roots ed. Colin Jones, Malyn Newitt and Stephen Roberts, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), 95-117.

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gathered in Westminster Hall and begged for liberty of conscience.49 When the House of

Commons debated liberty of conscience on November 5, 1647, two MPs – and

Cornelius Holland, both known as “fiery spirits” and staunchly opposed to a national system of presbyterianism50 – argued in favor of tolerating Catholicism. Their argument, and the petition

Marten attempted to present on behalf of the Catholics, was rejected while Sir Henry Vane,

Senior warned that presenting a petition from papists had, in the past, been grounds for expulsion.51 Though the House had, several weeks earlier, decided to exclude “Popifh

Recufants” from enjoying the limited protections for tender consciences they were considering, the outburst form Marten and Holland prompted them to include several addenda viciously targeting Catholics to the propositions being prepared for the king’s assent.52 On the same day, the Holy Office in Rome condemned both the oath of allegiance and the three propositions, though Vatican bureaucracy moved slowly and it was another two months before the decision was formalized and communicated.53 With the Army distracted and the Commons in a firmly anti-papist mood, the chance for toleration evaporated by mid-November.

Failing in 1647 did not discourage the Blackloists. As they had many times before, they sat back and bided their time. Sporadic encouragement sustained their hopes. Digby met with an independent agent for the Army in November 1648. The Army decided at the Whitehall

49 Gardiner, History of the Great Civil War, 3:376-7; Clancy, “The Jesuits and the Independents,” 83. Clancy only places a lone Jesuit at the scene.

50 J.T. Peacey, “Holland, Cornelius (1600-1671?),” DNB; Sarah Barber, “Marten [Martin], Henry [Harry] (1601/2- 1680),” DNB.

51 David Underdown, “The Parliamentary Diary of John Boys, 1647-8,” Historical Research 39, No. 100 (November 1966): 150. I am thankful to Dr. Catherine Chou for her kind assistance translating Boys’ diary entry for November 5, 1647. See also, Fotheringham, The Diplomatic Correspondence, 2:317-8.

52 CJ, 5:332-3, 351. Specifically, they wanted the king to assent to an oath that sounds very much like the Oath of Abjuration which would “be a fufficient Conviction of Popifh Recufancy,” confirm an act requiring children of papists to be reared by sound Protestants, and prevent mass being said or heard at court.

53 Clancy, “The Jesuits and the Independents,” 78-9. Unlike his analysis of English politics, Clancy’s command of Vatican sources is excellent.

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Debates in December 1648 to define religious offenders as those who transgressed the

Decalogue.54 In this schema, so long as the Blackloists could convince the Army Grandees that

Catholics were not idolators, they could potentially enjoy liberty of conscience. Even the regicide did not dissuade Blackloists from seeking an accord. Letters between the Blackloists in early 1649 include discussions about working with the Independents and the Army in order to restore the Catholic episcopate in England.55 Holden, Digby, Biddulph, and White would continue to leverage connections forged in 1647 throughout the Interregnum.

1647 was clearly significant for English Catholics, but why did the peripheral involvement of the Blackloists concern the Army Grandees after the moment passed? The discussion with the Blackloists reinforced the Army’s commitment to liberty of conscience and clarified the nature of the Grandees’ objection to Catholicism. Elements of papal authority

(specifically powers that intruded upon domestic government) were unacceptable because they divided men’s loyalties. But if men were willing to renounce the objectionable aspects of papal authority, removing doubt that they owed temporal allegiance to anyone other than the national sovereign, they would be free to enjoy liberty of conscience. Indeed, as the Army agent who met with Digby in 1648 reported, Catholics who distanced themselves from the pope were “better principled to make Members of a Com[m]on Wealth, then the most English”.56 Essentially, the

Grandees recognized the difference between papists and catholics. Once the Grandees arrogated power to themselves with the establishment of the Protectorate in December 1653, they had the opportunity to enshrine their dearly held principles in law. Their manner of doing so is the focus of the rest of this chapter.

54 Carolyn Polizzotto, “Liberty of Conscience and the Whitehall Debates of 1648-9,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 26, No. 1 (January 1975): 71-2.

55 Pugh, Blacklo’s Cabal, 74, 77.

56 TNA SP 16/516 f. 196.

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Bringing “Form out of Confusion”57

On December 16, 1653 Englishmen learned they would be ruled by Lord Protector Oliver

Cromwell under the first written constitution in English history, the Instrument of Government.

This would be the third post-regicide regime (or fourth, if one counted the brief period of conciliar rule between the dissolution of the Rump and the opening of the Nominated Assembly), but the first that, from its inception, proposed a comprehensive religio-political settlement. The constitution clearly demarcated the executive and legislative functions of government, established criteria for participation in the body politic, and inaugurated a new ecclesiastical order.

The Instrument of Government was simultaneously a visionary attempt to permanently settle the three nations (and the Dominion of Wales) and a direct response to the turmoil of the previous decade. Based upon the 1647 Heads of the Proposals which had been designed for a mixed monarchy, the constitution was updated to account for the regicide and prevent abuses committed by the Rump.58 The semi-official defense of the Instrument of Government even presented the new regime as the product of a specific series of events.59 But the inescapable fact remained: the Instrument of Government was the product of the radical New Model Army and elevated a general to the position of chief magistrate. Consequently, the Protectorate continued

57 [Marchamont Nedham], A True State of the Case of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and the Dominions thereto belonging, in reference to the late established Government by a Lord Protector and a Parlament, (London: Tho. Newcomb, 1654), 46.

58 Lambert was heavily involved in composing both the Heads of the Proposals and the Instrument of Government; George D. Heath III, “Cromwell and Lambert, 1653-1657,” The Historian 21, No. 4 (August 1959): 373, 379. Both settlements established systems in which parliaments would meet regularly but be prevented from self-perpetuating by term limits; redistributed parliamentary seats to ensure more equitable representation; protected the integrity and freedom of parliamentary elections; and safeguarded the power, independence, and pay of the armed forces. In both 1647 and 1653, the Army felt it necessary to restrict the franchise by excluding those who had fought for the king from the body politic for a decade. A True State even explicitly compared the two constitutions; [Nedham], A True State of the . . . Government by a Lord Protector, 41.

59 [Nedham], A True State of the . . . Government by a Lord Protector, 5-21.

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to grapple with many of the same issues as its predecessors. In this section I will identify the genesis of the issues and argue that, as the governors became cognizant of these problems their preferred solution was strict adherence to the letter of the law. This approach was necessary because the regime claimed its authority stemmed from the constitution, the new supreme law of the land. Deviating from the law would have opened the regime to multiple challenges it did not wish to face. Instead, they attempted to build a legal fortress and adhered to its letter even when this violated its spirit and yielded absurd outcomes.

Major-General John Lambert spent weeks, if not months, drafting the constitution.60 It has been convincingly argued that the Instrument of Government was introduced to the Council of Officers on December 13 but not announced to the public at large until Cromwell was installed as Lord Protector.61 Cromwell himself claimed that he was not made aware of the constitution until the document was in “very good preparation,”62 but scholars concur that

Cromwell knew about the Instrument prior to the thirteenth and had likely given his assent to the plan before Lambert unveiled the constitution to the officers.63 Most commentaries assume that the document read at Cromwell’s installation on December 16 was the final version of the constitution and that the delay in publishing was little more than common bureaucratic dawdling.

60 C.H. Firth, ed., The Memoirs of Edmund Ludlow, Lieutenant-General of the Horse in the Army of the Commonwealth of England, 1625-1672, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1894), 1:369, reported that when Lambert introduced the Instrument to the Council of Officers he mentioned it had been under consideration for two months and “was already resolved”.

61 Austin Woolrych, Commonwealth to Protectorate, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), 353-9.

62 In his speech to the first Protectorate Parliament on September 12, 1654; Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:455.

63 The difficulty is that there is no evidence of Cromwell’s involvement in the drafting. But as noted by Barry Coward, The Cromwellian Protectorate, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002), 14; Peter Gaunt, “Drafting the Instrument of Government, 1653-54: A Reappraisal,” Parliamentary History 8, No. 1 (1989): 29; and the DNB, with the evidence that the Instrument had been in progress for months, it is extremely unlikely that the Army Grandees would have been so obtuse as to exclude Lord General and their intended political leader from discussions of the new national settlement. Heath, “Cromwell and Lambert,” 376-7, believes that Lambert proposed an early version of the Instrument of Government during the interregnum after the expulsion of the Rump but that his plan lost to Harrison’s vision for a rule of the saints, partly because Lambert wanted more time to perfect his constitution.

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Peter Gaunt, however, makes a compelling case that the reason no copy of the Instrument was printed until January 2, 1654 – over two weeks after the installation ceremony – was that significant changes were made to the constitution. Specifically, another man was added to the list of Councillors and, more importantly, the Protector was granted the power to dissolve parliaments.64 No English ruler had ever been bound by a written constitution before and the

Instrument contained no mechanism through which it could be amended; these last-minute changes were imperative to clarify the Protector’s position vis-a-vis his parliaments. While the revisions made between December 16 and January 2 demonstrate that great care was taken with the new religio-political system, they also indicate that Lambert and those who advised him failed to appreciate the extent to which a monarch’s inherent authority dwarfed that of the Lord

Protector.

Part of this was intentional: the Instrument was rooted in a sense that Charles I had betrayed the perceived contract between monarch and populace. Vigorously defending the

Instrument of Government, an anonymous author (widely believed to be Marchamont Nedham, the regime’s top propagandist) explained that Charles “demeaned himfelf as a Tyrant, and had projected a wicked defigne of introducing his own Will and Power above Law”.65 To prevent the reemergence of tyranny, the chief magistrate’s power was circumscribed by both the Council

(Article II) and by parliaments which would, at a minimum, meet triennially (Articles VI, VII, and VIII).66 However, it was also apparent that the Army feared parliament would self-

64 Gaunt, “Drafting the Instrument,” 29-36.

65 [Nedham], A True State of the . . . Government by a Lord Protector, 5. The recycling of Mercurius Politicus editorials allows a fair degree of certainty that Nedham was the author; see Joad Raymond, “Nedham [Needham], Marchamont (bap. 1620, d. 1678),” DNB.

66 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 406. Article VI reserved to parliament the sole power to make and suspend laws, as well as sole power over “any tax, charge, or imposition” that would be “laid upon the people”. Article VII stated that parliament would meet at a minimum of every third year. And Article VIII required that every

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perpetuate as the Rump did, and chose to manifest “the chief magistracy” in the Protector with the advice of his Council to avoid this (Article II). The Instrument of Government thus instituted safeguards to prevent the flagrant abuses of power witnessed in the previous two decades from recurring. But it did so, as Nedham observed, by elevating the sanctity of English law. Lord

Protector Cromwell would have to scrupulously abide by the law to avoid accusations of tyranny.

Fear that an autocratic king with a Catholic wife instituted the Laudian program during the Personal Rule as a precursor to reunification with Rome inspired the assurances that no man would be compelled to attend religious services which injured his conscience (Article XXXVII).

This would prevent anyone from claiming “an abfolute arbitrary power, over the Confciences and Liberties of the People” as the late Charles had attempted.67 As seen above, liberty of conscience had been sacred to the Army since 1647. This principle was enshrined as the supreme law of the land in 1653, eliminating the possibility that future governments might try to circumscribe or retract this right as the Rump had with the Humble Proposals. In the words of

Blair Worden, the “religious freedom in Cromwellian England, even if less great than is sometimes supposed, was incontestably revolutionary.”68 Yet the constitution isolated one group. Roman Catholics were unequivocally excluded from the English body politic. Anti- popery remained alive and well: A True State extolled the virtues of the new constitution over the rule of Charles II by pointing out that the “young Pretender” was “fufficiently affected, if not

parliament meet for a minimum of five months unless its members vote otherwise, preventing a dissatisfied Lord Protector from following Charles I’s example and dissolving parliament prematurely.

67 [Nedham], A True State of the . . . Government by a Lord Protector, 8.

68 Blair Worden, God’s Instruments: Political Conduct in the England of Oliver Cromwell, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 74.

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fworn to Popery” through his myriad connections to the pope and to Catholic princes.69 The

Grandees who demonstrated in 1647 that they preferred the English Catholic community to national presbyterianism were satisfied that this ecclesiastical settlement protected their principles and prevented any usurpation of the English sovereign’s authority through religion.

Close examination of the constitution’s text reveals that, while the Instrument of

Government protected the Lord Protector’s authority and tender consciences, it ignored the assumed link between religion and allegiance. While the ecclesiastical edifice of the Church of

England would remain, the Instrument declined to outline a national creed. Instead, Article

XXXV declared “the Christian religion, as contained in the Scriptures, be held forth and recommended as the public profession of these nations”.70 Provision was made “for the encouragement and maintenance of able and painful teachers, for the instructing the people, and for discovery and confutation of error, hereby, [sic] and whatever is contrary to sound doctrine,” but the settlement left a wide space for religious expression. Referencing the Scriptures and emphasizing the importance of properly instructed teachers who would help eliminate doctrinal error indicated that the public profession was Protestant in nature. However, in declining to establish a specific national creed, the regime also declined to dictate beliefs; Article XXXV was statement of policy rather than a theological mandate. And in the remaining articles dealing with the religio-political settlement, the Instrument took the Protectorate further than any previous regime in bestowing liberty of conscience. Article XXXVI proclaimed that “none shall be compelled by penalties or otherwise” to “the public profession”, though “endeavours [would] be used to win them by sound doctrine and the example of a good conversation.”71 No limits on

69 [Nedham], A True State of the . . . Government by a Lord Protector, 48-9.

70 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 416.

71 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 416.

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who could enjoy this liberty were established by Article XXXVI. The link between religious and national identity that had existed since 1558 was legally broken. Church attendance would no longer be a test of allegiance.

Article XXXVII simultaneously extended and limited the liberties granted in Article

XXXVI. It stated:

That such as profess faith in God by Jesus Christ (though differing in judgment from the doctrine, worship or discipline publicly held forth) shall not be restrained from, but shall be protected in, the profession of the faith and exercise of their religion; so as they abuse not this liberty to the civil injury of others and to the actual disturbance of the public peace on their parts: provided this liberty be not extended to Popery or Prelacy, nor to such as, under the profession of Christ, hold forth and practise licentiousness.72

The language used in this article codified the implied limitations of the previous two articles while still permitting a surprising amount of latitude in religious worship. The first clause restricted religious toleration to Christians – an important distinction, given the campaign to readmit the Jews to England73 – but “Christian” was defined broadly enough to encompass virtually all sects, including Roman Catholics. Maintaining civil order was paramount for a society that had recently emerged from civil war, but this formulation did not necessarily exclude

Catholics from attending mass. One could have argued that merely holding an open mass would incite disturbance of the public peace, as had happened with the “fatall vesper” in 1623, but the language created a space in which Catholics could maneuver for the right to worship.74 Only in

72 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 416.

73 On the campaign to readmit the Jews, see David Katz, Philo-Semitism and the Readmission of the Jews to England, 1603-1655, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982); Edgar Roy Samuel, “Oliver Cromwell and the re-admission of the Jews to England in 1656,” in At the End of the Earth: Essays on the History of the Jews in England and Portugal ed. Edgar Roy Samuel, (London: Jewish Historical Society of England, 2004), 179-88.

74 See Alexandra Walsham, “‘The Fatall Vesper’: Providentialism and Anti-Popery in Late Jacobean London,” Past & Present 144 (August 1994): 55-56. In the aftermath of the collapse of a house where hundreds of Catholics had gathered for evening prayer, a riotous London crowd turned on those (presumed Catholics) who arrived to offer aid and search for survivors in the rubble. Myriad factors contributed to this riot, but the incident demonstrated how a tense environment could turn violent with a small bit of encouragement from Catholics.

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the final clause was Catholicism explicitly addressed; the Instrument clearly stated that “this liberty be not extended to Popery”. Officially denying Catholics the opportunity to worship signified that England remained a Protestant nation. But the formulation of the Instrument – only one clause out of the four articles explicitly excluded Catholics from enjoying the newly- established liberty of conscience – shows that the Protectorate had the potential to be more lenient to Catholics than its predecessors. Further, the men who implemented the Instrument distinguished between catholics and papists. With the link between religious and national identity legally void, this distinction had potential.

One misconception crept into the Instrument, however. Article XXXVIII declared “null and void” any and “all laws, statutes and ordinances, and clauses in any law, statute or ordinance” that were contrary to the liberty of conscience established in Article XXXVII.75 The

Instrument of Government repeated the Rump’s mistake in liberating tender consciences. For the laws, statutes, and ordinances which would restrict Protestants’ freedom of worship were the same laws that outlawed Catholicism. However, unlike the 1650 statute, the Instrument of

Government was the fundamental and supreme law of the land. In the new religio-political system, the recusancy statutes were abolished, the statutes addressing clerical activities stood and, separately, Catholicism was outlawed. But the Instrument did not establish any mechanism through which Catholics could be identified and punished, let alone what the punishment for retaining the Roman faith would be under the Protectorate. The failure to outline any method by which the regime could ensure that only Protestant Christians enjoyed liberty of conscience and the omission of any punishment for those who violated the law reveals that the Instrument of

Government was still a product of its context. Redressing grievances in the Caroline religio-

75 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 416.

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political settlement, Lambert failed to recognize how the monarch’s dual authority functioned in this respect. Catholics and other nonconformists had been punished for disloyalty because they repudiated the monarch’s authority as Supreme Head of the Church of England. Absent a monarch, church and state were divorced and Englishmen could no longer be disciplined for disloyalty: any punishment would be specifically applied because of religious belief. I believe

Lambert overlooked this issue because he shared the assumption that Englishness implied

Protestantism and that, absent an oath of allegiance, Englishness and Catholicism were fundamentally incompatible. In this schema there was no need to examine why Catholics were punished or how charges were brought because their disloyalty was obvious.

However, the Instrument of Government hinted that Lambert grasped the reason

Catholics were a distinct class. Article XV stated:

That all such, who have advised, assisted, or abetted the rebellion of Ireland, shall be disabled and incapable for ever to be elected, or give any vote in the election of any member to serve in Parliament; as also all such who do or shall profess the Roman Catholic religion.76

Only two classes of persons were permanently excluded from the body politic: Irish rebels and

Catholics. No reason was given for this perpetual stigmatization, but the rationale would have been readily apparent in the seventeenth century. Both groups had denied the authority of previous English governments. Since the Irish rebels were believed to be Catholics, Article XV also suggests that Lambert viewed Englishness and Catholicism as incompatible. The article itself was extraneous. Other criteria for membership in the body politic would have excluded

Catholics and the Irish rebels for a decade. For example, Article XIV stated

That all and every person and persons, who have aided, advised, assisted, or abetted in any war against the Parliament, since the first day of January, 1641 (unless they have been since in the service of the Parliament, and given signal

76 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 410.

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testimony of their good affection thereunto) shall be disabled and incapable to be elected, or to give any vote in the election of any members to serve in the next parliament, or in the three succeeding Triennial Parliaments.77

Technically Article XIV did not prohibit Catholics from voting or serving in parliament, as long as they had not defended Charles I in the civil wars of the previous decade. Prynne’s claims of

Jesuits working with the Agitators aside, those Catholics who chose to fight in the Civil War did so in Charles’ armies.78 Among the eligibility requirements to stand for a parliamentary seat enumerated in Article XVII, two of the qualifications were that the men be “persons of known integrity” and “fearing God”; the framers of the document and the arbiters who would have determined whether men met these criteria would have interpreted these clauses as excluding

Catholics.79 Thus either Article XIV or Article XVII could have been used to bar Catholics from participating in the government.

Though the authors of the Instrument of Government had the opportunity to institute specific religious requirements for participation in the body politic, electoral eligibility and the personal exercise of religion were treated separately. Prejudice against Catholics endured and the formulation of Catholic exclusion suggested that they were isolated due to the threat their religion posed, but this was not stated. Further, by disconnecting politics and religion the

Protectoral government created a space in which it became possible for Catholics to gain the freedom to worship without reentering the government.

Haste is also perceptible in the incomplete integration of the Instrument of Government with the existing legal code. Retaining the majority of the legal code and preserving the judicial

77 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 410.

78 Prynne, The Substance of a Speech Made in the House of Commons by Wil. Prynn of Lincolns-Inn, Esquire; On Munday the Fourth of December, 1648, (London: Michael Spark, 1649), 111. Virtually no Catholics fought for parliament; see William Sheils, “English Catholics at war and peace,” in Religion in Revolutionary England edited by Christopher Durston and Judith Maltby, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006), 138-9.

79 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 411.

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system was imperative. Liberty and justice sparked the Civil War and incited the Army’s break from Parliament in 1647. Articles III, VI, and XLI perpetuated the existing legal system.

Parliament possessed sole authority to draft, alter, suspend, abrogate, and repeal law. The Lord

Protector promised to “govern these nations according to the laws, statutes and customs thereof”, implying that common and statute law were retained.80 Tweaking a legal code that assumed the monarch was head of both church and state for use with an explicitly non-monarchical constitution proved challenging. As always, the English Catholic community provides the clearest view into how the disjuncture occurred.

The rest of this section will take the treason law as an illustrative example of the phenomenon. Two crimes, both relating to misconduct in parliamentary elections, were declared to be high treason by the Instrument.81 Since the Instrument of Government was the supreme law and treason in the English legal code was defined as a crime against the person or dignity of the monarch, these two crimes (plus the Elizabethan anti-clerical statutes discussed in Chapter 2) were the only crimes classified as treason from December 16, 1653. The Commonwealth’s treason ordinance could not be used, since it defined treason as a transgression of the parliament’s authority. Belatedly recognizing it was necessary to redefine treason in a non- monarchical manner, The Council did so via ordinance on January 19, 1654. Parliament had sole authority to make law under the new constitution but Article XXX afforded the members of the executive an opportunity to deal with any issues that might arise from inadequacies of the constitution. Lambert anticipated a need to raise “money for defraying the charge of the present extraordinary forces, both at sea and land, in respect of the present wars,” and granted the Lord

Protector, “with the consent of the major part of the Council,” power to raise money and “to

80 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 406, 417.

81 A&O, 2:844; Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412.

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make laws and ordinances for the peace and welfare of these nations” before the meeting of the first Protectorate Parliament.82

In the nine months between the introduction of the Instrument and the opening of the first

Protectorate Parliament, “Cromwell and his councillors used their temporary constitutional powers to the full, stretching the terms of the Instrument of Government and brushing aside occasional reservations and concerns from other officials”.83 Given that this power was likely added to the Instrument in the days between its introduction and its publication, the heavy reliance on this prerogative is unsurprising. Roughly 180 ordinances were passed during this period, and Peter Gaunt’s survey of the legislative rush shows the comprehensive nature of the effort. From continuing parliamentary legislation on the cusp of expiration, to uniting England and Scotland, reforming Chancery, and addressing purely local matters, the Council considered a wide variety of issues.84

The Protectorate treason ordinance copied the traditional monarchical formulation of the crime. Attempts to assassinate the Lord Protector or to claim the authority of the nation lay elsewhere than in Protector and parliament was deemed high treason. The “Laws and Statutes made in the times of the late Queen Elizabeth, and of King James, against the pretended

Authority of the Bishop of Rome, and his See, Jesuits, Seminary Priests, and Professors of the

Romish Religion,” were revived by the ordinance.85 This was done because priests and

Catholics dissuaded subjects from their due obedience to the government and papists usurped the

82 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 414. The Instrument appointed September 3, 1654 as the date for the opening of the first Protectorate Parliament. There was a concession that these laws and ordinances would only “be binding and in force, until order shall be taken in Parliament concerning the same”; this ambiguous statement would cause problems in the second Protectorate Parliament of 1656-7.

83 Peter Gaunt, “‘To Create a Little World out of Chaos’: The Protectoral Ordinances of 1653-1654 Reconsidered,” in The Cromwellian Protectorate ed. Patrick Little, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2007), 126.

84 Gaunt, “The Protectoral Ordinances,” 107-113.

85 A&O, 2:834.

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government’s authority by pledging allegiance to a foreign power.86 The treason ordinance thus raised the same issue as the Rump’s liberation of tender consciences in 1650 with an added twist.

As noted above, the Instrument of Government, the supreme law of the land, contained a contradiction when it came to the recusancy laws, repealing them to liberate tender consciences yet outlawing Catholicism without any explanation of how to identify or punish Catholics. The

Council believed that the treason ordinance solved this issue – by reimplementing the

Elizabethan and Jacobean recusancy statutes, means for capturing and penalizing papists were outlined – but the disjuncture between assumption (that there were statutes other than those mandating attendance at Church of England services which were aimed solely at lay Catholics) and reality (there weren’t) once again created a legal paradox. None of the Councillors seemed to realize that the treason ordinance abrogated the Instrument by reinstituting statutes that ran contrary to the supreme law of the land. A month later an “Ordinance of Explanation touching

Treasons” was issued, clarifying that the treason ordinance did not nullify the treasons listed in the Instrument of Government.87 Any offence so named in either document would be prosecuted and punished as high treason.

The English Catholic community thus exposed a flaw in the constitution’s logic. Liberty of conscience, as formulated in the Instrument, dissolved all links between religious profession and political allegiance. But Catholics were barred from enjoying this liberty. No reason was given for this exception. Hints in the Instrument that the regime distrusted Catholics were confirmed in the treason ordinance, which forthrightly stated that Catholics were not loyal members of the body politic due to their deference to a foreign authority. Despite divorcing

86 A&O, 2:835. Gardiner, C&P, 3:6-7, thought that the treason ordinance and its wording was prompted by denunciations of the new regime by Fifth Monarchist preachers.

87 A&O, 2:844.

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religion and politics, prejudice resulted in the reflexive isolation of the English Catholic community. Matters were more complicated than they appeared, however, as the treatment of two confessed priests demonstrated.

Priests and the Protector

From May 1654 through January 1655, the regime faced multiple attacks on its authority from varied quarters. Each assault was repelled, though sometimes with unpleasant consequences for the regime. Protector and Council determined the fate of two Catholic priests during this period – men whose very existence threatened the regime’s authority – and the disparate fates of the two men illuminate the extent to which the law was the regime’s last line of defense. Circumstances dictated the regime’s specific responses, but I argue that the organizing principle behind these responses was the same.

A small coterie of royalists planned to assassinate the Lord Protector in May 1654. One of the conspirators turned his coat and informed the regime of the plan before it occurred. Arrest warrants were swiftly issued and shortly the regime had more than five hundred men in custody for their involvement in .88 Three of the prisoners, thought to be leaders of the conspiracy, were selected as sacrificial lambs. Rather than rolling the dice with a jury trial,

Protector and Council exercised their power to pass ordinances and erected a High Court of

Justice to try the three men. Commissioners convened on June 30. Despite a vociferous defense and attempts to question the legality of the proceedings, two of the three conspirators – John

Gerhard and Peter Vowell – were found guilty in short order (the third, Somerset Fox, plead

88 Gardiner, C&P, 3:145-9.

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guilty). Gerhard and Vowell were executed on July 10, 1654.89 At the same time that it worked to unravel the royalist conspiracy and make examples of the would-be assassins, the regime gained custody of two Catholic priests: John Southworth and James Carey.

Southworth’s arrest was, according to the Venetian Secretary in England, at least tangentially linked with the foiled assassination plot. He wrote that the plot drew the regime’s attention once again to the perennial threat in their midst: the English Catholic community.90 An order to apprehend all “priests, or Jesuits” who resided “in this Commonwealth, contrary to the laws” issued on June 7 seems to confirm the Venetian resident’s sense of the situation.91 As a result of this order, a Catholic priest was arrested in his chambers. John Southworth, a secular priest and member of the English Chapter, was the unfortunate man discovered with “all the requisites for the celebration of the mass” in his room.92 This was not Southworth’s first arrest.

Born in Lancashire, after completing his education and being ordained, Southworth worked in the North for a time. But like many other priests he found himself drawn to the capital and spent the majority of his life ministering to the masses there. Arrested in 1627, he was condemned as a traitor but escaped execution.93 Queen Henrietta Maria intervened and, at her urging,

Southworth and several other priests were released into the custody of the French ambassador and ordered to depart the country. Banished permanently, the warrant for their release noted that if any of the priests “fhall remaine in or returne into this kingdome, that or exprefse will and

89 Howell, State Trials, 5:518-31.

90 CSPV, 29:233. According to Howell, State Trials, 5:523, there was evidence introduced at the trial that papists were involved with the design. While this testimony was not corroborated by other sources, it does make the regime’s actions toward Southworth more intelligible. Alexandra Kate Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue, 1640-1662: Factionalism, Perceptions and Exploitation,” (PhD diss., University of London, 2010), 144-5, attributes Southworth’s arrest and eventual execution to the Protector’s need to divert attention in the wake of the plot.

91 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:320.

92 CSPV, 29:233.

93 E.E. Reynolds, John Southworth: Priest and Martyr, (London: Burns and Oates, 1962), 35-8.

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pleafure is that the Law fhould pafse on every fuch perfon without further favor”.94 Flouting the order, Southworth did not depart England but spent the next decade in London, tending plague victims and possibly scheming with other members of the Chapter to convert the king.95

Arrested again in 1637, Southworth spent three years in the Clink before he was released on

Secretary of State Francis Windebank’s order.96 Outraged Commissioners for Causes

Ecclesiastical, concerned that leniency toward Catholic priests undermined their efforts to enforce conformity to the Laudian program by seeming to provide proof that Laudianism was really a backdoor for Catholicism, attempted to countermand the order.97 Royal intervention on behalf of a convicted recusant (the Commissioners apparently did not realize that Southworth was not a mere Catholic but an ordained priest, let alone one violating an order of banishment) provided concrete evidence supporting the appearance of a popish plot which contributed to the outbreak of civil war. Prynne even specifically named Southworth as one of many priests who benefitted from royal “favours to and difcharges of Seminary Priefts and Jefuits from all legall profecutions and imprifonments” in his searing indictment of Charles I’s popish leanings.98

Despite the uproar caused by his release and attempts to re-incarcerate him, Southworth again elected to remain in the country and continued his ministry in the capital.

Not merely a traitor by the law, Southworth represented the abuses of the Personal Rule and recalled the popish plot. The timing of his arrest, in the middle of the uproar caused by the royalist assassination conspiracy, increased pressure on the regime to publicly act. Combined,

94 TNA PC 2/39 f. 720; TNA SP 16/164 f. 63.

95 Questier, Newsletters from the Caroline Court, 283; Reynolds, John Southworth, 47-9.

96 TNA SP 16/460 f. 41.

97 TNA SP 16/458 f.13; J. Fielding, “Lambe, Sir John, (c. 1566-1646),” DNB.

98 William Prynne, The Popish Royall Favourite Or, A full Discovery of His Majesties Extraordinary Favours to, and Protections of notorious Papists, Priests, Jesuits, against all prosecutions and penalties of the Laws enacted against them, (London: Michael Spark, 1643), 18-19.

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these facts made it unlikely that Southworth’s presence in the country would be overlooked.

And there was one further aggravating factor in Southworth’s case: his crime mirrored that of the regime’s notorious foe, .

Arraigned at the Old Bailey on June 24, Southworth was charged with defying the earlier order of banishment.99 In such cases, all the court had to do was establish the identity of the person at the bar; the matter was never a question of guilt or innocence. However, the chief

Leveller propagandist John Lilburne had shown a few months earlier that it was possible to escape justice in such circumstances. Lilburne had antagonized the Long Parliament for years.

Called to account for tracts that MPs considered incendiary and scandalous if not outright seditious, Lilburne’s behavior at the bar further incensed the Rump. The totality of his actions resulted in an order of banishment issued in January 1652.100 Eighteen months later, Lilburne defied parliament and returned to England. Caught violating the act of banishment, he was arrested and imprisoned pending trial. If the state could prove that the man it had in custody was, in fact, John Lilburne, he would be executed as a felon. Lilburne had no intention of acquiescing to execution. He summoned all his considerable rhetorical talents to mount a defense. The trial became a public spectacle, with up to six thousand men reportedly attending.

Campaigns of petitioning, unruly apprentices, and legal antics attended the proceedings.101 His ploy worked: the jury disregarded instructions from the bench to judge only the facts of the case

99 Reynolds, John Southworth, 61-4, focuses more on the indictment, which highlighted that it was treasonous to be an ordained Catholic priest in England. The account of the trial, however, shows that no evidence was presented to this effect; see below.

100 CJ, 7:73-5, 79; Andrew Sharp, “Lilburne, John (1615?-1657),” DNB. The initial decision to banish Lilburne was taken on January 15, 1652. He was to be allowed thirty days to depart, and would face execution if he returned without leave. When he was brought to the bar to hear his punishment on January 20th, his refusal to acknowledge parliamentary authority incensed MPs sufficiently that they drew up an act and passed it on January 30th.

101 TSP, 1:441. For a full description of the chaos wrought during his trial, see Woolrych, Commonwealth to Protectorate, 250-61.

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and judged the law, too, famously finding Lilburne “not guilty of any crime worthy of death”.102

This was a humiliating defeat for the regime. Unwilling to release the Leveller to continue his vicious attacks on the Commonwealth, Parliament conferenced with the Council of State and decided to imprison Lilburne “for the Peace of this Nation,” using the “scandalous, seditious,

[and] tumultuous” speeches he delivered at his trial as a pretext.103 Though the Rump banished

Lilburne and the Nominated Assembly oversaw his second trial, nearly all the Protectorate

Councillors had been involved in one or both of the trials.104 They were invested in the outcome of the trial and affronted when Lilburne was acquitted.

When Southworth came to the bar, facing the same charge Lilburne had escaped a few months prior, the regime was determined to show that the Leveller’s case had not set a precedent.

For his part, Southworth had no intention of copying Lilburne’s tactics. Called to the bar and asked his name, the priest did not demur; he promptly confessed “him felfe a priest, and a condemned man many years fince”.105 Two days later he “had the fentence of death p[ro]nounced againft him”. At this juncture he requested leave to speak, and rather than begging for his life or rejecting the court’s authority, he thanked God for the opportunity of martyrdom.106 No trial occurred; all that transpired in the courtroom was Southworth’s confirmation of his identity and embrace of his fate as a martyr.

102 Howell, State Trials, 5:444-50; Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 546.

103 CJ, 7:306, 309. Lilburne remained imprisoned for years, though the Protectorate had to use legal trickery to circumvent the right of habeus corpus; see Gardiner, C&P, 3:16-17.

104 Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 329-351. All but four of the Councillors (Nathaniel Fiennes, Humphrey Mackworth, Edmund Sheffield, and Philip Skippon) served either in the Nominated Assembly or on its Council of State; many served in both capacities.

105 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, f. 635.

106 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, f. 635.

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The regime thus did not face a public spectacle with Southworth’s trial. Nor did it have to contend with any of the judicial reluctance inspired by the royalists’ trial.107 It was, however, inundated with petitions from ambassadors pleading that the Lord Protector spare the septuagenarian priest’s life. The Spanish ambassador pleaded for Southworth’s life, as did the

French and Portuguese emissaries.108 Entreaties did not sway the Lord Protector. The Venetian secretary reported that Cromwell “seemed moved and averse from such cruelty,” going so far as to state that he was “opposed to violence in matters of religion and in favour of liberty of conscience for all”.109 Why then was he unwilling to halt the execution or alter the sentence?

I believe that the confluence of events at the time of Southworth’s arrest made any option other than permitting justice to run its course impolitic. Not only was the Lilburne case still creating problems for the regime – he had just been transferred to Castle Orgueil on Jersey to take him outside the reach of habeus corpus petitions110 – Southworth’s personal links with the popish plot recalled by rumors circulating in the wake of the failed assassination attempt made any Protectoral intervention unpalatable. Finally, there was also a legal issue. Article III of the

Instrument granted the Lord Protector power of pardoning criminals “except in case of murders and treason”.111 Condemned for flouting his exile, but banished for high treason, it was unclear whether Article III precluded Protectoral intervention in Southworth’s case. Elections for the first Protectorate Parliament were rapidly approaching – writs had been dispatched and dates for

107 Justice Atkins, one of the men named as a commissioner to the High Court of Justice trying Vowell, Gerhard, and Fox, refused to participate in the trial on grounds that only juries should try treason cases; Gardiner, C&P, 3:149.

108 TSP, 2:376; Reynolds, John Southworth, 66-7.

109 CSPV, 29:233-4.

110 A quirk of jurisdiction rendered the Isle of Jersey immune to writs of habeus corpus.

111 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 406.

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selection fixed112 – and would serve as a referendum on the new constitution. The regime appeared unwilling to venture into legally gray territory with the elections on the horizon, particularly when it had just issued an ordinance clarifying that seminary priests were traitors.

Despite ambassadorial protests and Cromwell’s personal convictions, Southworth’s execution proceeded.

On June 28 Southworth followed the precedent set by his martyred brothers and orated from the scaffold. He professed only joy in the opportunity to enact his “leffon of fuffering for my faviours fake” by dying for his religion.113 Without requesting leniency for himself or expressing any discontent with his imminent end, he attacked the hypocrisy that brought him to the scaffold. Noting that Cromwell “hath fought long for the libertie of the fubiect” and allowed

Englishmen to believe “their fhould be a generall libertie of Confcience, and that no mans life fhould be taken away for matters of Religion,” the priest reflected that the Lord Protector betrayed this principle by permitting his execution.114 On behalf of “the poore diftrefed

Catholickes I leave behind me,” Southworth railed against the injustice of exempting Catholics from a liberty enjoyed by all other freeborn Englishmen.115 When he began exhorting the Lord

Protector to “Administer Justice, indifferently; & wthout acception,” Southworth was interrupted by officers on the scaffold.116 Here the accounts of Southworth’s execution diverge, with one

112 TNA SP 25/75 ff. 350-2, f. 387. On June 7 and 8, the Council and Lord Protector finalized the form of paperwork required to certify election returns and ordered the indentures sent to sheriffs throughout England; by June 21 petitions regarding arrangements for elections had reached the Council, indicating that the process of selecting MPs was underway before Southworth’s arrest.

113 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, f. 636.

114 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, f. 636.

115 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, ff. 636-637.

116 AAW A XXX, no. 183, f. 640.

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version reporting that he ceased speaking while another records a final prayer.117 In either case,

Southworth promptly shuffled his mortal coil.

All processes proceeded smoothly in Southworth’s case. Though it was crucial for the regime to know that justice would be effected against those who violated banishment orders, in all other respects the case was unremarkable. Newssheets mentioned Southworth only in passing.118 But the fact remains that Southworth was the only priest executed by the

Protectorate. If he had not represented Charles I’s leniency toward Catholics; if Lilburne had not humiliated the Commonwealth by defeating the same charge Southworth faced; if the priest had not been arrested in the midst of the assassination plot; if election writs were not being delivered throughout the country; it is likely he could have remained in prison. Despite his dismay, with these circumstances, Cromwell had no choice but to send Southworth to the scaffold.

The regime found its hands similarly tied with Father James Carey, though the outcome in his case was significantly different. James Carey, a prisoner in Exeter Gaol, petitioned the

Lord Protector for relief in November 1654. His plea for mercy was based upon his eventful biography. Confessing that he “was bred up in the Romifh Religion”, Carey explained that he was ordained in Louvain then labored as a secular priest in Ireland for two and a half years.119 In

January 1654 he boarded a ship bound for Spain but was captured by “a Breft man of war”.

Upon landing in Brest, doubts he had apparently experienced for the previous two years flourished and he became “fully convinced of ye impiety of ye popes supremacy & of all other of

117 AAW, A XXX, no. 182, f. 637; AAW, A XXX, no. 183, f. 641.

118 The Perfect Diurnall 238 (June 26-July 3, 1654), 3647. Southworth was described as “a Jefuit, or as fome fay, a Secular Romifh Prieft, who was formerly Condemned, pardoned, and Banifhed, but returning hither again was apprehended, and now hanged, drawn and quartered” along with eight other men and one woman at .

119 TNA SP 18/77 f.77; TNA SP 18/77 f. 81.

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ye Idolatrous herifies & superstitions of yt Hierarchy”.120 Thereupon he determined to locate

English merchants, inform them of his spiritual awakening, and beg them to assist him in crossing the Channel to England where he could complete his conversion to Protestantism.

Finding a sympathetic soul, he wrangled passage and a letter of recommendation from his new friend, then, within hours of landing at Dartmouth on May 21, presented himself to the mayor of the city and confessed his autobiography, concluding with a plea to swear the Oath of Abjuration and prove the sincerity of his conversion. Rather than embracing a convert from the Roman

Church, the mayor arrested him and Carey had languished in Exeter Gaol since. Three Justices of the Peace listened to Carey’s tale at the August assizes but took no action.121

In both words and writing, Carey freely admitted he was a traitor.122 At the Exeter assizes, Carey “very heartily & fincerely” swore the Oath of Abjuration. Judge Thorpe, who had retained his seat at Pride’s Purge (though he absented himself from the king’s trial) and supported the Commonwealth, was the presiding magistrate and certified Carey’s oath. Even this emphatic renunciation of Catholic doctrine proved insufficient to free him from confinement. While it was unclear whether the Oath of Abjuration was operative at the time

Carey took it on August 8 (the Ordinance for Ejecting Scandalous, Ignorant, and Insufficient

Ministers and Schoolmasters passed on August 28, 1654 revived it)123, the spirit of 27 Eliz. c. 2,

120 TNA SP 18/77 f. 81.

121 TNA SP 18/77 f. 81. The account Carey provided in his petition to the Lord Protector differed slightly from the one he gave at the assizes; he omitted the tale of being captured by a man-of-war, simply stating that once he was in France “God was pleafed fully to convince him of the Erronioufnes of the popifh way”.

122 Technically, this may not have been true. Carey’s testimony strongly implies – and at least one of the judges presiding was sensitive to this implication – that he was born in Ireland and consequently was not an English citizen. It was unclear whether Irish citizens were subject to 27 Eliz. c.2. A provision of the statute extended its jurisdiction to persons born in “any other her Highnesse Dominions,” but a case could be made that this did not apply to Ireland; see Statutes of the Realm, 4:706. Ireland retained a separate legal code and the Protectorate Council had treated Irish matters as distinct from English in its ordinances, creating ambiguity.

123 A&O, 2:977.

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according to which Carey was imprisoned, required that converted priests be at liberty to spread word of Rome’s erroneous ways. Why then did Carey languish in Exeter Gaol?

The Council read his petition November 24, 1654. Apparently moved by Carey’s stated desire to “manifeft to the world his utter deteftation of his former wicked practice and according to his abilitye draw others out of thofe fnares that lead unto diftruction”, the Council requested an account of the matter from Thorpe.124 The judge reported that Carey remained in prison because no order had been given for Carey to appear at the bar or face prosecution. “Divers

Justices of Peace and Ministers and others who had had Conference” with Carey were convinced of the sincerity of his conversion, and Thorpe certified that he tendered the Oath of Abjuration to

Carey. But none of this mattered. For, as Thorpe concluded, “the Prisonrs act by the wordes of that law is Treason And therefore I could not Baile him”.125 27 Eliz. c.2 contained a proviso allowing priests to avoid charges of treason by swearing loyalty to the queen and joining the

Anglican church. However, this oath was not part of the statute. It was an old oath, part of 1

Eliz. c.1.126 As Thorpe noted in his letter, 1 Eliz. c.1 had been repealed by the Instrument of

Government in order to liberate tender consciences “and nothing yett settled in steed”.127

Legally, Carey had no remedy. He was, by his own admission, a traitor. Though cases like his were precisely the reason the proviso had been added to 27 Eliz. c.2, modifications by the

Instrument of Government rendered the provision null and void. Thorpe shrewdly detected the tension in the law.

124 TNA SP 18/77 f.77.

125 TNA SP 18/77 ff. 80-80v.

126 Statutes of the Realm, 4:707, 352.

127 TNA SP 18/77 f. 80v.

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Priests who wished to convert and renounce Rome’s errors were not unknown – Thomas

Gage, whom we met in Chapter 3, was another – but neither were they common. However, within the monarchical religio-political system, swearing allegiance to the monarch as Supreme

Head of the Church of England, signified the priest’s renunciation of Catholicism and return to the fold of loyal Englishmen. In the Protectorate religio-political system priests could abjure

Catholicism but could not prove they were no longer “traitors by the law” for there was no longer any religious authority to whom they could swear allegiance. Divorcing religious and political loyalty liberated tender consciences but eliminated mechanisms through which converted catholics could prove loyalty. Trapped by this oversight in the constitution, Carey remained in prison without redress. Common sense and the spirit of the law dictated that Carey should be set at liberty. But the regime could not risk undermining its own constitution. Such an action could be destabilizing at the best of times and would have been particularly damaging in

November 1654, as the first Protectorate parliament seemed poised to attack the constitution.

The regime had no choice but to enforce the letter of the law.

Months later, the Council finally acted upon Carey’s petition. On April 5, 1655, the

Council ordered that he be “forthwith fet at Liberty”. Motivating their decision, according to the

Order Book, was that he “hath taken the Oath of Abjuration and given Teftimony of his reall converc[i]on to the Proteftant Religion”. He was not to be simply turned loose; his release was conditional upon his “ingageing before the Mayor of Exeter not to doe any thing to the preiudice of this Commonwealth or the prefent governmt””.128 This promise shows another side effect of the absence of an ecclesiastical establishment: unlike in the Elizabethan and Stuart Church of

England, where regular attendance was mandatory and converts could easily be monitored, no

128 TNA SP 25/76 f. 10.

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such arrangement existed in the Cromwellian church. Once Carey walked out of the Exeter

Gaol, he was free to act and worship as he pleased. President of the Council Lawrence signed the warrant ordering his release that same day and Carey was at last free.129

Why did the regime suddenly reverse course? The facts of the case remained the same; external factors now allowed a different decision. First, the parliament which had questioned the validity of the Instrument was no longer in session. Second, Exeter gaol was becoming uncomfortably crowded: the majority of the participants in Penruddock’s Rising, which had occurred a scant three weeks earlier, were either imprisoned there or on their way to the jail.130

The fact that the Council released a priest – a self-confessed traitor – in the wake of an armed rebellion reinforces my interpretation that their original decision to prolong his incarceration was not based on any perceived threat from Carey. Facing a serious challenge to its legitimacy from the first Protectorate Parliament, the regime was forced to demonstrate strict enforcement of the law. Meticulous adherence to the constitution was its only recourse. Hence, Carey remained in prison, trapped by the regime’s insecurity. Once this threat no longer loomed, the regime freed

Carey. Reflexive exclusion of Catholics blinded Lambert and the regime to the nuances of the monarchical religio-political system. Although the reasoning for declaring Catholic priests traitors was similar for both monarchs and the Protectorate – ordained clerics owed allegiance to a foreign authority – the comprehensive monarchical religio-political system included a method for confirming loyalty that was absent in the Protectorate system. Altered circumstances saved

Carey but the problem remained.

The divergent fates of John Southworth and James Carey show how priests were subject to the vicissitudes of political expediency under the Protectorate. An accident of timing set

129 TNA SP 25/112 f. 120.

130 For a fuller discussion of Penruddock’s Rising, see Chapter 5.

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Southworth on an inexorable path to the gallows; another ensured that Carey remained imprisoned. More importantly, the two cases revealed that a vestige of the link between church and state remained. Political and religious allegiance were officially decoupled in the

Protectorate, but inherently disloyal Catholic priests were exempted from the new liberty of conscience. Weakened by contemporaneous challenges, the regime could not permit these symbols of a threatening foreign authority to remain at liberty. In both cases, the regime was forced to violate its ideals in order to protect the constitution; the priests were collateral damage.

Similar conundrums arose with the first Protectorate Parliament. Like the two priests, MPs challenged the constitution and the regime relied upon strict readings of the law to retain its authority.

The First Protectorate Parliament and the Meaning of the Instrument

Pomp and circumstance attended the opening of the first Protectorate Parliament on

September 3. Though the governors and MPs tempted divine displeasure by working on the sabbath, the regime wanted to capitalize on the date’s significance. And so on the fourth anniversary of Dunbar and the third anniversary of Worcester, Cromwell’s first parliament assembled and opened its session. The following day, Cromwell addressed his MPs as Lord

Protector and laid out his vision for the country. According to a friendly pen, he “deliver’d his mind very excellently”.131 In one of his famously long-winded speeches, he apprised MPs of reforms made to curb administrative abuses and praised the replacement of the “Antichristian”,

“Babylonish” Church of England with liberty of conscience.132 A benediction concluded his address: “...if the Lord’s blessing and his presence go along with the management of affairs at

131 Mercurius Politicus 221 (August 31-September 7, 1654), 3743.

132 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:435-7.

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this meeting, you will be enabled to put the top-stone to this work, and make the nation happy”.133 In short, Cromwell considered MPs’ task to be bringing “the Ship of this

Commonwealth . . . into a fafe Harbour”.134 Completion was the theme of Cromwell’s speech and his expectation of MPs. Many details remained unsettled within the new constitutional government and he charged MPs with tidying these loose ends.

MPs, however, understood Cromwell’s words as exhortation rather than instruction.

Instead of accepting the Instrument of Government as the country’s fundamental law, MPs immediately launched into a debate about whether to approve the constitution. This decision provoked harsh rebukes from the executive and incited a tussle over authority that consumed the assembly and ultimately caused its demise. I argue that Cromwell’s two famous disagreements with the first Protectorate Parliament – the September exclusions and the January dissolution – were both instances of deploying strictly literal readings of the constitution to preserve the regime’s authority in the fact of challenges.

Men who assembled in the Painted Chamber to hear Cromwell’s oration had been elected by their constituents and had their pasts scrupulously examined by the Council of State as a prelude to taking their seats. Prior to the elections in each constituency, the Instrument of

Government was read aloud, a reminder of the qualifications for both candidates and voters.

This heavy-handed reminder succeeded in inducing zealous members of the public to challenge returns: the Council received over twenty complaints.135 In accordance with Article XXI of the

Instrument, the Council dutifully checked that all men elected met the constitutional requirements to represent their constituency and, as Peter Gaunt has shown, scrupulously

133 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:442.

134 Mercurius Politicus 221 (August 31-September 7, 1654), 3748.

135 Peter Gaunt, “Cromwell’s Purge? Exclusions and the First Protectorate Parliament,” Parliamentary History 6, No. 1 (May 1987): 5.

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evaluated any questionable cases and complaints. A handful of men were excluded as a result of this process.136 Far more men were removed from their places during the second week of the session.

After the usual business that attended the opening of a parliament – selecting the Speaker and other officers – the new constitution was raised as a matter requiring urgent attention.

According to the diarist Guibon Goddard, several Members “from Court, especially, and from the soldiery and lawyers” pressed for the House to acknowledge the authority of the Instrument of Government.137 These men – who are not named but were, from the context, likely

Councillors – intended only that there be a “right understanding” about the “foundation” of the current government. They did not intend to imply that parliament needed to approve the

Instrument for it to be valid. But MPs snatched the proffered opening and subjected the

Instrument to a vote. By the end of the third day, the House decided it would “take the Matter of the Government into Debate”.138 Following one day of discussion about the meaning of the

Protectoral treason ordinance, specifically whether its provisions would ensnare MPs who discussed the constitution (an ominous sign of what was to come), the first Protectorate

Parliament spent four days in a Committee of the whole House debating whether they would accept, approve, or reject the Instrument of Government.139 The tenor of these debates quickly took an alarming turn. Rather than discussing the means and manner through which to acknowledge the new shape of government, it became apparent that MPs believed it was their

136 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412; Gaunt, “Cromwell’s Purge?” 6, 13-18.

137 Burton, Diary, 1:xxi. Burton’s diary begins on 3 December 1656. In order to provide a fuller picture of the Protectorate Parliaments, Rutt made the editorial decision to append another parliamentary diary to Burton’s and included Guybon Goddard’s notes from the first Protectorate Parliament and the early days of the second. All citations with a page number represented in lower-case Roman numerals come from Goddard’s diary; Arabic page numbers indicate that the author was Burton.

138 CJ, 7:366.

139 CJ, 7:366-7; Burton, Diary, 1:xxii-xxv.

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prerogative to determine the shape of the government, without reference to the constitution under which they had been elected to their places. They questioned whether England should be ruled by a “single person, and the Parliament” or “the Parliament alone” as well as what powers this hypothetical single person should possess. Each day these debates began first thing in the morning and lasted until 7 or 8pm.140 Over the course of the parliament’s first week, it became clear that, notwithstanding the manner of their election, MPs did not accept the authority of the

Instrument. Such a challenge from within the bosom of the government could not be allowed to stand.

Incensed by parliament’s decision to question the Instrument of Government, Cromwell stationed soldiers outside the House on September 12 and ordered MPs to attend him in the

Painted Chamber.141 Furious with the direction their discussions had taken, he lashed out. The fundamental point of his tirade was that this was “a free Parliament” but only within the framework of the Instrument. Specifically, he expected MPs to understand “that I was the

Protector, and the authority that called you, and that I was in possession of the government by a good right from God and men” and agree not to alter either the balance of power or the religious settlement.142 MPs would not be permitted to return to the House unless they signed a document recognizing the government in its current form. In order to resume their seats, Members would have to swear:

I do hereby freely promise and engage, that I will be true and faithful to the Lord Protector and the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and that according to the tenor of the Indentures whereby I am returned to serve in this present Parliament, I will not propose, or consent

140 Burton, Diary, 1:xxv-xxxii.

141 Burton, Diary, 1:xxxiii.

142 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:458.

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to alter the government as it is settled in a sole person and the Parliament.143

The Lord Protector thus stretched the wording of Article XXI to retroactively exclude men who did not meet the “qualifications” for election: in this case, acknowledging government by a single person and parliament.144 Writs had required that the Instrument of Government be read aloud as a prelude to elections; there should have been no confusion as to the authority that summoned MPs to Westminster nor to the form of government. Yet MPs, jealous of their privileges, balked at the request.

Roughly one hundred MPs subscribed immediately while the rest, displeased with the interference in their business, ate lunch together before deciding to subscribe and condemn the breach of parliamentary privilege.145 None should have objected since election writs included an indenture to the same effect.146 When the House reconvened on the 14th, its numbers now reduced, MPs voted to send a message to Cromwell clarifying their subscription. A new recognition was drafted and sworn. This version stated:

I do hereby freely promise and engage, to be true and faithful to the Lord Protector, and the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland; and shall not, according to the Tenor of the Indenture, whereby I am returned to serve in this present Parliament, propose, or give my Consent, to alter the Government, as it is settled in One Person and a Parliament.147

However, parliament added a caveat that they did not, in taking the recognition, accept the forty- two articles presented in the Instrument as the totality of the government. Thus, the MPs agreed not to change the fundamental shape of the government, but reserved the right to tinker with the

143 Burton, Diary, 1:xxxv.

144 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412. No specific article from the Instrument of Government was cited, but the only one which would have applied was Article XXI.

145 Burton, Diary, 1:xxxv-xxxvi. The Dutch ambassadors reported that roughly 145 signed at once and a further 50 the following day; TSP, 2:606.

146 CSPD 1654, 201-2; Burton, Diary, 1:xxxvi.

147 CJ, 7:368.

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specific formulation of the religio-political settlement. As Goddard said, parliament sought to demonstrate that they did not intend “to preclude or restrain ourselves from the examining or altering of any of the articles in the Instrument of Government, saving only that of the first article of settling the government in a sole person and the Parliament.”148 MPs then embarked upon a scrupulous evaluation of the Instrument, appointing committees to scrutinize each article and decide whether to accept, reject, or alter the content of the constitution, point by point.

Acrimony between Protector and parliament thus emerged mere days into the session.

This incident has generally been taken as the inauguration of the Protector’s contentious relationship with his parliaments: unreasonable expectation on Cromwell’s part based on an idealized vision of Elizabethan parliaments that, when frustrated, led the Lord Protector to dissolve the assembly.149 Peter Gaunt has shown that, far from being riven by faction or preoccupied with matters other than the redress of grievances, the first Protectorate Parliament industriously legislated on a wide variety of matters. Attendance in the House was high, with some 150-200 Members usually present, and, at the time of the dissolution, thirteen bills had been read at least once with another fifteen considered.150 Despite evidence of parliament’s assiduous working style and Gaunt’s arguments, even parliamentary historians continue to perceive the first Protectorate Parliament as addled. David L. Smith argued that a fundamental disconnect between Protector and parliament led to the collapse of the body. Specifically, he

148 Burton, Diary, 1:xxxviii.

149 H.R. Trevor-Roper, “Oliver Cromwell and his Parliaments,” in Essays Presented to Sir Lewis Namier ed. Richard Pares, (London: Macmillan, 1956), 1-48, is the classic formulation of this argument. J.S.A. Adamson, “Oliver Cromwell and the Long Parliament,” in Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution ed. John Morrill, (London: Longman, 1990), 73-74, 88-92, updated this argument slightly, showing that Cromwell believed in the sanctity of parliaments and only purged or expelled when he felt that liberty was in greater peril by allowing the session to continue than by ending it.

150 Peter Gaunt, “Law-Making in the First Protectorate Parliament,” in Politics and People in Revolutionary England: Essays in Honour of Ivan Roots ed. Colin Jones, Malyn Newitt and Stephen Roberts, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), 170-3.

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grants Gaunt’s point that parliament was busy, but argues that Cromwell’s intention to use parliament (a body which, thanks to the redistribution of seats, now more accurately represented the population as a whole) to advance an agenda of the radical minority (liberty of conscience) caused the breakdown and eventual dissolution.151

I argue that seeking a single cause for the rift between Cromwell and the first Protectorate

Parliament is fruitless for there were two distinct issues at play. In the first and final days of the parliament, the issue was authority. Cromwell could not afford to have parliament undermine his authority and when MPs did so, he used a strict interpretation of the powers granted in the

Instrument of Government to halt the doubting. For most of its brief life, however, the first

Protectorate Parliament considered details of the religio-political settlement outlined in the

Instrument that did not necessarily question the government’s authority. Discussions about the religious settlement reveal that, rather than objecting to liberty of conscience on principle, MPs were uncomfortable with the reduced control over the population that accompanied liberty of conscience. Operating within the narrow confines permitted by Cromwell, MPs attempted to recover the lost link between Englishness and Protestantism without offending the Lord

Protector’s well-known attachment to liberty of conscience.

Immediately following the business of the recognition, the “Original Record of the

Government of the Commonwealth” was brought into the House and remained there as parliament determined all particulars other than the shape of the regime.152 On September 19 the

House resolved itself into a Committee of the whole House for “the Debate upon the

151 David L. Smith, “Oliver Cromwell, the First Protectorate Parliament and Religious Reform,” Parliamentary History 19, No. 1 (2000): 38, 47.

152 CJ, 7:368.

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Government”.153 Discussing the Instrument in a Committee of the whole House rather than in the House was a strategic move. Committee discussions were not recorded in the official journal, and the strict guidelines and norms that regulated speech in the House were significantly relaxed in committee.154 Article by article, MPs parsed the Instrument of Government and discussed the religio-political settlement. Religion “was generally apprehended more difficult than any thing that had been formerly propounded.”155 Wednesday and Friday afternoons were dedicated to the nation’s religious settlement.156 Near the end of October, MPs voted “that the true Christian Religion contained in the Scripture, be held forth and recommended as the public profession of these nations”. Beyond the bare statement that England was a Christian nation

MPs were unable to agree upon anything regarding religion.157

A sub-committee was appointed to consider the articles regarding “indemnity to all that cannot subscribe to the public profession, and toleration to tender consciences” in greater detail than was possible within the grand committee.158 In addition to drafting protection for tender consciences, the sub-committee was also tasked with ascertaining the Lord Protector’s position on liberty of conscience. Learning that Cromwell was displeased with parliament’s actions did not dissuade MPs from their chosen course. When the House considered requirements for inclusion in the body politic, it further restricted the electorate. Most requirements for electoral

153 CJ, 7:368.

154 [William Lambarde], The Orders, Proceedings, Punishments, and Priviledges of the Commons House of Parliament in England, (1641), 7; Elizabeth Read Foster, “Speaking in the House of Commons,” Historical Research 43, No. 107 (May 1970): 52-3. Men were permitted to speak once at each reading of a bill (though generally no one spoke at a bill’s first reading). In committee, men could speak to the same bill or issue multiple times.

155 Burton, Diary, 1:lx.

156 CJ, 7:373.

157 Burton, Diary, 1:lix. They also agreed that the tithing system was broken and that public maintenance of ministers should not end until further provision “less subject to scruple and contention, be made for them” be made in the matter.

158 Burton, Diary, 1:lix.

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eligibility were the same as those established in the Instrument, but parliament significantly expanded the definition of papists.159 Considered separately from the religious issues, this new definition of popery indicated a more conservative bent in the parliament. MPs wanted to outlaw any association with popery. Unlike the Grandees who recognized a distinction between catholics and papists in 1647, or even the Council who months earlier justified the retention of

27 Eliz. c.2 through priests’ implicit and explicit attacks on the Protectorate’s authority, the first

Protectorate Parliament had no such logic for its actions. The expanded definition of popery reflected ancient prejudices as well as discomfort with the notion that religious and political allegiance were no longer linked. As they considered the religious articles this desire to label and control became even more pronounced.

By early December, the first Protectorate Parliament was concluding its reworking of the constitution. Religion, however, remained stubbornly resistant to compromise. The sub- committee on religion delivered its recommendations to the whole House on December 7. A solid week of debate ensued. Serious disagreements over the shape of the settlement persisted but it gradually emerged that a bare majority of MPs desired means of controlling the population through religion that were absent in the Instrument of Government. The first two points of the religious settlement were deceptively similar to the current arrangement. Members of parliament resolved “that the true Reformed, Protestant, Christian Religion, as it is contained in the Holy

Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, and no other, shall be asserted and maintained, as the

159 CJ, 7:390-1. The Instrument excluded all who professed “the Roman Catholic religion” from voting or standing for election. The House, in November 1654, retained this formulation but also voted to exclude any one who “hath married or shall marry, a Wife of the Popish Religion; or hath trained, or shall train up his Child or Children, or any other child or Children under his Tuition or Government, in the Popish Religion; or that shall permit or suffer such Child or Children to be trained up in the said Religion; or hath given, or shall give, his Consent, that his Son or Daughter shall marry any of that Religion”.

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public profession of these nations.”160 This language was substantially similar to Article XXXV of the Instrument. “Scriptures” in the Instrument of Government was amended to “Holy

Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments”; “held forth and recommended” was replaced with the more forceful “asserted and maintained”. These changes did not alter the meaning of the article, though they arguably rendered it more clearly Protestant. MPs also voted “That, to the publick Profession held forth, none shall be constrained by any penal Law or Statute, without

Consent of the Lord Protector and Parliament” and further that “no Law or Statute be made, for the Restraining of such Tender Consciences as shall differ in Doctrine, Worship, or Discipline, from the publick Profession held forth,” without consent of both branches of government.161

Again, parliament’s wording was significantly similar to the corresponding language in the

Instrument. The parliamentary formulation specifically added a caveat that injected the possibility that this liberty might be curtailed or eliminated in the future. From here, MPs exhibited much less enthusiasm for the liberation of tender consciences.

A new oath of office for the Lord Protector confirmed parliament’s more conservative approach to religion. Cromwell and his successors would be required to swear “I will uphold and maintain the true Reformed Protestant Christian Religion, in the Purity thereof, as it is contained in the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament; and encourage the Profession and Professors of the same”.162 The traditional link between Englishness and Protestantism is readily apparent in this oath. An evangelical, almost crusading spirit is also on display in the promise to “encourage the Profession and Professors of the same”. Depending on how one read the final clause, this could also be interpreted as a subtle attempt to eliminate liberty of

160 CJ, 7:397; Burton, Diary, 1:cxii.

161 CJ, 7:398; Burton, Diary, 1:cxii.

162 CJ, 7:402.

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conscience; if the Lord Protector were actively required to encourage Protestantism, could he allow freedom of worship?

Other aspects of the new religious settlement blatantly limited liberty of conscience.

After a division and much discussion, it was decided that parliament would have the power to require ministers receiving public support to subscribe to the publicly professed doctrine and also to establish laws for mandatory church attendance, providing they passed bills to that effect.163

Both votes gave parliament power to shape religious behavior. Obligatory attendance at a public place of worship every week reinstated an element of control over the population lacking in the

Instrument. Even though MPs removed wording that would have allowed “the Magistrate” to approve all such religious services, the effect of the clause was the same. By requiring that all such meetings be “in some publick Church or Chapel, or at some other Congregational and

Christian Meeting,” parliament ensured that unpalatable gatherings would be outlawed.

Certainly mass would not be considered a suitable fulfillment of this requirement. And by requiring ministers who received public support to offer “a Submission and Conformity to the

Publick Profession” MPs ensured significant control over the preaching ministry. They also signaled that a more detailed definition of the public profession was coming.

Parliament’s final attempt to restrict liberty of conscience was two-pronged. First, MPs would elaborate upon the practices that were not to be permitted. Second, they would approve a more detailed national profession of faith. December 9 was consumed by discussion about “the restraining of atheism, blasphemy, damnable heresies, popery, prelacy, licentiousness, and profaneness”.164 Consensus that these dark iterations of religion needed to be constrained was easily achieved but members of parliament differed in their approach to the issue. Some men

163 CJ, 7:398; Burton, Diary, 1:cxiii.

164 CJ, 7:398.

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wanted to draw up a list of specific practices and sects which would be prohibited while others saw danger in this approach. The House divided 85-84, showing how heated the debates became. At length a committee was ordered to devise wording that would not “expose the godly party, and people hereafter, to some danger of suffering under those laws,” but would prevent liberty of conscience serving as a cover for unacceptable activity.165 If the committee completed this task, it did not present its work to the House. The final version of the article merely stated that no restraints would be placed on tender consciences which differed from the public profession of the nation provided men “shall not abuse this Liberty to the Civil Injury of others, or the Disturbance of the publick Peace”. Liberty did not extend to “Atheism, Blasphemy, damnable Heresies, to be particularly enumerated, Popery, Prelacy, Licentiousness and

Profaneness; or such as shall preach, print, or avowedly maintain any thing contrary to the fundamental Principles of Doctrine held forth in the publick Profession.”166 MPs reserved the right to further restrict liberty of conscience by enumerating “damnable Heresies” but declined to do so at that point. Rather, they turned their attention to enumerating the “fundamental

Principles of Doctrine”. For this, they relied on advice from a council of ministers who had drawn up twenty articles of faith supported by scriptural proofs.167 Only the first of these articles

– a statement of justification by faith alone through the Word of God contained in the

Scriptures168 – was read before the matter was dropped. Religion remained at the forefront of

165 CJ, 7:399; Burton, Diary, 1:cxiv, cxix.

166 CJ, 7:401.

167 CJ, 7:399. The council of ministers, comprised of one man from each county, had been assembled during the first week of the parliament and quietly continued its work despite the turmoil that engulfed the House in mid- September; CJ, 7:367; Burton, Diary, 1:xxvii.

168 CJ, 7:401. “The Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments are the Word of God, and the only Rule of knowing him savingly, and living unto him in all Holiness and Righteousness, in which we must rest; which Scriptures whoso doth not believe, but, rejecting them, doth, instead thereof, betake himself to any other way of discovering the Mind of God, cannot be saved.”

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parliamentary discussion as the trial of John Biddle proceeded but the national profession was set aside until MPs initiated final confirmation of their constitution.169

Parliament intended to resurrect the link between political allegiance and religious behavior. To mollify the Lord Protector and Army, liberty of conscience would remain the law of the land. But in practice, this liberty would be severely curtailed. England would again have a national creed; ministers supported by tithes would have to promote this creed; Sunday worship would be mandatory; and the list of unlawful sects would be significantly expanded. This religious settlement would only permit worship outside the national church for a limited number of non-offensive non-conformists. A slim majority of MPs favored this route, but a slim majority would have been sufficient to destroy the Lord Protector’s cherished liberty of conscience in all but name.

Parliament learned on November 17 that Cromwell was displeased with parliament’s work and “had no propensity or inclination to it”.170 But MPs persisted with revising the constitution and Cromwell refrained from interfering with the proceedings. On January 22, 1655 the policy of non-intervention abruptly ended. Summoned to the Painted Chamber, MPs learned of Cromwell’s extreme displeasure with the slow progress of business and the closed nature of the proceedings.171 The Lord Protector then pronounced, “it is not for the profit of these nations, nor for [the] common and public good, for you to continue here any longer, and therefore, I do

169 CJ, 7:400; Stephen D. Snobelen, “Biddle, John (1615/16-1662),” DNB. Biddle first attracted attention with his anti-Trinitarian views in 1646. Imprisoned by parliament without trial, he refused to quit and published more tracts despite his incarceration. His works were partially responsible for the passage of the 1648 blasphemy ordinance. In 1654, his A Twofold Catechism incensed the first Protectorate Parliament, as it seemed intended to corrupt youth with blasphemy. When he was arrested and brought to the bar in December, it was to answer for his recently published catechism.

170 Burton, Diary, 1:lxxix.

171 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:579-593.

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declare unto you, That I do dissolve this Parliament.”172 Why did Cromwell, who expressed his displeasure to the sub-committee for religion in November, wait until January to act?

First, to have any credibility, Cromwell had to adhere to the law. Article VIII of the

Instrument of Government clearly stated that parliament must sit for a minimum of five months from the day it was summoned; within this time they could not be “adjourned, prorogued, or dissolved,” without their own consent. January 22, 1655 marked five lunar months since

Parliament began sitting on September 3, 1654, but was substantially less than the five calendar months that had been intended when the Instrument was drafted. The Lord Protector’s willingness to dissolve parliament in defiance of both the constitution and custom (veering dangerously close to the actions that led to accusations of tyranny against Charles I) left the regime vulnerable to attacks from opponents.

Second, Cromwell only acted when he felt his authority was imperiled. Opposition to the size of the military and the close ties between Army and Protector emerged in the days preceding the dissolution. Standing military forces, as well as the means to pay and supply these forces, would not be addressed in the new parliamentary constitution, as was the case in the Instrument.

Rather, a separate bill would address what the House saw as a discrete issue.173 Multiple divisions showed that a significant portion of the House wanted to restrict the monies flowing to the military and, shockingly, that the Lord Protector might not have veto power over this specific bill.174 Learning that, despite the myriad divisions which attended the militia bill’s progress

172 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:593.

173 CJ, 7:413.

174 CJ, 7:417-8.

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through the House, there was enough support for the measure to pass, Cromwell decided once again to intervene in parliamentary affairs.175

On the two occasions that Cromwell redirected parliament’s course he halted direct challenges to his authority. Displeased with parliament’s reconsideration of the constitution, between September 12 and January 22 Cromwell nonetheless permitted parliament to proceed because none of their proposals posed a threat to his position. Astute critics perceived this pattern and attacks upon Cromwell for his tyrannical inclinations, evidenced in the premature dissolution of the first Protectorate Parliament, appeared immediately. In the long run, it was the first Protectorate Parliament whose reputation was tarnished rather than Cromwell’s, but this was a later development, as Peter Gaunt has shown.176 Damage control was required in the aftermath of the dissolution. Marchamont Nedham, the state’s mouthpiece, reported only the bare fact of the dissolution absent elaboration in Mercurius Politicus and reassured the public that the Lord

Protector and Council had “fat very clofe” regarding governmental business since dismissing parliament.177 Silence was no match for the hundreds of outraged MPs, however. The Perfect

Diurnall, another weekly newssheet, published a summary of Cromwell’s speech. Regardless of editorial intention, the effect of the summary was to publicize the depth of the Lord Protector’s antipathy for the representative body.178 And one former MP was reportedly circulating whole copies of the government bill.179 Scrupulous adherence to the law preserved Cromwell’s authority but did not shield the Lord Protector from charges of tyranny.

175 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:593; Gaunt, “Law-Making,” 183. I agree with Gaunt’s argument that financing and control of the military was what ultimately drove Cromwell to the precipitate dissolution of the first Protectorate Parliament, for that was the only business conducted the day before he summoned MPs to the Painted Chamber.

176 Gaunt, “Law-Making,” 163-4.

177 Mercurius Politicus 241, (January 18-25, 1654[5]), 5084.

178 The Perfect Diurnall 268, (January 22-29, 1655), 4111-15.

179 TSP, 3:363.

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Designed to obviate challenges to his authority as Lord Protector, it is easy to view

Cromwell’s interventions in parliamentary proceedings as a mere power grab. However, in his

January 22 speech he revealed that the principles he fought for in 1647 still guided his actions.

He condemned parliament’s extreme reluctance to confirm liberty of conscience for all

Protestants, blaming them for desiring to “put their finger upon their brethren’s consciences, to pinch them there” in contravention of hard-won liberty.180 Fierce debates had revealed that MPs held a different conception of the ideal religious settlement, and one disgruntled Member explained why in an April publication. The anonymous author of A Representation Concerning the late Parliament decried the licentiousness that flourished under the guise of “Chriftian

Liberty”.181 He characterized the current state of the religious settlement as permitting everyone

“to live above, or without Ordinances, if they will,” and to “maintain, hold forth, and publifh any hereticall opinion that he fhal pleafe, and feduce others into the fame, and be tolerated”.

Because, he argued, “all mens hearts by nature tend only to evil,” liberty of conscience would mix “herefies and blafphemy” with sound doctrine, eventually “deftroying the very Chriftianity of thefe Nations”.182 A Representation stated what the Journal hinted at: the majority of the population was uncomfortable with the lack of oversight that accompanied liberty of conscience.

Regular attendance at national church services had existed for too long for any but the minority who chafed under these requirements to rejoice at its disappearance. Fear that the new liberty would offer a cloak for nefarious activities – up to and including the destruction of Protestantism

180 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:586.

181 A Representation Concerning the late Parliament in the Year, 1654, (N.P.: N.P., 1655), 21.

182 Representation Concerning the late Parliament, 21.

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that Cromwell had mentioned in his opening speech183 – permeated all but Lord Protector,

Council, and Army.

In response to the dire warning about the moral state of the nation blared in A

Representation Concerning the Late Parliament, the Council and Lord Protector ordered

William Sheppard to issue a précis of the current ecclesiastical legislation in England. Sheppard, a lawyer with religious inclinations that aligned closely with those of John Owen, Cromwell’s chaplain, had been tapped as the Lord Protector’s legal advisor.184 A View of all the Laws and

Statutes of this Nation Concerning the Service of God or Religion established that “Religion, and

Juftice are the main pillars of the Common wealth”. Sheppard reprinted the articles on religion from the Instrument of Government, reassuring readers that England remained a Christian country.185 Ancient legal precedents, Sheppard argued, showed that the Holy Scriptures were “of foveraigne Authority” in England and “any Statute, Prefcription, Cuftome, or Canon againft

[them], is void and not to be Admitted”.186 Further, he noted the requirement to keep the Lord’s day absolutely holy; enumerated blasphemies and heresies which would earn censure; and reiterated the abolition of the Book of Common Prayer in favor of the Directory of Worship.187

In short, he sought to demonstrate in a highly logical manner that England remained a Christian country and would promote and defend the true faith.

183 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:435-8. In his September 4 speech, Cromwell had acknowledged that villains could use liberty of conscience as a cloak for nefarious purposes, and had even admitted that “emissaries of the Jesuits never came in these swarms” as they had recently (though he blamed the Civil War for the increase of Jesuits rather than liberty of conscience).

184 Nancy L. Matthews, William Sheppard, Cromwell’s Law Reformer, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 31-33. He was a permanent, full-time member of the administration with a high annual salary – £300, roughly one-third of Councillors’ annual pay – indicating that he was a trusted member of the government with a serious role.

185 William Sheppard, A View of all the Laws and Statutes of this Nation Concerning the Service of God or Religion, (London: J. Wright, 1655), 1-4.

186 Sheppard, Laws & Statutes, 8-9.

187 Sheppard, Laws & Statutes, 5-16, 20-22.

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Sheppard’s highly legalistic defense of the Protectorate religious settlement is a fitting note on which to end this chapter. Having fought for ideals since 1647 and finally gained the authority to defend these principles, Cromwell and his Council were continually repelling challenges to their position and ideals with expeditious uses of the law. To outsiders this appeared to be tyranny, but I have shown that Cromwell was exquisitely careful to stay within the bounds of legality.

Conclusion

This chapter has charted the process through which a group of army officers articulated a positive vision of England’s religio-political settlement, enshrined that program in the nation’s first written constitution, and then defended the constitution against threats from multiple quarters. Each step of this process has been scrutinized by generations of historians. But analyzing the process from the perspective of the English Catholic community as I have done yields new insight into the Protectoral conceptions of authority and allegiance.

From June 14, 1647, the New Model Army pursued liberty of conscience. To truly free tender consciences, the Grandees did not merely seek permission to worship outside the national church (permission that the notoriously mercurial Charles I could have revoked); they proposed eliminating ties between religious affiliation and membership in the body politic. This formulation would have entirely restructured the religio-political system. Negotiations with the

Blackloists proved that the Grandees appreciated the magnitude of their proposal: catholics could only figure in the picture if the Grandees sought to permanently separate religious profession from national identity. Six years later, when this principle was codified as the fundamental law of the land, Catholics remained isolated from the political nation. Excluding the English

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Catholic community from enjoying liberty of conscience in 1653 did not mean the Grandees had been insincere in 1647 or that they only partly embraced the principles they proclaimed.

Acceptance of Catholicism was conditional, predicated upon iron-clad renunciations of papal authority accompanied by professions of allegiance. Absent such assurances there was no means of differentiating between catholics and papists; hence the blanket exclusion of the English

Catholic community in the Instrument of Government. As challenges to the constitution – and hence to the new regime’s authority – proliferated in the months following the proclamation of the Protectorate, Lord Protector and Council confronted an uncomfortable reality. Their chosen defense mechanism, the law, forced them to repeatedly abrogate their principles in order to preserve their authority. First, they killed a man for his religious beliefs. Then they imprisoned a convert who wanted to trumpet Romish errors. Duly elected representatives of the body politic were excluded from parliament. Finally, Cromwell echoed Charles I and dissolved the first

Protectorate Parliament when it contravened his wishes.

Taken as a whole, the events examined in this chapter show that the Protectorate governors were simultaneously sincere in their beliefs and determined to retain power in order to protect the liberties they held so dear. Despite the impression given in this chapter, these objectives rarely conflicted during the first thirteen months of the Protectorate. Famously, the first Protectorate Parliament forced the regime to act in apparent contravention of its commitment to liberty. But using the English Catholic community to analyze the structure and operation of the regime places the parliamentary expulsion as part of a much grander conversation about the nature of authority and allegiance in England.

In the highly legal interpretation of the constitution the regime came to favor during its early days, Protector and Council had three years before they would next have to wrangle a

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parliament. Until then they were free to reform administration to suit their principles. Instead, a combination of crises and policy decisions resulted in new elections a mere nineteen months later. It is to these decisions we now turn.

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CHAPTER 5

AN ARCH ANTI-PAPIST? OLIVER CROMWELL’S AUTOCRATIC POLICIES

REEXAMINED

Weeks after dissolving the first Protectorate Parliament, the Protectorate regime faced a determined effort to bring it down: Penruddock’s Rising. Hundreds of royalists gathered arms and planned to rebel, though only two hundred in the West Country actually did. Mere days after the rising began, it ended. Participants either fled, surrendered, or fought to the death in a final stand at . Intended as the beginning of a coup d’état, Penruddock’s Rising instead presented the regime with the perfect opportunity – one so flawless that some thought it had to be orchestrated1 – to assert its authority and recapture some of the goodwill it squandered by dissolving the first Protectorate Parliament. Instead, Penruddock’s Rising inaugurated the infamous regime of the Major-Generals, Cromwell’s enduring legacy. Why did this apparently providential moment yield a policy that seemingly reinforced every black rumor about

Cromwell’s authoritarian tendencies? Faced with imminent threats to their authority, I argue,

1 Robert Palgrave, “A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.; Secretary, First to the Council of State, and afterwards to the Two Protectors, Oliver and Richard Cromwell,” The Quarterly Review 162 (April 1886): 417, 436-442, argued vehemently that Cromwell was a Machiavellian puppeteer with uncommon skill. His view was that Thurloe – and, through the secretary, Cromwell – possessed complete foreknowledge of the plan and permitted the rebellion to proceed as it did in order to consolidate support for the regime. He eventually doubled down on his theory, proposing that every single plot and assassination attempt aimed at Cromwell was known by the Protector in advance and carefully managed to gain public sympathy without actually endangering Cromwell’s life; Reginald F.D. Palgrave, “Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655. A Reply to Mr. Firth,” The English Historical Review 3, No. 11 (July 1888): 521-539; Reginald F.D. Palgrave, “Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655. A Reply to Mr. Firth (Continued),” The English Historical Review 3, No. 12 (October 1888): 722-751. C.H. Firth, “Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655,” The English Historical Review 3, No. 10 (April 1888): 323-350; C.H. Firth, “Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655,” The English Historical Review 4, No. 15 (July 1889): 525-535, decisively refuted all of Palgrave’s arguments.

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Protector and Council once again relied on strict interpretations of the constitution to preserve their position.

Traditionally, the Major-Generals have been considered the essence of Cromwell’s anti- popish prejudices. Nearly contemporaneously with the announcement of the Major-Generals,

Cromwell declared war on Spain in an invective-laden pamphlet that relied heavily upon anti- popery to justify an apparently unprovoked conflict. Taken together, these two October announcements apparently constitute a clear statement that advancing the Reformation and crushing the abominable Roman Catholic Church drove policy decisions during the second half of Cromwell’s rule as Lord Protector. At least, this is the conclusion if one takes the regime’s rhetoric from April through October of 1655 at face value. I do not believe this was the case.

Rather, I argue in this chapter that Cromwell’s actions were consistent with his governing style. Religion, both religious devotion and animus, while irrefutably part of these policy decisions, was not the organizing principle at Whitehall. Retaining authority and differentiating between loyal and disloyal subjects were. Closely reading the anti-papist invective and juxtaposing the rhetoric with the regime’s actions reveals that the catholic/papist distinction remained operative in both thought and deed. Anti-popery became a convenient (and more palatable) means of communicating the regime’s true aims: suppressing disloyal Englishmen and retaining authority.

Posturing by Proclamation

On April 26, 1655, the Lord Protector issued a proclamation “declaring His Highness pleasure and command for putting in execution the laws, statutes and ordinances made against

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Jesuits and priests, and for the speedy conviction of Popish recusants”.2 The proclamation itself is straightforward and unremarkable. Similar proclamations were issued repeatedly by Elizabeth and the first two Stuarts.3 Issuing a declaration against Catholics three months after chastising parliament for seeking to “put their finger upon their brethren’s consciences, to pinch them there” suggests a reversal of policy.4 I argue that the regime’s reversal in regard to the English

Catholic community and its clerics was not a sudden unleashing of animus but rather a calculated action that served multiple purposes. Timed as it was, I believe the proclamation was first and foremost a response to the aftermath of Penruddock’s Rising and indicated the regime’s insecurity at that moment. But it also primed the country for the two major policy developments on the horizon.

Penruddock’s Rising is often described as a quixotic last stand by the Royalists. Though an oversimplification, this statement captures the essence of the incident. The Sealed Knot’s plan called for a coordinated national rebellion. Simultaneous insurrections throughout the country were expected to easily overwhelm the reduced troop levels in England.5 Only Colonel

John Penruddock and his West Country comrades actually mobilized. Royalists in other regions

2 England and Wales (Lord Protector), By the Lord Protector: A Proclamation declaring His Highness pleasure and command for putting in execution the laws, statutes and ordinances made against Jesuits and priests, and for the speedy conviction of Popish recusants, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, 1655), n.p.

3 See, for example, England and Wales (Elizabeth I), By the Queene a proclamation for proceeding against Jesuits and secular priests, their receivers, relievers, and maintainers. (London: Robert Barker, 1602), n.p.; England and Wales (James I), By the King a proclamation for the due execution of all former lawes against recusants, giving them a day to repaire to their owne dwellings, and not afterwards to come to the court, or within 10 miles of London, without speciall license: and for disarming of them as the law requireth: and withall, that all priests and Jesuits shall depart from the land by a day, no more to returne into the realme: and for the ministring of the oath of allegiance, according to the law, (London: Robert Barker, 1610), 3-4; England and Wales (Charles I), By the King. A proclamation restraining the withdrawing His Majesties subjects from the Church of England, and giving scandall in resorting to masses, (London: Robert Barker, 1637), n.p.

4 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:586.

5 Cal. Clar. SP, 2:357; Cal. Clar. SP, 3:13; Warner, Nicholas Papers, 2:145, 177. For accounts and analysis of the planning, see Firth, “Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655 (Part 1),” 323-326; A.H. Woolrych, Penruddock’s Rising 1655, (London: George Philip & Son, Ltd., 1955), 4-17.

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either failed to appear or rendezvoused but did not take up arms.6 Informants and alert patrols helped the regime locate and incarcerate participants in these aborted rebellions. Confident that they had the malefactors in custody, the regime interpreted the royalists’ failure as a demonstration of “the great mercy of God to this Nation” and anticipated swift show trials to serve as propaganda.7

This plan rapidly unraveled, however. Corralling evidence against royalists who participated in the aborted Welsh, Midlands, and Northern conspiracies proved difficult.8 Judges more fully demonstrated the scruples that had trapped James Carey the previous year. Prudent enough to obfuscate their “doubtfulnes, whether in point of law, this matter of facte can, according to law, bee declared by them to be treafon,” the judges nonetheless interpreted the law strictly and to the detriment of the regime.9 Once more, the regime faced unforeseen consequences of its heavy reliance upon strict legal interpretations. Most of the men imprisoned as suspected rebels and traitors could not, in the opinion of the judiciary, be tried for their crime.

Several judges who stymied the prosecutions lost their positions in short order.10

6 Mercurius Politicus 248 (March 8-15, 1654[1655]), 5195-6; Mercurius Politicus 249 (March 15-22, 1654[1655]), 5207, 5209; The Perfect Diurnal 275 (March 12-19, 1655), 4221-2, 4334-5.

7 Mercurius Politicus 248 (March 8-15, 1654[1655]), 5193.

8 TSP, 3:298.

9 TSP, 3:359 361. There were two separate bases for the judges’ doubts about the proceedings. First, they were wary of trying any of the Northern, Midlands, or Welsh conspirators for treason since no rebellion occurred in those locations. Second, they were uncertain whether the Protectorate treason ordinance was valid. As we saw in Chapter 4, the language of the Instrument could be taken to mean that the conciliar ordinances were valid only until parliament met; since the first Protectorate Parliament failed to confirm the treason ordinance it could be considered null, meaning the only crimes classified as treason under the Protectorate were the two types of electoral misconduct named in the constitution.

10 The Perfect Diurnal 282 (April 30-May 7, 1655), 4341; A Perfect Account 226 (May 2-9, 1655), 1805; Gardiner, C&P, 3:299-301. For a full account, see Samuel Selwood, A Narrative of the Proceedings of the Committee for preservation of the Customes, In the Case of Mr George Cony, Merchant, (London: William Sheares, 1655); Vivienne Larminie, “Newdigate, Sir Richard, first baronet (1602–1678),” DNB. Thorpe, Newdigate, and Chief Justice Rolle lost their positions because of their strict adherence to the written law in both the case of the rebels and in the case of Cony, a merchant who refused to pay customs on grounds that the Protector had no authority to levy the customs.

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Penruddock’s Rising occurred in mid-March. Reports of the judges’ scruples reached

Whitehall in mid-April. Against this backdrop, the April 26 anti-papist proclamation gains additional valence. It was a means of regaining control. Merely issuing the proclamation redirected attention onto papists and away from the abandoned prosecutions. It also exerted the executive’s right to direct the judiciary. Neither of these effects have been examined by scholars. Religious in nature, the proclamation does not mention Penruddock’s Rising. Gardiner alone has linked the two events, but he saw the enforcement of recusant penalties as a purely financial move and argued that it lightened Catholics’ wallets but otherwise changed nothing.11

The lone historian to detect political calculus behind the move, W.K. Jordan, attributed the proclamation to a desire “to check to some degree the remarkable revival of Catholic missionary effort which the leniency of the Protectorate had made possible.”12 For the majority of

Interregnum scholars, the proclamation is entirely unremarkable and confirms assumptions about the ruling cabal’s religious inclinations.

Examining the text of the declaration within the context of a serious physical and theoretical challenge to the regime reveals its multiple purposes. Harnessing anti-popery for political ends was a tried-and-true tactic deployed by Interregnum regimes.13 The Lord Protector decried the “Jefuits and Popifh Priefts” streaming into the country who had the “great audacity

[to] exercife all Offices of their profeffion, both faying Maffes, and reconciling the People to the

Church of Rome.”14 He felt obliged “to ufe all good means to preferve the people from being

11 Gardiner, C&P, 4:18.

12 W.K. Jordan, The Development of Religious Toleration in England: From the Convention of the Long Parliament to the Restoration, 1640-1660, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938), 186; CSPV, 30:54-55.

13 Ian Y. Thackray, “Zion Undermined: The Protestant Belief in a Popish Plot during the English Interregnum,” History Workshop 18 (Autumn 1984): 29-30, demonstrated that Interregnum governments harnessed anti-popery at various points for political ends. However, he does not link the 1655 proclamation with Penruddock’s rising.

14 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Proclamation . . . against Jesuits and priests, n.p.

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corrupted in Religion, Piety and Obedience, to keep them from being infected with Superftitious and Idolatrous opinions”. Part of the blame for this deplorable state of affairs, Cromwell conceded, lay with the regime, for “as of late time there hath been a great neglect in putting the

Laws in execution for convicting of Popifh Recufants”.15 This admission echoed what he had admitted to the first Protectorate Parliament. However, this concern for the population’s souls was secondary. More alarming, priests were “feducing [people] from the true perfwafion, which all people ought to have of their duty and obedience to their Governours.” The only recent demonstration of disloyalty was Penruddock’s Rising and there was no suggestion that the rebellion had been a Catholic plot. But by recalling the public’s attention to the intrinsic disloyalty of papists in the wake of rebellion, the regime injected a popish tinge to the affair. It also suggested that insurrection could be taken as evidence of popery, possibly forestalling future insrrections.

Control over the judiciary was subtly inserted into the proclamation. When located, priests were to be arrested and taken to the county gaol where they would be held without bail until they could be brought to trial. “Harbourers, Receivers and Maintainers of Jefuits, Popifh

Priefts,” would be “left to the due and ordinary Courfe of Law.” Jurists would not only have to prosecute papists, they would have to untangle the gordian knot of current recusancy legislation to do so. And the proclamation slyly thumbed its nose at judges who questioned the validity of conciliar ordinances. Since recusancy had traditionally been identified through absence at mandatory church services – no longer an option under the Protectorate – the new test of recusancy was to be the Oath of Abjuration. Created “by an Ordinance of the Lords and

Commons affembled in Parliament”, the “Oath commonly called The Oath of Abjuration” had

15 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Proclamation . . . against Jesuits and priests, n.p.

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been revived in the August 28, 1654 Ordinance for Ejecting Scandalous, Ignorant, and

Insufficient Ministers and Schoolmasters.16

Little resulted from the proclamation. Northumberland J.P.s took the mandate to enforce anti-popery statutes seriously, reinstituting an old ordinance that banned papists from travelling more than five miles from their residence without leave from officials.17 But it appears this was an isolated case of initiative, for the Council wrote to “ye Sheriffs of each County in England and

Wales” noting that the proclamation had not “p[ro]duce[d] that good effect as was intended”. A sample certificate, intended to aid the administrative duties that attended hunting recusants and priests, was enclosed.18 It seems unlikely that this gentle reminder altered the pace of prosecution for the resident Venetian Sagredo wrote to the Doge and Senate in the autumn that, while the position of English Catholics could stand improving, it was priests who were the target of the regime’s energies. Lay Catholics only felt the persecution in their pocketbooks. Further, by October, Sagredo was offering refuge to clerics and quite publicly allowing his chaplains to minister to the Catholic laity in London, having six masses said on weekdays and ten on festival days.19 While the massive crowds flocking to the Venetian’s residence did attract the attention of the authorities, resulting in the arrest of some four hundred

Englishmen, nothing seems to have resulted other than a reprimand.20

16 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Proclamation . . . against Jesuits and priests, n.p. The Long Parliament created the Oath of Abjuration in an ordinance of August 18, 1643; A&O, 1:255-256. For the 1654 ordinance, see A&O, 2:977.

17 Perfect Proceedings 295 (May 17-24, 1655), 4683-4684. Northumberland J.P.s may have reinstituted the five- mile prohibition on their own initiative. The report in Perfect Proceedings is dated April 25 – the day before Cromwell issued the proclamation – but dating in the periodicals was notoriously unreliable.

18 TNA SP 25/76 f. 237; TNA SP 25/76A ff. 105-106, 130.

19 CSPV, 30:128-9.

20 Gardiner, C&P, 4:19.

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Prompted by Penruddock’s Rising, the proclamation redirected the population’s attention from the regime’s failure to prosecute the vast majority of the rebels. Only a handful of the ringleaders in the Western insurrection were executed for their acts; a few stood trial and were acquitted while most of the rest were imprisoned without trial for months before being transported to the West Indies. The government, faced with judicial reluctance, halted prosecutions in for the aborted risings elsewhere in the country.21 The proclamation also primed the country for two anticipated policy announcements. With an unequivocal statement that papists were rebellious and denied the regime’s authority followed shortly by an outpouring of religiously-tinged anti-Spanish rhetoric, perhaps scholars can be forgiven for considering the proclamation to herald the start of a more Protestant Protectorate. But Cromwell had not forgotten his Catholic correspondents from 1647. The Blackloists were about to return.

The Blackloists Return

Last time we saw the Blackloists they were disappointed but not discouraged after their

1647 bit for toleration failed. Normal duties occupied them, though they kept a watchful eye on developments in England.22 Kenelm Digby, as I will show, was the most active and determined member of the group during this period. His extensive interactions with Interregnum regimes,

Army officers, and eventually the Lord Protector himself provided insight into the Protectorate’s

21 The judges appointed to preside over the northern trials returned to London without orders and without opening proceedings; see TSP, 3:385. On the surprise acquittal of some conspirators, see TSP, 3:376-7. And for the Attorney General’s decision not to try many of the Western rebels but rather incarcerate them pending further orders, see TSP, 3:407.

22 Henry Holden was a professor of divinity at the Sorbonne in Paris; Stefania Tutino, Thomas White and the Blackloists: Between Politics and Theology during the English Civil War, Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 43. Peter Biddulph (alias Fitton), attended to his duties as Dean of the English Chapter, though he travelled several times to Paris and to Rome on business; Anstruther, The Seminary Priests, II:27. Aside from a spell as vice-president of the seminary at Douai, Thomas White (alias Blacklo) lived in Holland and focused on his intellectual labors; Anstruther, The Seminary Priests, II:350.

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preferred methods of operating. I argue that he turned his observations into a fresh bid for toleration: The Grounds of Obedience and Government.

From his earliest years, Kenelm Digby was tainted by the sins of his father. Sir Everard

Digby was one of the conspirators involved in the Gunpowder Plot.23 Removed from his

Catholic mother’s care after his father’s execution, Digby was raised by a Protestant family, but his guardians permitted Digby’s mother to procure Jesuit instructors. After a spell at Gloucester

College, Oxford, Digby embarked on a grand tour of Europe. His exploits over the next several years would fill a novel. At the conclusion of his adventures Digby joined his uncle, the Earl of

Bristol, in Madrid for the tail end of the Spanish Match negotiations.24 Of an age with the lovesick prince, Kenelm and Charles formed a friendship that lasted after the entourage returned to England. Appointed to the retinue that concluded marriage negotiations with the French in

1624, Digby met Henrietta Maria. Following Charles I’s accession, Digby conformed to the

Anglican Church in order to occupy an official post and counted Archbishop Laud as a close friend. The untimely death of his wife at this juncture redirected Digby’s life course and as he turned his energies to natural philosophy he engaged in robust correspondences with many of the leading thinkers of the day, including Thomas White, Thomas Hobbes, and Descartes.25

As unrest brought the Personal Rule to an end, Digby found himself at the heart of the political imbroglio. Desperate to fight the Scottish Covenanters without summoning a parliament for supply, as a last-ditch effort the queen implored her Catholic subjects to contribute and help fund the war. Oblique promises “to remove any apprehenfion of prejudice,”

23 Mark Nicholls, “Digby, Sir Everard (c.1578–1606),” DNB; Michael Foster, “Digby, Sir Kenelm (1603-1665),” DNB.

24 R.T. Petersson, Sir Kenelm Digby: The Ornament Of England, 1603-1665, (London: Jonathan Cape, 1956), 57-68.

25 Wyndham Miles, “Sir Kenelm Digby, Alchemist, Scholar, Courtier, and Man of Adventure,” Chymia 2 (1949): 127.

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and to secure those who donated “from all fuch objected inconveniences” suggested that exemption from recusancy penalties might be in the offing for those who donated.26 Digby, who had reconverted to Catholicism after his wife’s death, joined with Walter Montague in authoring a letter urging their co-religionists to heed the queen’s plea, offering the same half-promises in return for financial aid.27

He thus represented both the religious and financial aspects of the Personal Rule considered loathsome by the population. Within two months of convening, the Long Parliament took aim at Digby. A committee was appointed by the Commons “to prepare Questions, to be proposed to Sir Kenelme Digby . . . concerning Motives and Instructions given to the Popish

Recusants for raising Monies for the Northern Expedition” on January 28, 1641.28 A month later, at a conference between the Houses “concerning the removing of the Englifh Papists from the King's Court,” Digby was one of “Four particular Perfons” whose removal was sought.29

The timing of this move indicates that there was firm belief that “secret Counsels and Meetings of Jesuits and others” cooked up “Plots and Designs, to disturb the Peace of this Kingdom”.30

This was the ominous beginning of Digby’s protracted involvement with the Long Parliament.

Determined to prosecute men it considered dangerous despite Charles I’s refusal to expel known papists from Court, the Commons created a committee endowed with power to summon men and administer the Oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. Refusal to swear would render the man liable to the penalties of law.31 Technically, Digby should not have been required to swear

26 Henrietta Maria, A Copy of first, the letter sent by the Queenes Majestie, Folger C6196, 2; Petersson, Sir Kenelm Digby, 151-154.

27 Henrietta Maria, the letter sent by the Queenes Majestie, 3-4.

28 CJ, 2:74.

29 LJ, 4:169. For Charles’s response to parliament’s demand, see LJ, 4:230.

30 CJ, 2:183.

31 CJ, 2:158.

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the oaths, for he had demonstrated his adherence to the Church of England years earlier when he accepted a position with the navy and had received the eucharist in Whitehall chapel.32

Technicalities aside, it appears Digby was summoned before the committee and declined to deny his renewed belief in Catholicism, for he was summoned to the Committee for Recusants

Convict on June 22.33 A brief sojourn in France, undertaken to escape parliament’s fixation, ended when he broke the law by dueling.34 MPs noticed Digby’s repatriation and required that he “be fecured, for the Safety of the Kingdom”.35 Imprisoned for two years, Digby was released in July 1643 after persistent petitioning by the Queen Regent of France.36 Exiled to France,

Digby had no intention of relinquishing his estates.

As soon as he was settled, Digby began his lengthy campaign to preserve his estates from parliamentary plunder. Friends in high places supported his efforts.37 Central to Digby’s case was the fact that, according to parliament’s definition, he was not a delinquent: he had never borne arms against the parliament. Indeed, he could not have, since he was already imprisoned when Charles I raised the royal standard. Upon learning that his estates were sequestered for recusancy rather than delinquency, Digby altered his approach. Witnesses who would swear

“evidence that he is no Papist; and that he hath good Affections to the Parliament” were located

32 Andrew Clark, ed., “Brief Lives,” chiefly of Contemporaries, set down by John Aubrey, between the Years 1669 & 1696, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1898), 1:227.

33 CJ, 2:182.

34 [Kenelm Digby], Sr. Kenelme Digbyes Honour Maintained, (London: T.B., 1641), n.p. The French Lord Mount le Ros insulted King Charles I and Digby defended his sovereign’s honor by asking for a duel. After killing the lord, Digby confessed his crime and was expelled from France.

35 LJ, 4:448-450; Petersson, Sir Kenelm Digby, 158-62; Thomas Longueville, The Life of Sir Kenelm Digby, (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1896), 254-261.

36 LJ, 6:150; CJ, 3:184-5, 187. The Commons were reluctant to grant this request and only did so after the Lords pointed out that “the Queen Regent had granted great Liberties to the Protestants of France,” and releasing Digby might obligate her to continue this course of action, and the Commons agreed to consider the prospect.

37 LJ, 6:261-2. The French Ambassador and the Earl of Denbigh name-dropped the Queen Regent once more.

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and presented to the Lords.38 Satisfied, the Lords requested the Commons’ agreement that

Digby’s “Estate should not be sequestered upon the Supposition that he is a Papist”. On

November 1, 1643, the Commons acknowledged the message and promised a response; neither journal records that one came.39 Despite the testimony removing the only grounds upon which

Digby could suffer financial penalties, with him out of the country, parliament was content to milk the profits of his estates and there was little he could do about the matter. Having won a principled victory against the Long Parliament, Digby promptly joined the royalist cause.

Henrietta Maria named him her Chancellor when she fled to France in late 1644.40 The queen twice sent Digby to Rome, where he solicited financial aid from the pope and, on behalf of the English Chapter, sought confirmation a new episcopal order.41 As I noted in Chapter 4,

Digby was an integral part of the 1647 negotiations with the Army Grandees. Perhaps thinking that his new acquaintances outweighed his association with the royalist cause, Digby renewed his campaign to escape from sequestration and returned to England for this purpose post regicide.

The Council of State marked his return. Not pleased with Digby’s presence in the country, the Council investigated “what orders have passed . . . concerning Sr Kenelme Digbies his goeing out of this nation, and not returning againe,” and concluded on August 30, 1649 that the “dangerous man, is now in England without leave”.42 The Rump then decided that Digby had lost the right to compound for his estate and banished him.43 Though he returned to Paris

38 LJ, 6:283, 285. Thomas Devenish, Adrian Randall, and Matthew Derby swore at the bar that Digby attended Anglican services and intended no harm to the parliament.

39 CJ, 3:297; LJ, 6: 287-8.

40 Foster, “Digby, Sir Kenelm,” DNB.

41 CSPD 1645-1647, 393, 468, 555, 571; Bossy, ECC, 64-5; Foster, “Digby, Sir Kenelm” DNB. His only success was wrangling a small sum from the Vatican’s coffers.

42 TNA SP 25/62 f. 638; TNA SP 25/63/2 f. 28.

43 CJ, 6:289. On March 17, 1649, the Rump had established terms under which delinquents could compound for their sequestered estates. Under these terms, delinquents residing beyond England’s borders were given until June

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once more and immersed himself in natural philosophy, Digby also persisted in his quest. Four years later, on November 15, 1653, the Council of State issued Digby a pass permitting him to return to England for the purpose of settling his financial affairs.44 An investigation initiated by the Nominated Assembly uncovered no “matter as may judicially convince him either of recusancy or delinquency” and Digby was permitted to return to unravel his case.45 Between the issuance of the pass and Digby’s arrival, England had transformed from a Commonwealth into the Protectorate. Taking advantage of the abrupt change in regime, Digby petitioned the Lord

Protector and succeeded in discharging his estate from sequestration entirely. On February 15,

1654, over a decade after the House of Lords had been satisfied that Digby was innocent of any offence which would result in sequestration of his estates, the Committee for Compounding officially freed the knight’s lands from the clutches of the state.46

Tireless in his crusade to protect his estates, Digby’s persistence paid off. He symbolized the popish faction at the Caroline court. Never a soldier himself, Digby actively and publicly supported the royalist cause in his capacity as Henrietta Maria’s Chancellor. But because these activities occurred after the House of Lords ordered that his estates should not be sequestered for recusancy, none of this mattered to the Protector or Council. The Long Parliament and its Rump considered Digby a dangerous papist and refused to honor the Lords’ order. The order remained

1, 1649 to return to London to present paperwork relating to their estates and begin the process of compounding; see CJ, 6:167. The Rump’s vote regarding Digby in August determined that he had missed the deadline and no exception would be made for him.

44 TNA SP 25/72 f. 65.

45 Mary Anne Everett Green, ed., Calendar of the Proceedings of the Committee for Compounding: Cases, Jan. 1654-Dec. 1659, (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1892), 3296.

46 Mary Anne Everett Green, ed., Calendar of the Proceedings of the Committee for Compounding: Cases, 1647- June 1650, (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1891), 2173. This did not entirely end Digby’s financial troubles, however. During the decade that parliament had retained effective control of his lands, numerous parties had come forward claiming they were owed debts and annuities from the profits of Digby’s lands. Upwards of £10,000 had been awarded by the Committee for Compounding to the claimants, leaving Digby a legal and financial mess to unravel.

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in the record, however. With the inauguration of the Protectorate and its policy of strict adherence to the letter of the law, Digby finally prevailed. Though Cromwell and his Council were intimately aware of Digby’s religion and royalism, they adhered to their self-imposed policy. Witnesses had testified under oath that Digby was not Catholic: legally, he was not a recusant. And even though few men more visibly served the House of Stuart than Digby, who literally traversed Europe for the cause, he never bore arms. Further, he retained his position as

Henrietta Maria’s Chancellor after the regicide but did not do so to the detriment of the

Commonwealth, affording him the grace of the 1652 Act of Oblivion. The Protector, obsessed with upholding the letter of the law, had no recourse but to release Digby’s estates from sequestration.

Back in his homeland and in possession of his property, Digby was in no hurry to return to the exiled Stuart court. Lorenzo Paulucci, the Venetian Secretary in England, reported that

Cromwell and Digby were meeting privately by the start of July.47 His visits were frequent enough that he wrote with surprise that one of Cromwell’s “constant visitors was the Queen- dowager’s chancellor, the scientist, man-of-letters, knight-errant and ardent Catholic, Sir Kenelm

Digby”.48 William Prynne decried the fact that “Sir Kenelm Digby a moft dangerous Jefuited

Papift [was] lodged by [Cromwell] in Whitehall.”49 And it’s clear that some members of the regime shared Prynne’s sentiments; even in the midst of Cromwell’s meetings with Digby,

Thurloe’s minions intercepted mail addressed to the knight.50 Though A.J. Loomie dismisses

47 CSPV, 29:230.

48 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:328. Abbott has taken poetic license with two citations from CSPV to describe the meetings between Cromwell and Digby.

49 William Prynne, A True and Perfect Narrative, (London, 1659), 57.

50 TSP, 3:405.

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these reports as unreliable,51 the multiplicity of sources confirming the meetings strongly suggest that the Lord Protector and the Dowager Queen’s Chancellor became friends. Further reinforcing the connection, reports linked the men for several years. A coded royalist communication indicates that the exiles believed Digby remained Cromwell’s “Confident” at least through February 1656.52 And Charles Stuart’s secretary described Digby as “a great penfionr of Cromwlls” working on the Lord Protector’s behalf in March 1656.53 Finally, a would- be royalist plotter reported that his attempt to insert himself near to the Lord Protector was foiled by Digby, who “had inveighed against [him] as not to be trusted”.54

It is pointless to speculate as to why Cromwell sought the company of this arch-royalist, but the fact that he did remains. As a consequence of these meetings, Digby likely gained insight into the Lord Protector’s position. Between his personal connection with Cromwell and his experience with the Protectorate bureaucracy, I believe Digby ascertained that the Lord Protector maintained the same views toward the English Catholic community as he had in 1647 and saw potential in a renewed appeal.

Just over a year after the first reports of Cromwell’s meetings with Digby surfaced,

Thomas White published a work of political theory entitled The Grounds of Obedience and

Government. The book was dedicated to “My most honoured, and best Friend, Sir KENELME

DIGBY”. White and Digby had a long-standing friendship rooted in their common intellectual interests and shared vision for the English Catholic community, so the dedication is unsurprising.

51 Albert J. Loomie, “Oliver Cromwell’s Policy toward the English Catholics: The Appraisal by Diplomats, 1654- 1658,” The Catholic Historical Review 90, No. 1, (January 2004), 34. Even while dismissing reports of the relationship out of hand, Loomie inexplicably attributes Digby’s sudden release from sequestration to the knight’s personal friendship with Cromwell.

52 TNA SP 18/124 f. 22.

53 TNA SP 18/125 f.10.

54 CSPD 1656-7, 293.

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The timing, however, lends the honor additional significance. I believe it was designed to draw

Cromwell’s attention to the work, possibly by providing an excuse for Digby to gift a copy of the treatise to the Lord Protector.

A prolific scholar and “first-class intellect”, White’s body of work has drawn attention.55

Robert Bradley argues that White was one of the few seventeenth-century clerics to fully grasp the importance and implications of the Counter Reformation.56 John Henry argues that both

Thomas White and Digby combined Aristotelianism with Roman Catholicism in an attempt to make their religion more palatable to Protestants.57 Simon Johnson, detecting a strong anti- authoritarian streak in White’s thinking (which also explains his participation in the 1647 negotiations), sees some of White’s theology as nearly Lutheran.58 Even amidst White’s esoteric and nearly heretical natural philosophy, The Grounds stands out and has drawn scrutiny.

Beverley Southgate assiduously sought to rehabilitate White’s intellectual reputation. Offering an excellent analysis of how other English Catholic priests and the royals in exile received The

Grounds, she nonetheless ignores how the work fit into contemporary political debates.59

Frequently, the undeniable similarities between The Grounds and Leviathan have led scholars to view White’s work as heavily influenced by his friend Hobbes’s philosophy.60 Stefania Tutino

55 Bossy, ECC, 62.

56 Robert Ignatius Bradley, “Blacklo: An Essay in Counter-Reform,” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1963), passim.

57 John Henry, “Sir Kenelm Digby, Recusant Philosopher,” in Insiders and Outsiders in Seventeenth-Century Philosophy ed. G.A.J. Rogers, Tom Sorell and Jill Kraye, (New York: Routledge, 2010), 46.

58 Simon Johnson, “‘Papists of the New Model’: the English Mission and the Shadow of Blacklow,” in Getting Along?: Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England ed. Nadine Lewycky and Adam Morton, (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Group, 2012), 235.

59 B.C. Southgate, “‘That Damned Booke’: The Grounds of Obedience and Government (1655), and the Downfall of Thomas White,” Recusant History 17, No. 3 (May 1985): 244-249, presents the range of scholarly responses to White’s treatise, but with an eye to explaining why White fell into obscurity shortly after the Restoration.

60 Quentin Skinner, “The Ideological Context of Hobbes’s Political Thought,” The Historical Journal 9, No. 3 (1966): 305, described White as a “‘Hobbist’ writer” and insinuated that ideas codified in Leviathan are repeated, in similar language, in White’s work. Jeffrey R. Collins, “Thomas Hobbes and the Blackloist Conspiracy of 1649,”

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has effectively countered this, demonstrating through extended analysis of White’s corpus that

The Grounds was a product and expression of White’s unique blend of natural philosophy and theology.61 While Tutino’s studies of White primarily situate him within European intellectual milieus, she has used this contextual approach to show that the Vatican may have been willing to deal with the Protectorate. As we saw, White’s philosophy was unorthodox (if not plainly heretical) and his works were usually condemned by the Catholic Church’s censors shortly after publication. But the Vatican was curiously silent when The Grounds was published. It was not until 1661, when Charles II had been restored and was firmly in control of his kingdom once more that The Grounds was placed on the Index.62 Tutino convincingly argues that the delay was a product of the Vatican’s desire to see Catholicism restored in England; the powers there adopted a wait-and-see attitude (which encompassed The Grounds) rather than interfering prematurely and potentially scuttling the possibility of toleration.63 I agree with Tutino’s interpretation of the Vatican’s approach but seek here to situate White’s work within the

Protectorate’s politics.

The Historical Journal 45, No. 2 (June 2002): 306, 312, located White within Thomas Hobbes’s intellectual orbit and used the priest to explain Hobbes’s support for the Independents at the end of Leviathan. Richard Tuck, Philosophy and Government 1572-1651, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 325-326, does not explicitly link Leviathan and The Grounds, but he thinks that the “latter part” of Leviathan called for “just the deal” the Blackloists sought in 1647. Jason Peacey, “Nibbling at Leviathan: Politics and Theory in England in the 1650s.” Huntington Library Quarterly 61, No. 2 (1998): 250, also sees a good deal of similarity between Thomas White and Thomas Hobbes. James Miller Lewis, “Hobbes and the Blackloists: A Study in the Eschatology of the English Revolution,” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1976), 134, 192-9, is the most original in his comparison, arguing that it was the two Thomas’s similar views about eschatology united their political philosophies.

61 Tutino, Thomas White, 81; Stefania Tutino, “Obedience and Consent: Thomas White and English Catholicism, 1640-1660,” in Redrawing the Map of Early Modern English Catholicism ed. Lowell Gallagher, (Canada: University of Toronto Press, 2012), 310, 314-7. She demonstrates that the treatise applies the principles of mechanical atomic theory, the hallmark of his natural philosophy, to human government.

62 Stefania Tutino “The Catholic Church and the English Civil War: The Case of Thomas White,” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58: 2 (April 2007), 241-4, 248-54; Southgate, “That Damned Booke,” 249-50.

63 Stefania Tutino “The Catholic Church and the English Civil War,” 232-3, 243-4.

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Printed in 1655, the “immediate background” of The Grounds remains “shrouded in mystery”.64 H.W. Jones and James Miller Lewis have both argued that the 1655 print run of the

Grounds was a second edition, with the first appearing in early 1649. Parliament’s vote to banish Kenelm Digby on August 31, 1649 is the primary evidence for this claim, along with one of the multiple orders for the hangman to burn objectionable books (though neither scholar specifies which order).65 The Grounds is not singled out for burning, nor is it cited in Digby’s banishment. Furthermore, after The Grounds entered circulation in 1655 the royalists in exile took note of the work – which makes sense, as it offered a justification for Cromwell’s rule by a man who used to be counted among their number – and repeatedly called it “damnable” or the

“dammed booke”.66 Thomas Hobbes’s Leviathan received similar opprobrium when it appeared;

I find it difficult to believe that the first edition of the book would not have attracted similar attention. And it was widely read; the book went through two editions in the year of its initial print run and was subsequently reissued in 1659.67 All this leads me to believe that Jones and

Lewis were mistaken and the Grounds was only printed in 1655.

Cultivating plausible deniability and attempting to avoid precisely this reaction, White emphasized the wholly theoretical nature of his treatise. In the Epistle Dedicatory he proclaimed, “I play therefore the pure Philofopher. I deliver the abftract notions onely: leaving to the prudence of particulars, to draw fuch confequences, as every ones circumftances fhall

64 Bradley, “Blacklo: An Essay,” 193.

65 H.W. Jones, “Thomas White (or Blacklo), 1593-1676: New Data,” Notes & Queries 218 (October 1973): 385; James Miller Lewis, “Hobbes and the Blackloists,” 125; CJ, 6:289. For examples of parliament’s book-burning tendencies, see CJ, 6:378, 475.

66 Percy Church to Secretary Nicholas, October 8, 1655 [N.S.], in Warner, The Nicholas Papers, III:71; Percy Church to Secretary Nicholas, November 12, 1655 [N.S.], in Warner, The Nicholas Papers, III:120.

67 Southgate, “‘That Damned Booke’,” 238.

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make neceffary and evident unto him by the fhort hints I give.”68 No one was fooled by White’s preface.69 As the title suggested, the focus of the 180-odd-page treatise was the nature of obedience and the application of this concept to governments, a salient topic in the mid-1650s.

Central to White’s theory of governance was the nuanced distinction between fidelity and obedience. Contrary to popular conception, obedience (in White’s estimation), was not a virtue.

Rather, since obedience required men “to renounce our owne wills,” obeying another actually offended God.70 Since man was created in God’s image, he reasoned that “the renouncing of this will, is, withall, the renouncing of our underftanding . . . and that by which we are the image of

God.”71 Fidelity, in contrast, was “the kinde of Obedience wee defire to look into, which is that by which Common-wealths and Communities fubfift, is founded generally on Fidelity or the matter thereof which wee call promife, and in that vertue it bindes to obfervance.”72 The

Grounds thus directly addressed one of the core issues with which the Protectorate (and the

Interregnum regimes it succeeded) struggled. It also obliquely obviated the Protector’s primary objective to tolerating the English Catholic community. Since activating the deposing power relied on papists’ obedience, catholics’ rational fidelity to a temporal sovereign would prohibit

68 Thomas White, The Grounds of Obedience and Government, (London: J. Flesher, for Laurence Chapman, 1655), Epistle Dedicatory.

69 Edward Hyde, A Letter from a True and Lawfull Member of Parliament, and One faithfully engaged with it, from the beginning of the War to the end, (N.P., 1656), 65, provides ample evidence that contemporaries saw White’s frequent insistence upon the theoretical nature of his treatise as so much window dressing. Clarendon viewed The Grounds as justifying “all the Grounds and Maxims in your Declarations,” and also arguing “That you ought to be fo far from perfoming any promife, or obferving any Oath you have taken, if you know that it is for the good of the People, that you break it.” Of course, Clarendon clearly sought any grounds to attack the Protectorate, but it seems unlikely that he would use White’s The Grounds in such an attack unless the treatise were widely known and such an argument were likely to gain traction. See also Henry, “Sir Kenelm Digby,” 54, for an analysis of how contemporaries viewed White’s utilization of philosophy for “blatantly ideological purposes”.

70 White, The Grounds, 22-4.

71 White, The Grounds, 25.

72 White, The Grounds, 30-31.

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participating in any rash schemes, particularly if they transgressed sworn professions of allegiance.

White also indirectly made a case for Englishmen to accept the Protectorate as a legitimate government. As much as possible, the priest avoided the question of when and how rebellion was justified. The most he was willing to say that subjects could rebel “When evidently the tyranny of the Governour is greater then the mischiefe hazarded,” or when “Tyranny ought to bee so evident, that it bee beyond all question; or else the subject must have patience for his owne good, which is his aime in putting himselfe under government.”73 Resistance, considered equivalent to disobedience in White’s schema, was also disallowed. He saw no difference between resistance and outright rebellion.74 In this manner, White attempted to placate both

Cromwell and the Stuarts. He avoided commenting on whether the Civil War had been justified but also said that resistance to a government was unacceptable.

On balance, however, The Grounds provided a well-reasoned theoretical defense of the

Lord Protector’s rule. By approaching England’s current political situation as a fait accompli,

White studiously avoided any suggestion that the deposition and execution of Charles I had been legitimate. However, he also argued that once a ruler had been deposed – whether justly or maliciously – attempting to restore him would be more injurious for the commonwealth, threatening “publicke hazard,” than quietly accepting the new magistrate.75 White’s baseline for declaring a de facto ruler the lesser of two evils came when “the Merchant, the Husbandman, and

Tradefman, with their appendices, are in an undifturbed practice of their functions, and begin to bee afraid of change upon the noife of an invafion”, language strikingly similar to the Rump’s

73 White, The Grounds, 114, 120.

74 White, The Grounds, 109-10.

75 White, The Grounds, 135.

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post-regicidal Declaration . . . Expressing the Grounds of their Late Proceedings.76 Finally,

White obliquely endorsed the Protector’s creative interpretations of law. He called laws “his matter to work on, or instruments necessary to work by, not his rule or Mastering directions”.77

Not only can this be read as justification of the regime’s modus operandi, White’s diction is suspiciously similar to the title of the constitution.

Buried in The Grounds lies a utilitarian view of religion that could be called upon to justify toleration. In White’s schema, religion only intersected with government because men believed invoking a deity made promises more binding.78 This was not a commentary on religion generally, merely on its place in the commonwealth. If government’s only connection with religion was to use it as a tool to ensure the population’s allegiance, White implied there was no intrinsic link between religious profession and national allegiance. Making this more than a theoretical musing was another statement found a few pages later. In “Chriftian

Governements either of Princes or Common-wealths,” White argued, “the Spiritual jurifdiction is acknowledged to be higher and greater, though not commander of the Temporall”.79 Given that he also acknowledged that “the Pope and such Bishops” were also Secular Princes”, his construction was essentially another oblique renunciation of the papal deposing power. Thus,

White used the same space opened by the recent divorce of church and state in England to argue

76 White, The Grounds, 154; England and Wales (Parliament), A Declaration of the Parliament of England Expressing the Grounds of their Late Proceedings, and of Setling the present Government in the way of a Free State, (London: Printed for Edward Hufband, 1648 [1649]), 19. One of the rationales justifying the Commonwealth had been that “the fcituation and advantages of this Land, both for Trade abroad, and Manufactures at home, will be better underftood . . . and a Free Trade, with incouragement of Manufacturies, and provifion for poor, be fetled by the Common-wealth . . . which the former Government had never yet leifure effectually to do.”

77 White, Grounds, 150-151.

78 White, The Grounds, 33. Specifically, White believed governments “make men confirme their faith and promife by the invocation of the Deity they worfhip; hoping Religion may worke in them what Nature is not ftrong enough to effect.”.

79 White, Grounds, 52.

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that catholics who could satisfy the government of their fidelity should be considered full members of the body politic.

Nothing in The Grounds explicitly supported Cromwell but the tenor of White’s treatise was clear. In light of White’s involvement in the 1647 discussions, it is difficult to imagine that he wrote a book transparently supporting the Protectorate without embedding an appeal for toleration. And the description of laws as mere “instruments” in the governor’s hands, intended to serve the common good, fits too well with the regime’s preferred modus operandi not to have benefitted from Digby’s insight. Unfortunately, The Grounds appeared at a highly inopportune moment.80 Three weeks after it entered circulation news that England’s expeditionary force had been defeated on Hispaniola reached London. Antipathy toward Spain, which naturally included a strong portion of anti-popery, infected the ruling cabal and pushed thoughts of the Blackloists’ designs aside.

The Western Design and the Major-Generals

More than any of Cromwell’s other ventures as Lord Protector, the Western Design and the Major-Generals define his legacy. Independently each of the two schemes appear to be motivated by religious animus. Taken together – and the events were roughly contemporaneous, so they often are treated as facets of the same policy – the Western Design and the Major-

Generals appear to unfurl the banner of the Reformation. I agree that the two schemes should be analyzed together to excavate the Lord Protector’s motivations and the regime’s aims in the summer and autumn of 1655. Neither of these events, either individually or together, constituted

80 Alexandra Kate Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue, 1640-1662: Factionalism, Perceptions and Exploitation,” (PhD diss., University of London, 2010), 208-9, shares this opinion but for different reasons. She argues that there was a moment when White’s treatise could have gained traction and influenced the Cromwellian church settlement in favor of Catholics, but the moment was several years before the work was published.

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a radical policy shift or even an unmasking of true intentions. I will show that both ventures continued the Protectorate’s established pattern of reinforcing its authority through strict and creative interpretations of the law. Anti-popery undeniably played a role in these ventures but not the one commonly thought. Similar to what happened in the Commonwealth’s final year, anti-popish rhetoric was deployed because the regime’s enemies posed the same type of threat to the Protectorate that papists had to post-Reformation English monarchs, not because the regime launched a multi-frontal crusade against actual Catholics.

Announced at the end of October 1655, both the Western Design and the Major-Generals had been under consideration long before the regime unveiled these policies. The Major-

Generals were devised as a response to Penruddock’s Rising in the immediate aftermath of the

March rebellion. And plans for the Western Design began a full year before that, in the spring of

1654.

To understand the significance of the Western Design, it is necessary to back up slightly and quickly recap Cromwell’s foreign policy. Within a few months of his elevation, the Lord

Protector freed England from foreign entanglements. Successful negotiations ended the first

Anglo-Dutch war and produced a favorable Anglo-Portuguese treaty. Peace with the Dutch was not just economically welcome, it was viewed as a triumph of Protestantism and liberty. We saw in Chapter 3 how the specter of popery was evoked in declamations of the Anglo-Dutch war.

The Lord Protector himself was among those who believed that Jesuit machinations sparked the war; the pope’s most devoted servants wanted nothing more than to divide Europe’s two

Protestant commonwealths.81 From this perspective, peace negotiations thwarted the pope’s aims. Trading war with the Dutch for war with the Spanish seems to suggest a coherent policy

81 Steven C.A. Pincus, Protestantism and Patriotism: Ideologies and the making of English foreign policy, 1650- 1668, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 186-91.

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of pan-European Protestant unity. The fact that there was no immediate need for England to attack Spain at that moment – most European countries were preoccupied with recovering from the devastation of the recently concluded Thirty Years’ War while France and Spain occupied each other and thus afforded England a measure of protection – lends additional weight to anti- popish rhetoric that accompanied the decade of war.

The Black Legend, as the dark portrait of Spanish colonialism is now known, grew in the

English imagination throughout the sixteenth century and was crystallized by the mid- seventeenth century.82 Scholars who saw the ruling cabal, “nourished from childhood on tales of the Armada and persecutions in the Netherlands,” easily portrayed the Western Design as an attempt to recapture the Elizabethan glory days.83 From this perspective the Western Design was not rational foreign policy but rather the second iteration of “a jingoistic hostility to Spain”.84

Even ostensibly economic studies privilege religion when it comes to explaining the Western

Design.85 Godly zeal led the Protectorate into a financially ruinous, unwinnable war according to this schema. Recent historiography has tempered the caricature of religious men discounting practicalities in their eagerness to strike at the pope’s right hand but upholds anti-popery as the

82 William S. Maltby, The Black Legend in England: The Development of Anti-Spanish Sentiment, 1558-1660, (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1971), passim, but especially 35-6, 44-55, 76-80. Maltby traces the development of the Black Legend, arguing that Bartolomé de las Casas’ accounts of atrocities committed against Indians by conquistadors were the foundation for the Black Legend. Several English cultural touchstones – Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, the Spanish Armada, and the Dutch Revolt – were also, he demonstrates, crucial to the development of the legend.

83 Maltby, The Black Legend, 116; Frank Strong, “The Causes of Cromwell’s West Indian Expedition,” The American Historical Review 4, No. 2 (January 1899): 233.

84 G.M.D. Howat, Stuart and Cromwellian Foreign Policy, (London: Adam & Charles Black, 1974), 24.

85 Strong, “The Causes of Cromwell’s West Indian Expedition,” 228, sees the Western Design as partially economic but “inseparably connected with the religious movement on which Cromwell had ridden to power”. Menna Prestwich, “Diplomacy and Trade in the Protectorate,” The Journal of Modern History 22, No. 2 (June 1950): 103-4, argues that Cromwell’s foreign policy was avowedly ideological and its unpopularity revealed his ineptitude with economic matters.

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cause of the Western Design.86 Carla Pestana has not only demonstrated that religious justifications were part of a broader conversation about notions of just war (rather than mere manifestations of crusading impulses), she has also made a forceful case that the Western Design and subsequent capture of Jamaica fundamentally altered English imperial administration and

European geopolitics for centuries to come.87

As generations of scholars have recognized, anti-popery pervaded discussions about the

Western Design. Even the Council’s principal advisor in the plan injected that sentiment into the proceedings. Thomas Gage – the same apostate priest who helped send Peter Wright to the gallows in 1651 – eagerly volunteered his knowledge of the Spanish Empire. Raised a recusant, educated as a priest, and ordained as a Dominican, Gage served the Spanish empire for two decades before returning to England and renouncing his allegiance to Rome.88 By 1653, Gage was resident in a tithe-supported living and using his pulpit to denounce the Church of Rome. A

Full Survey of Sion and Babylon, the published version of one of Gage’s sermons, elucidated a popish plot to undermine Protestant England in detail. He described a “Neft of the fecret

Colledge of Jefuits” lurking in the Spanish ambassador’s residence, composing pamphlets designed to permanently disestablish the Church of England.89 Claiming to have personally

86 See Karen Ordahl Kupperman, “Errand to the Indies: Puritan Colonization from Providence Island through the Western Design,” The William and Mary Quarterly 45, No. 1 (January 1988): 84-8, 95, who argues that Cromwell held a comprehensive view of English colonialism as intended to advance the godly religion in America.

87 Carla Gardina Pestana, “Cruelty and Religious Justifications for Conquest in the Mid-Seventeenth-Century English Atlantic,” in Empires of God: Religious Encounters in the Early Modern Atlantic ed. Linda Gregerson and Susan Juster, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 37, 43-4; Carla Gardina Pestana, The English Conquest of Jamaica: Oliver Cromwell’s Bid for Empire, (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2017), 14, 248-52.

88 Allen D. Boyer, “Gage, Thomas [name in religion Tomás de Santa María],” DNB.

89 Thomas Gage, A Full Survey of Sion and Babylon, and a clear vindication of the Parish-Churches and Parochial- Ministers of England, from the uncharitable Censure, the infamous Title, and the injurious Nick-name of Babylonish. Or, A Scripture Disproff, and Syllogistical Conviction of M. Charles Nichols, of Kent, his Erroneous Assertions, Justifying his Separated Congregation for the true House of God; and branding all the Parochial Churches, and the Parish Officiating Ministers in England, with the infamous Title of Babylonish, (London: W. Bentley, 1654), 65. Specifically, he alleged that as “one [Jesuit egged] on the Separation and Independency,”

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witnessed this operation, Gage used his pulpit and the press to implicate the Spanish in a

Jesuitical conspiracy to undermine England’s national religion and sovereignty mere months before the Council began planning the Western Design. When Secretary to the Council Thurloe began collecting information about the Spanish Empire, Gage eagerly volunteered his knowledge of the topography and human geography of the Spanish colonies. Though the apostate

Dominican offered a detailed plan of attack, the Council did not take his word alone.90 Nor, despite Gage’s best efforts, was the eventual campaign a pure expression of religious nationalism.

The ultimate objective of the military campaign was to capture bullion, either by attacking the Spanish treasure fleet or by taking the Peruvian mines themselves. The Civil War had been a costly endeavor. With two armies roaming the country, collecting taxes, and demanding provisions, by the time of the regicide the country was denuded of both resources and funds.91 While the Instrument of Government allotted “a constant yearly revenue” sufficient to support 10,000 cavalry and 20,000 foot soldiers plus £200,000 for all non-military administration, this sum was insufficient to cover expenses, let alone pay off the soldiers’ and sailors’ arrears. In his thorough analysis of the Protectorate’s coffers, Maurice Ashley concludes another was “coldly and weakly holding up with flight Arguments the Church and Miniftery of England”. Through this combination the cabal succeeded in disestablishing significant portions of the Church of England.

90 TSP, 3:59-61. Hispaniola, in Gage’s opinion, would be the incursion point. From there, he outlined a strategic approach to taking the gold and silver mines. Though he cautioned that his plan would require six months of military conquest followed by a year of consolidation before the English position would be secure enough to risk marching far inland to the Peruvian mines, Gage presented a picture of rich lands thinly populated with lazy defenders. In contrast, Colonel Muddiford, who had served in the Caribbean, proposed a cautious plan based upon the transplantation of settlers; TSP, 3:62-3.

91 D.H. Pennington, “The Accounts of the Kingdom, 1642-49,” in Essays in the Economic and Social History of Tudor and Stuart England, in Honour of R. H. Tawney ed. F.J. Fisher, (Cambridge: 1961), 198; D.H. Pennington, “The Cost of the English Civil War,” History Today 8, No. 2 (February 1958): 130, estimated that the parliamentary taxes alone were raising roughly £1.7 annually towards the end of the war. Further, because the parliament was perennially short of cash to pay its armies, soldiers claimed free quarter in lieu of pay. This created a vicious cycle in which troops were unable to pay their unwilling hosts the promised rates for room and board because they had not received wages and the wages would be further delayed because the hosts were unable to pay taxes after the burden of free quarter.

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that the regime was operating with an annual deficit of £1 to £1.5 million.92 Not only did the

Western Design hold the prospect of an easy revenue source, it also trapped soldiers on ships across the ocean, where they could not agitate or mutiny.93 Mercantilism, just gaining popularity, also added inducement to pursue the Western Design.94 Commanders’ instructions laid bare the regime’s hope of a windfall from the Western Design. General Penn was instructed to “use your best endeavors to seize upon, surprise, and take, all ships and vessels whatsoever belonging to the King of Spain, or any of his subjects in America . . . together with the tackle, apparel, ordnance, and ammunition, and all and singular the goods, monies, wares, and merchandise therein”. Further, he was to take care that any such prizes “be preserved without embezzlement, and delivered to the commissioners, that so they may come in account to the

State.”95 Disallowing embezzlement strongly suggested the Western Design was at least partly piratical in nature and that the regime anticipated a windfall that would help reduce the deficit.

And Gage convinced the Council that halting the flow of bullion from the South American mines would fatally undermine the Hapsburgs, which would in turn endanger the papacy.96 The

Western Design thus served multiple purposes.

92 Maurice Ashley, Financial and Commercial Policy under the Cromwellian Protectorate, (London: Frank Cass & Co. Ltd, 1962), 42-8, 96. This deficit was not the result of profligate spending by either the Lord Protector (on his household) or Secretary Thurloe (on his spy network); the army and navy accounted for roughly 90% of the state’s expenditure.

93 Officers accepted that “want of pay hath begott mutinyes” and would warn Secretary Thurloe when rumblings from their troops increased; see TSP, 3:262; TSP, 4:526.

94 George Louis Beer, “Cromwell’s Policy in its Economic Aspects,” Political Science Quarterly 16, No. 4 (December 1901): 585-7, 611; Violet Barbour, “Dutch and English Merchant Shipping in the Seventeenth Century,” The Economic History Review 2, No. 2 (January 1930): 272-4. In this economic system, increasing England’s colonial holdings was the means to compete economically with the Dutch. The Western Design provided an opportunity to do this at the expense of the Spanish. Ashley, Financial and Commercial Policy, 26-7, argues that at least some segments of English society recognized that the path to competing economically with the Dutch was not amassing an empire but rather lowering taxes on aliens and loosening religious restrictions for expatriate merchants.

95 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:531.

96 TSP, 3:59.

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When Penn and Venables set sail in December 1654, Gage joined the expedition as an advisor.97 Committed to a potentially costly venture, the regime at that point still had hope that the first Protectorate Parliament would vote supply. By the time the regime conceptualized the

Major-Generals four months later, the parliament had been dissolved. But, like the Western

Design, the new militia scheme should, in theory, have paid for itself.

Conceived in the wake of Penruddock’s Rising, the Major-Generals were to oversee new companies of militia throughout the country to stymie future rebellions. John Desborough, appointed major-general of the west, was ordered to pursue the rebels and take charge of that region to prevent any recurrence. Over the subsequent weeks, the Council came to view this ad hoc arrangement as a potential solution to its dilemma. Desiring more troops after the March uprising but constrained by the strict limits on troop levels in the Instrument of Government, the

Council identified a loophole.98 Militia regiments were not addressed in the constitution, so the

Council divided the counties of England and Wales into districts and appointed a Major-General to govern each one, and expected him to locate volunteer troops. Official commissions to the new officers made clear their chief duty was monitoring the activities of the commonwealth’s enemies and preventing their designs.99 Even in their responses to armed rebellion, Protector and

Council scrupulously upheld the fundamental law of the land.

97 TNA SP 18/91 f. 200; TNA SP 25/77 f. 261. Gage’s expertise was so valuable Cromwell diverted a frigate to ensure Gage was in Portsmouth when the fleet sailed. His widow was awarded a weekly pension of six shillings eight pence in recognition of his signal service to the commonwealth after Gage died on the trip.

98 The Instrument of Government limited the size of the armed forces to “10,000 horse and dragoons, and 20,000 foot, in England, Scotland and Ireland” as well as “a convenient number of ships for guarding of the seas”; Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 414. Instructions issued to General Disbrowe ordered the officer to march his regiment west, take charge of troops already there, and secure the area in which Penruddock’s Rising occurred; TSP, 3:221-2. Scholars have generally taken this emergency order as a trial run for the eventual system of the Major-Generals; David Watson Rannie, “Cromwell’s Major-Generals,” The English Historical Review 10, No. 39 (July 1895): 476-7; Durston, Cromwell’s Major-Generals, 18-22.

99 TNA SP 27/2 f. 1.

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At the end of July 1655, news that Penn and Venables had been routed by Spanish forces on Hispaniola reached London. Failure deeply affected the ruling cabal.100 Not only did the defeat carry profound psychological consequences, it meant that the expected stock of bullion was not forthcoming. War against Spain was announced October 26. Five days later the regime introduced the rule of the Major-Generals. Scanning the official pronouncements of both policy developments shows why so many scholars were convinced religion was the driving factor. But recognizing what popery really meant to the regime throws the documents in a new light.

Protecting English authority against denigrations from others is presented as the primary impetus for both policies. In the case of the war, Cromwell cited the manner in which the

Spanish “continually invaded, in an Hoftile maner, our Collonies, flain our Countreymen, taken

Our Ships and Goods, deftroyed Our Plantations, made Our People Prifoners and Slaves”.101

Such deeds in and of themselves constituted grounds for war.102 Additionally, these actions deliberately flouted England’s claim to sovereignty in the New World by ignoring the fact that the English, not the Spanish, had occupied and improved these vacant lands.103 In the case of the

Major-Generals, royalists were portrayed as implacable rebels intent on acting “to the

100 The best treatment of how the defeat affected Cromwell and altered the shape of the government going forward is found in Blair Worden, “Oliver Cromwell and the Sin of Achan,” in History, Society and the Churches: Essays in Honour of Owen Chadwick ed. Derek Beales and Geoffrey Best, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985): 135-145. Worden shows how the deeply religious Lord Protector, constantly seeking signals from God, compared Hispaniola to Joshua’s defeat in the Old Testament. Achan’s grievous sin precipitated the Israelites’ defeat; during a period of deep introspection in which Cromwell struggled to identify an analogous sin (and sinner) that brought such a flagrant manifestation of divine displeasure, the Lord Protector came to believe that his elevation to the position of chief magistrate was the trigger. Carla Gardina Pestana, “English Character and the Fiasco of the Western Design,” Early American Studies 3, No. 1 (Spring 2005): 2, 10-16, complements Worden’s analysis, arguing that being trounced by the morally and physically inferior Spanish forced Englishmen to define the national character and then identify how the vanquished soldiers deviated from this norm.

101 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes, by the advice of his council; setting forth, on the behalf of this Commonwealth, the justice of their cause against Spain, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, Printers to His Highness, 1655), 125.

102 Pestana, “Cruelty and Religious Justifications for Conquest,” 40.

103 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 138; Patricia Seed, Ceremonies of Possession in Europe’s Conquest of the New World, 1492-1640, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 16-19.

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difturbance of the publique Peace, and to the fubverfion of the Government” despite the leniency they had received. Instead of returning “this kindneffe” with obedience and “a real change in their principles and intereft”, members of the royalist party stubbornly adhered “to that curfed intereft”. The Declaration did not dignify Charles Stuart by calling him king or even hinting that he possessed any legitimate claim to authority, but the implication is clear. Although the

Protectorate provided for defeated royalists, offering liberty and “equal protection in their perfons and eftates with the reft of the Nation . . . by the Lawes and Conftitutions of the Land,” they refused to recognize the regime’s authority.104 Both proclamations thus positioned the new policies as direct responses to challenges.

Anticipating charges of tyranny – especially regarding the Major-Generals – the regime took care to outline the legal justifications for its actions. “Without any juft Caufe or

Provocation at all,” the Spaniards “murther[ed] the people of this Nation, fpoiling their Goods and Eftates, deftroying their Colonies and Plantations” in territory that England had legally settled. Flagrantly ignoring any and all “terms of Peace with the Englifh”, the Declaration accused Spaniards of engaging in “all manner of Hoftility”.105 This made Spain “the firft beginners and caufers of the War, and of all the Blood and Inconvenience that may enfue thereupon” and put England in the position of responding to force with force, defending colonists who settled in good faith.106 Justifying war with Spain was, in some ways, a simpler matter than constructing a legal defense of the Major-Generals. But a year and a half into their rule,

104 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Declaration of his Highnes, by the Advice of his Council, Shewing the Reasons of their Proceedings for Securing the Peace of the Commonwealth, Upon occafion of the late Insurrection and Rebellion, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, 1655), 10-11.

105 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 115-16, 134. The Declaration claimed that Spain had effectively ceded the islands of Providence and Tortugas to England in 1629. Because Englishmen had settled these islands and Spain failed to contest this colonization formally, at the negotiating table, Cromwell held that the later assertion of dominion was illegitimate.

106 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 125.

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Protector and Council were experienced at deploying literal readings of the law to their benefit.

As noted above, the Council circumvented constitutional limits on the size of the armed forces by raising militia instead of regulars. The new troops would be paid through an additional levy on royalists. Extra-parliamentary taxes were explicitly prohibited by the Instrument, so the

Declaration took care to justify the imposition. Breaching the implied contract created by the

1652 Act of Oblivion with the March risings, the regime argued, rendered the royalists liable for the cost of the “new and ftanding Militia of Horfe in all the Counties of England”. Vague assurances that precedent supported this course of action followed.107 Denunciations of the sequestration system – jibes that the terms of royalists’ composition for their estates “were fo eafie and moderate to the generallity, as that it led them to a better condition of fupport than generally befell the Parliaments Party” and suggestions that this leniency translated into funding for Charles Stuart’s extravagant lifestyle abroad – followed.108 In this manner, the Declaration disguised an entirely new tax as a reformation of the broken sequestration system.

Military ventures (which both the Western Design and the Major-Generals were, at heart) could easily be presented as a means of retaining authority. Discerning the regime’s continued distinction between catholics and papists is more difficult. Anti-popery pervades nearly every sentence of both declarations. The Black Legend, that dark portrait of the Spanish and the pope, was visible throughout the proclamation of war against Spain. And the Major-Generals’ private instructions included an order to ensure “that all papist[es] and others who have been in Armes

107 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Declaration of his Highnes . . . Securing the Peace, 12-14, 33-7. The Declaration preemptively countered accusations that punishing royalists as a class was unfair by noting that all royalists would have joined the rebellion if it had succeeded. Though antiquated, the best explanation of how the decimation tax – as the additional levy on royalists came to be known – was assessed and collected can be found in Rannie, “Cromwell’s Major-Generals,” 479, 484-9.

108 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Declaration . . . for Securing the Peace of the Commonwealth, 6-7, 16. This echoed charges made in the wake of Penruddock’s Rising that the rebels were “feasting . . . in the prison,” dining on “Chynes of Beef, Pasties of Venison, [and] bottles of Sack in abundance” sent by sympathizers; Perfect Proceedings 292 (April 26-May 3, 1655), 6531.

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against the p[ar]lemt or assifted the late King or his Sonn in the late Warr[es] as also all others who are dangerous to the peace of the Nac[i]on be difarmed”.109

A conspiracy to spread popery at the expense of England’s Protestant liberty is an integral part of both documents. One ancillary cause of the war was the pope’s attempt (in which he was aided by the King of Spain) to prohibit English commerce in the Americas. Since the

English “acknowledge[d] no fuch Right, neither in the Pope nor King of Spain” and further, since this attempt blatantly disregarded that “the Law of Nature, and of Nations” endowed

Englishmen with rights to converse and trade with Indians, Spanish protectionism justified by a papal decree had to be part of a plan to isolate and weaken England.110 More actively, Spain was the site of “a particular ground of offence and of danger to this Commonwealth” namely, the

“many Seminaries of Englifh Priefts and Jefuits in the Spanifh dominions”.111 The announcement of the Major-Generals strongly implied that “the fwarming of thofe Jefuits which are now croaking amongft Us” was part and parcel of the Stuart attempts to reclaim the throne.

Reading the documents together, one would have received a picture of united Spanish and papal forces undermining England both in her American colonies and, at home, of “Emiffaries of the

Church of Rome . . . come hither by Counfel from Charls Stuart”.112

This may seem to undermine my claim that the regime differentiated between catholics and papists. But even the declaration of the Major-Generals, which Cromwell later admitted was designed for not only security but also “the suppressing of vice, and the encourragement of

109 TNA SP 18/100 f. 109v.

110 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 123.

111 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 140.

112 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Declaration . . . for Securing the Peace of the Commonwealth, 23.

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vertue” inveighed against Jesuits for a specific reason.113 As in the April proclamation, the regime distinguished between Jesuits’ propensity “to deceive, and feduce men from the truth” and their “fomenting, and maintaining of Parties, and factions amongft Us”, causing men “to quarrel, and fall out with every form of adminiftration either in the Church or State”.114

Dissuading Englishmen from obeying the established authorities was again the regime’s concern about Jesuits. And as the Council agonized over the specific wording for the Major-Generals’ commission, they downgraded the popish threat. A draft from September 21 begins “Whereas the old popifh, and malignant ^and popish Enemyes of this Com[m]onwealth,”.115 It seems Jesuits and papists were included in the announcement of the Major-Generals because papists and delinquents had been reflexively linked for a decade. However, the deliberate reversal of the two groups in the draft proclamation suggests that popery was also likely serving an additional purpose.

Given the belated introduction of papists to the discussion about the March rebellions, I believe that the regime inserted popery into the Declaration to tar the royalist cause with a specific set of charges. Linking royalism with popery was hardly novel, but it was new in the context of Penruddock’s Rising. By describing the rebels as popish – despite Colonel

Penruddock’s insistence that he sought the reestablishment of the hierarchical Church of

England116 – the regime ascribed political, in addition to religious, motives. Specifically, the

113 C.H. Firth, ed., The Clarke Papers, (London, Longmans, Green & Co., 1899), 3:65. To this end the Major- Generals were charged with enforcing “ye Lawes against Drunckeness prophanes blaspheminge and taking of the Name of God in Vaine by fwearing and curseing, and fuch like wickedness and abominacons”; TNA SP 18/100 f. 110v.

114 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A Declaration . . . for Securing the Peace of the Commonwealth, 23.

115 TNA SP 18/100 f. 318.

116 Howell, State Trials, 5:774-775; At Penruddock’s trial, Attorney General Prideaux “aggravated the offence” by claiming that Penruddock had been converted to “the Popish religion” during the four years he spent in France with the exiled Charles Stuart. However, Penruddock vehemently denied this charge and found a witness to testify that he “declared for Charles the second, and settling the true protestant religion”.

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regime implied that the royalists sought to overthrow the government due to misplaced allegiance to an outside authority. In this manner, the regime charged royalists with supporting an alternate sovereign without having to honor or in any way validate Charles Stuart’s claim to authority. Essentially, the regime deployed popery as shorthand for disloyalty and used the fraught associations that came with the term to paint an extremely negative picture of royalists.

Another tenuous link serves the same purpose in the declaration of war. Cromwell attributed the recent attacks in the Caribbean to “the affurance of a prevalant Spanifh Faction, always in the Council of the late King and his Father”, which he believed emboldened the

Spaniards.117 Charles Stuart was not, by any stretch of the imagination, involved in the Spanish victory on Hispaniola. But his grandfather had pursued the epically unpopular Spanish Match and his father signed a peace treaty with the King of Spain. Decades-old policies (one of which failed spectacularly) had virtually no impact on Spain’s later actions in the Caribbean. Including this reminder of the old link between the Stuarts and Spain added urgency to the regime’s declaration of war. Fighting over tiny mosquito-infested islands thousands of miles away where even English colonists did not wish to settle would not have been seen as urgent.118 If the Stuarts were potentially involved in Spanish activities, however, the war became exponentially more important. Stuart involvement gave the war an existential element. The Declaration had already showed how Spain and the pope denied England’s right to territory and even trade in the

Americas. Adding the Stuarts to the mix implied that Spanish aggression could presage an attack

117 England and Wales (Lord Protector), A declaration of His Highnes . . . against Spain, 116.

118 Karen Ordahl Kupperman, “Errand to the Indies: Puritan Colonization from Providence Island through the Western Design,” The William and Mary Quarterly 45, No. 1 (January 1988), 72, 75, 84-7, has shown that part of the English imperial imagination conceived of colonial ventures as outposts for the godly. Particularly zealous in promoting this view, the Providence Island Company spent years fruitlessly targeting middling puritans (who comprised most of the New England settlers), trying to persuade them that Providence and San Andreas islands offered even greater opportunity to promote the gospel because they constituted a godly enclave in the midst of Spanish holdings that could halt the flow of bullion into the pope’s coffers.

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on the Protectorate’s legitimacy rather than merely hindering England’s colonial ambitions.

Bellicosity was thus the only solution to this implied threat. And by dredging up old Stuart-

Spanish links the regime managed to associate the exiled pretender with an active (and successful) military campaign against the Protectorate, setting the stage for the announcement of the Major-Generals five days later.

Triangulation between the three threats the regime faced used the power of suggestion and insinuation to transform English aggression and a failed uprising into a comprehensive attack on the regime requiring an international war and military rule at home. Popery became shorthand for challenges to the Protectorate’s authority, deployed to enhance threats and smear the Stuarts by proxy.

Conclusion

Ten months after Cromwell invited charges of tyranny by prematurely dissolving the first

Protectorate Parliament he appeared to complete his infamous transformation into a godly military dictator pursuing anti-popery on all fronts. Between the April 26 proclamation and the two October declarations, the Protectorate apparently detected papists everywhere and took extreme measures to counter this threat. But as I have shown, fear of actual papists did not inspire either the Western Design or the Major-Generals. Crusading played a role in the Western

Design but so did financial considerations. Penruddock’s Rising, conceived and executed by

Anglican royalists, directly inspired the Major-Generals. Popery, with its specific connotations of deposition and disloyalty, could be deployed to defend the regime’s courses of action.

Reflexive links between papists and delinquents made that connection obvious, as did Spain’s close ties with the pope. Popery also allowed the regime to link the Stuarts and the Spaniards,

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weaving a massive conspiracy out of whole cloth. In the middle of this web sat the Blackloists.

Thomas White, likely aided by Digby, described a theoretical basis for government that seemed suspiciously similar to the Protectorate’s origins and operation.

White’s renewed appeal for Catholic toleration was ill-timed, as we saw. But it was not entirely in vain. Despite the ubiquity of anti-popish rhetoric in the fall of 1655, no crackdown on the English Catholic community occurred. A year later the Lord Protector renewed his commitment to liberty of conscience. But first, the regime was forced to confront the cost of its two new policies. Expenses generated by the Western Design and the Major-Generals forced

Protector and Council to summon a parliament. Like the first Protectorate Parliament, the second Protectorate Parliament questioned the constitution and challenged the basis of the regime’s authority. Unlike its short-lived predecessor, however, the second Protectorate parliament significantly altered the trajectory of the regime.

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CHAPTER 6

AUTHORITY, ALLEGIANCE, AND THE SECOND PROTECTORATE PARLIAMENT

Launching a religiously-tinged war with Spain and closely monitoring the population’s behavior through the Major-Generals guarded the Protectorate’s authority against challenges.

Both schemes reassured Protector and Council that they were secure in their position and guided

England’s future. The purpose of this chapter is to show that the control was, in fact, illusory.

Without evaluating whether the Major-Generals’ rule was “successful”, I will show that the military regime and the Western Design created a fissure between the ruling cabal and the body politic, resulting in parliamentary repudiation of the Lord Protector’s policies and subtle reconfiguration of the Protectorate’s authority. Extravagantly expensive, neither venture paid for itself as had been assumed when the decisions were taken. Desperately short on funds and having exhausted all other means of raising supply, even for a regime as creative with legal interpretations as the Protectorate, Cromwell and his Council had only two options remaining: blatantly abrogate the constitution by levying direct taxes on the whole population or summon parliament. They chose the latter.

As the first Protectorate Parliament had shown, however, assembling the representative body was a risky venture. Preemptive actions intended to safeguard the regime’s authority were planned. First, the Major-Generals carefully monitored and controlled elections. Discontent still bubbled to the surface. Concerned by reports trickling in during the elections, the Council implemented its second security measure: scrutinizing election returns. Savvier the second time around, exclusions were preemptory and did not involve the Army. Even such drastic measures

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did not yield a pliant parliament, however. Accusations of executive overreach abounded. The second Protectorate Parliament demolished the Major-Generals regime. And MPs still repudiated the constitution. As the first Protectorate Parliament had, the second Protectorate

Parliament picked apart the Instrument of Government and drafted a new supreme law for

England. Unlike the winter of 1654-5, however, the spring of 1657 saw Cromwell assent to parliament’s request for a new constitution. Accepting a new religio-political settlement in exchange for the financial means to enact his authority was one of the more fraught decisions of

Cromwell’s political career, but ultimately aligned with the objectives he had pursued since his elevation to chief magistrate.

In this chapter I argue that the Protectorate’s top priority remained the retention of authority through legal means. I show that the anti-papist rhetoric examined in the previous chapter was convenient shorthand for disloyalty. And, through the summoning, opening, and deliberations of the second Protectorate Parliament, I argue that Cromwell was prepared to abide by the constitution and allow parliament to legislate, enacting the will of the citizens it represented, so long as the authority of the Protectorate regime remained intact.

The “unquiett fpirrit” of the Discontented: Managing Parliamentary Elections

Less than a year after England learned of the Major-Generals, the experiment was failing.

Narrowly defined, the Major-Generals’ rule could be considered successful: no further rebellions occurred. The reformation of manners remained incomplete, however, and attempts to enforce strict puritan notions of inappropriate behavior “roused the most virulent opposition” in the population.1 Nor did the increased scrutiny that accompanied the Major-Generals’ rule endear

1 Gardiner, C&P, 4:29, 40. Derek Hirst, “The Failure of Godly Rule in the English Republic,” Past & Present 132 (August 1991): 50-2, 61, points out that the abolition of ecclesiastical courts burdened secular courts with

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the regime to the country at large. Rather, it gave the appearance that “the full circle of dictatorship seemed finally rounded out”.2 Recent scholarship has offered a more nuanced view of the institution, but there is no question the Major-Generals were unpopular.3 The degree to which the Major-Generals succeeded or failed is not the subject of this section, however. Here I will focus on the events of August 1656.

Extracting an additional ten percent from sequestered royalist estates (known as the decimation tax) was, as the October 31, 1655 Declaration explained, intended to fund the Major-

Generals and their troops without unduly burdening the well-affected members of the commonwealth. The revenue raised through the decimation proved woefully insufficient.

Historians have shown that inadequate funds created a very real prospect of mutiny.4

Desperately short on funds, the regime had few options. The Council discussed and debated several extra-parliamentary means of raising additional money, but at length the decision was made to send writs for a new election and summon a parliament.5 This was a calculated risk.

Holding elections would effectively open a referendum on the Major-Generals. And, as the regime knew, a parliament took on a life of its own.

prosecuting moral offences, and their failure to do so (several high-profile instances aside) constitutes proof that godly zeal was insufficient to effect a reformation of morals. Austin Woolrych, “The Cromwellian Protectorate: A Military Dictatorship?” History 75, No. 244 (June 1990): 221-2, contends that Cromwell was not ideologically opposed to using the Major-Generals as instruments of the reformation of manners but was not willing to squander the goodwill of the citizenry to do so.

2 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3: 829-830.

3 Christopher Durston, Cromwell’s Major-Generals: Godly Government during the English Revolution, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 5, 156-79, outlines the massive challenge the Major-Generals faced. They were charged with “enhancing the security of the regime and furthering godly reform, while at the same time reducing the overall burden of the large military establishment”. While they succeeded in the first of these tasks, Durston’s detailed analysis of their other efforts concludes that their only real victory was suppressing alehouses; in all other respects the reformation of manners failed.

4 Gardiner, C&P, 4:249-52; David Watson Rannie, “Cromwell’s Major-Generals,” The English Historical Review 10, No. 39 (July 1895): 486-8.

5 Gardiner, C&P, 4: 254-6.

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Convinced that the constitution’s restrictions on the electorate would exclude the most virulent opposition and, bereft of other options, the regime ploughed ahead with the election.

Thanks to the March 1655 rebellion, even more men had been added to the composition rolls and rendered ineligible to vote.6 Strict licensing controls enacted at the same time that the Major-

Generals were installed also drastically limited the scope for extra-governmental lobbying in print.7 And the Major-Generals assured Protector and Council that they wielded sufficient influence within their districts to ensure the return of favorable men. On July 10, 1656 the writs were sent out for election commissioners.8 Correspondence flew across the country as the elections were organized. Using the letters between the Major-Generals and the regime, I show that the anti-popish rhetoric which had pervaded the introduction of quasi-martial law was strikingly absent. This reinforces my contention in Chapter 5 that the regime coopted popery as shorthand for the type of threat posed by royalists. They denied the regime’s authority and pledged allegiance to an external sovereign. Concern instead centered upon ensuring that the body politic selected men who promised “that they would not change the government”.9

6 Rannie, “Cromwell’s Major-Generals,” 493-4, explains that not only did the Major-Generals vigorously extract the decimation tax, they also took bonds for good behavior from royalists and monitored this class’s movements carefully. At the time of the 1656 elections, the Major-Generals knew very well who in their district was ineligible to vote.

7 TNA SP 25/76 ff. 269-270; England and Wales (Lord Protector), Orders of His Highnes The Lord Protector Made and published by and with the Advice and Consent of His Council, for Putting in speedy and due Execution the Laws, Statutes and Ordinances, made and provided against Printing Unlicensed and Scandalous Books, and Pamphlets, and for the further Regulating of Printing, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, 1655), 107, 111, explained the new restrictions and blamed “divers evil-minded perfons” as well as “malicious, infolent and reftlefs Spirits” for the new approach. Most of the new regulations focused on controlling access to physical printing presses and extracting bonds for good behavior from printers. Significantly, newsbooks were specifically banned unless they had license from the Protector or Council. Jason Peacey, “Cromwellian England: A Propaganda State?” History 91, No. 302 (April 2006): 177, 198-9, showed how the talented John Thurloe aggregated the responsibilities of licensing, censorship, and intelligence-gathering to himself, allowing the regime to suppress seditious materials and project a positive image.

8 CSPV, 30:244; Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:201.

9 See, for example, TSP, 5:296.

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Indications that the elections would need to be managed with care appeared shortly after the election writs made their way across the nations. An anonymous pamphlet was “scatred about ye streets” of London on August 1, 1656.10 Authored by a deeply disaffected Englishman,

England’s Remembrancers addressed other citizens who felt similarly. Voting, the author knew, could be construed as “approv[ing] his power, becaufe the choice is appointed by his writs”.11

Most of the pamphlet counters this belief, explaining that electoral participation would not betray principled opposition to the current government. First, the author asserted that England’s fundamental laws and the rights of Englishmen were endowed by God, not men, so it was perfectly acceptable to exercise these divinely appointed rights. Second, for those who felt a parliament would be ineffectual against the massive challenges facing the nation, the author issued a reminder that the only fount of authority was “the peoples confent or choice” and they had best exercise their voice since the parliament would have authority “over your lives and eftates”.12 The possibility that haunted the Commonwealth – that the people from whom parliament derived its authority would disapprove of the regicide – was thus weaponized in

1656. Nor did the author think that the liberty of conscience currently established in the country was worth sacrificing democratic duty; rather, men should select their representatives with care

“and truft to the divine providence to bleffe and protect you and your liberties”.13 A lengthy list of qualities men should seek in their members of parliament followed.14 Provocative though

10 Anon, England’s Remembrancers. Or, a word in season to all English men about their elections of the members for the approaching Parliament, (N.P.: [1656]), 1, marginalia in Thomason’s hand.

11 Anon, England’s Remembrancers, 2.

12 Anon, England’s Remembrancers, 2-3.

13 Anon, England’s Remembrancers, 3-4.

14 Anon, England’s Remembrancers, 6-8.

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these arguments were, they were not the most concerning aspects of the pamphlet from the regime’s perspective.

The pamphleteer struck at the heart of the Protectorate’s authority. Recalling the recent pattern of military intervention in parliamentary affairs, the author conceded that his hopes for the upcoming assembly hinged on Members’ ability to “freely confult without the influence of a

Court, or the awe of a mercenarie fouldier”. He also predicted that “the Lord Protector with his red-Coats will either force [MPs] to ferve his ends, or turn them home again”.15 In addition to insulting the Lord Protector, this description stated that Cromwell based his right to rule not on the constitution, but on the army. It was likely these statements that drew the attention of the

Council and caused them to imprison several men caught distributing copies of England’s

Remembrancers without trial.16 In the lead-up to the elections, the regime received unequivocal notice that its opponents intended to take the opportunity to pack parliament and enact an oppositionist agenda.

Nearly all reports from the Major-Generals that reached London in the days immediately preceding the August 20 elections highlighted the gamble the regime was taking. Goffe

(responsible for Berkshire, Hampshire, and Sussex) worried “that the unquiett fpirrit of difcontented men doth beginn to fhew itfelfe, hoping to make there advantages out of the approaching affembly”.17 In Durham and Northumberland men proclaimed “they will have noe fwordmen, noe decimator, or any that receives fallary from the ftate to ferve in parliament”18.

And in the west Desborough was “fatisfied, that there are defigns on foote, in order to the

15 Anon, England’s Remembrancers, 4.

16 Gardiner, C&P, 4:261-3.

17 TSP, 5:287.

18 TSP, 5:296.

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fubverfion of what hath been done for the nation’s peace and fafety”.19 Rumor only, the flood of letters nonetheless painted a picture of a country dissatisfied with the regime and looking forward to expressing this through their representatives. The recipient of these reports, Secretary of the Council John Thurloe, wrote to Henry Cromwell (the Lord Protector’s younger son stationed in Ireland) that “All forts of difcontented people are inceffant in their endeavours” to earn a seat.20 One Major-General, Edward Whalley (responsible for much of the Midlands) was fatalistic. He opined that “[s]o long as Charles Stewart or any of that line are alive, upon the approaching of every parliament, we muft expect the appearance of a black cloud”.21 Whalley was also correct. The Instrument of Government made parliament the people’s representative.

In 1656 royalists were still excluded from the body politic but the first Protectorate parliament provided an object lesson in the subversive potential of representative assemblies. With an alternative sovereign alive and well, opening the Protectorate to the scrutiny that accompanied elections was even riskier.

Despite malefactors’ great industry, the elections proceeded without serious disturbance and the returns generally favored the regime. Most constituencies voted for unobjectionable candidates. Fatalistic Whalley was so hearted by the elections in Nottingham that he came to believe “there is a general refolution to fettle the prefent government in this county”. Further, he sighed in relief that the “bafe pamphlet of England’s remembrancers hath donne little hurt”.22

However, in Canterbury “all honeft people” trembled at what the parliament would bring for the

“caveler and prefbeter” were heartened by the returns and hinting that they would punish “hes

19 TSP, 5:302.

20 TSP, 5:303.

21 TSP, 5:299.

22 TSP, 5:343.

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highnes for breaking up the long parlament, and foe for what he hath donn fence”.23 A few

Major-Generals felt they failed and the returns could undermine the regime. Haynes, lamenting the Norwich returns, felt “that the election is as bad as it could well have bin made”. He even went so far as to suggest that circumstances were so dire they required “fomething extreordinarie fhould be done; elfe the conftitution of the parliament wil be fuch, from whom noe good can be expected”. He obliquely referenced the exclusions in the first Protectorate Parliament and suggested to Thurloe that the Council should overcome their hesitation to repeat the action.24

Kelsey was not as dramatic as Hayes, but he felt that the Maidstone elections demonstrated “a sad spiritt appeareing in the county against what goodsoever Your Highnes and those under your comands have endeavoured to doe”. In Kent, he felt, “the Cavalieres [were] falling in wth the

Prestbiterians against” the government, there was “a bitter spiritt against Swordmen, Decimators,

Courtiers &c.,” and the returns reflected this sentiment.25 Two weeks before the opening of parliament, he pleaded that “all that fett in the houfe, may bee put to figne a recognition to one the government, as it is in the inftrument, and not to medle with what is paft”.26 Discretion was apparently not one of the Council’s strong suits at this juncture, for Giavarina wrote that

“members elected have not yet been confirmed, but the idea persists that some will certainly be rejected who seem somewhat out of harmony with the sentiments of the autocrat”.27 In short, the elections were “not fo good as wee could have wifhed them, yet they are not foe badd as our enemies would have had them”.28

23 TSP, 5:384.

24 TSP, 5:328.

25 TNA SP 18/129 f.282.

26 TSP, 5:384.

27 CSPV, 30: 261.

28 TSP, 5:365.

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Notably absent from the regime’s concerns were papists. Not even a hint of Jesuit conspiracy made it into the Major-Generals’ letters. Less than a year earlier papists were supposedly threatening enough to warrant the imposition of quasi-martial law. By August 1656, however, the only threats mentioned were “cavaliers”, the “malignant, and disaffected party”, and occasionally “presbyterians”. Major-Generals concentrated on the effect “perfons of apparent contrarie principles to the government” would have on the assembly.29 The most logical explanation for the rhetorical shift is that which I suggested in the previous chapter.

Religious papists were never the focus of the regime’s concerns. Popery became shorthand for the type of threat papists had posed to the monarchical religio-political settlement. Rhetorically powerful, the regime cited anti-popery in its introduction of unpopular policies to justify its actions and tar its enemies. Internal communications in the face of opposition revealed the truth.

Where enemies were named, it was always royalists and presbyterians, never papists. Privately, papists did not threaten the regime.

With all representatives selected, the ruling cabal began to worry that the “common enemys laft and great defigne is now to divide between the protector and parliament”.30 Wary of what might occur in parliament, Protector and Council took steps to mitigate the impact of disaffected men on the House. Having learned their lesson from the first Protectorate parliament, however, they used a new tactic with the second.

29 TSP, 5:328.

30 TSP, 5:397.

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An Extraordinary Occasion

“Why, truly, your great enemy is the Spaniard.”31 Antipathy for the Spanish permeated

Cromwell’s speech at the opening of the second Protectorate Parliament. The Lord Protector’s jingoistic oration was designed to fill MPs’ minds with the dangers posed to English souls and liberties by the Spanish, hopefully inspiring a swift vote of confidence in (and supply for) the war effort. After listening to the Lord Protector’s edifying exhortation in the Painted Chamber,

MPs returned to the House to commence their business. Soldiers waited at the door, stationed there to ensure that only men holding tickets were admitted. The Council had decided to preemptively exclude “neare 100 of thofe, who are chofen,” cloaking their actions in the vague language of Article XVII of the Instrument of Government.32 From day one, the second

Protectorate Parliament was defined by the executive’s strict yet creative interpretation of the law.

Legally, the second Protectorate Parliament was extraordinarily. Summoned outside of the triennial pattern in accordance with Article XXIII of the Instrument of Government, the parliament was supposed to provide advice concerning the war.33 Historically, it is extraordinary because it was the first parliament to draft and implement a written constitution. For my purposes, the second Protectorate Parliament is extraordinary due to the clarity it throws on the regime’s preferred method of achieving its objectives. I will show how the regime’s highly legalistic interpretation of the constitution forced Cromwell to accept the destruction of the

Major-Generals and the replacement of the Instrument by a supposedly pliant parliament. I argue that the friction between MPs and the executive was neither the result of bitterly divided

31 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:261.

32 TSP, 5:424; Samuel Rawson Gardiner, ed., Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution, 1625-1660, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906), 411.

33 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412.

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party politics nor caused by Cromwell’s personal short-comings. The twists and turns of parliamentary business and the new constitution were all rooted in the regime’s determination to retain its authority through scrupulous adherence to the constitution.

Cromwell’s opening speech to the second Protectorate Parliament is often cited as a prime example of his extreme anti-popery and used as evidence that his foreign policy was driven by religious animus. As I showed in Chapter 5, this was not the case. Just as it had eleven months earlier, Cromwell’s use of anti-popish rhetoric served a specific purpose.

Crusading idioms united with reminders of the threat the papacy posed to England to inject urgency into parliament’s proceedings. Cromwell described Spain as “a natural enemy” subject

“to the See of Rome”. Together, these forces formed “the common enemy abroad” spoken of in

Scripture that Englishmen had a duty to destroy.34 And the Lord Protector suggested that this danger could also lurk at home, noting that “Papists in England . . . have been accounted, ever since I was born, Spaniolised”.35 All this was designed to set MPs on what he considered the appropriate course: funding the war. It also fulfilled a constitutional obligation. While the Lord

Protector was granted “the power of war and peace” by the Instrument, if he declared war when no parliament was sitting, he was required to summon one forthwith “for their advice concerning” the conflict.36 From this perspective, his speech was merely a briefing on the causes and prosecution of the war to date; he brought MPs up to speed so their advice could be useful.

It is easy to read the Lord Protector’s speech as the flowering of puritanism after true religion was suppressed for the past “fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen years in this nation”.37 One of

34 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:261, 264.

35 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:264.

36 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 406, 412.

37 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:273.

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the two tasks he charged the parliament with was effecting “a true reformation”. Coupled with the anti-popery discussed above and statements of solidarity with European Protestant communities, this seems to be little more than standard godly zeal. But perfecting the reformation of manners was Cromwell’s secondary priority. Parliament should first consider “all things that may be done and ought to be done in order to security”.38 This was because he believed there was a strong possibility that the country’s enemies had allied. Six threats were identified – Spain, Cavaliers, Levellers, Commonwealthsmen, papists, and “all the scum and dirt of this nation” – and Cromwell implied that these groups were “shaking hands”. With the exception of the last group (who were merely malicious spirits making mischief), each faction aimed to install a different government, but agreed that the Protectorate needed to be destroyed and could temporarily unite in service of this common goal.39 Because both foreign and English papists opposed the Protectorate (and the Caroline Church of England had been “next of kin” to popery), it is impossible to disentangle religion and politics. However, it is clear that religious animus was less important to Cromwell than the real threat these groups posed to the regime.

Funding the war and continuing the Major-Generals’ rule would, Cromwell promised, thwart

England’s enemies while simultaneously promoting “the glory of God and his peculiar interest in the world”.40

Having fulfilled his ceremonial and constitutional obligations, Cromwell then sprang a nasty surprise upon MPs: the exclusions. Article XXI of the Instrument granted the Council power to examine electoral returns and determine whether men selected by their peers met the qualifications. The requirements outlined in Article XVII – that MPs were “of known integrity,

38 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:270.

39 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:267.

40 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:260-1.

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fearing God, and of good conversation” – were vague and left significant room for loose interpretation, which the Council employed liberally. No article or clause demanded that the

Council justify any exclusions.41 In this thoroughly legal manner, roughly one quarter of the men returned by their constituencies to represent their interests were excluded from the second

Protectorate Parliament.42

It is impossible to say for certain what effect the exclusions had on the temper of the parliament. Sarah Jones has shown that an exclusion was not necessarily permanent, noting that just over a dozen MPs whom she identified as being on one of a number of lists of excludees likely joined the House at a later date.43 Jones’s extensive statistical and biographical study of the Members of the Protectorate parliaments revealed no discernable pattern to the exclusions, finding minimal differences between Members who were excluded and those permitted to sit.44

Peter Gaunt believes that the Councillors acted on brief reports from the Major-Generals, often without further investigation or corroboration, and consequently even a slight whiff of disaffection to the government (or kinship with a royalist) was enough to disqualify a man.45

41 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 411-2. Peter Gareth Irvine Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate, from December 1653 to September 1658,” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 1983), 182, has shown that the Council added verbiage to the constitution for the purpose of justifying the exclusions. Despite the relatively broad interpretations that could be made of Article XVII, rather than sticking to the written “of known integrity”, the Council believed the test should be “of known integrity to the government”.

42 Carol S. Egloff, “The Search For a Cromwellian Settlement: Exclusions from the Second Protectorate Parliament. Part 1: The Process and its Architects,” Parliamentary History 17, No. 2 (1998): 178-180. Egloff notes that ascertaining the exact number of MPs excluded is impossible because no list of the excluded men remains. She also points out that the exclusions only occurred on the opening day of the session; MPs who skipped Cromwell’s speech on the 17 September and only attended the House from 18 September on would not have found soldiers at the door checking tickets.

43 Sarah Elizabeth Jones, “Composition and Activity of the Protectorate Parliaments,” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 1988), 92. Committee membership and participation in debates are taken as signs that the excluded MPs were in the House at a later date.

44 Jones, “Composition and Activity,” 92-94. She notes that the MPs who were excluded tended to be slightly older (using statistical averages), were less likely to hold office under the Protectorate, and had more parliamentary experience.

45 Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 182-90.

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Nor was the policy unanimously supported by members of the regime: Henry Cromwell, serving in Ireland at the time, wrote to Thurloe and warned that the strategy appeared “to be a dangerous remedie”.46 Furthermore, while certain noted republicans who had been vocal in opposing the regime in 1654 were excluded, the second Protectorate Parliament followed in the pattern of early modern parliaments in general, with a minority of MPs actively participating in the

House’s business and a majority either absenting themselves or attending as “back benchers”.47

Only by way of comparison with the second session, in which the excluded Members were readmitted, can we see that at least a few of the seclusions were well-chosen by the regime, allowing business to proceed, but many men who would have quietly served were punished for no reason.48

Prickly senses of honor regarding parliamentary privilege were piqued by the exclusions.

Formulating a suitable response became the first order of business and dominated the parliament’s opening days. Increasing MPs’ fixation on this issue was the lack of any explanation from the Council of State regarding their decisions, even though they had privately prepared to justify their actions.49 The public was also restless and increasingly bitter, seeing the

Army interfere once again in the running of parliament, according to the French ambassador.50

In September, the Council responded to parliament’s letter of inquiry with a curt rationalization

46 TSP, 5:477.

47 Jones, “Composition and Activity,” 105-112. Given that the House could only comfortably seat 200 (less than half of the 460 allotted by the Instrument of Government), it is not surprising that those who were less enthusiastic about their responsibilities would elect not to attend, for if they were not prompt in arriving for the morning session they were not assured of finding a seat. Scarcity of seats was such a chronic problem that the process for taking divisions had been structured to account for this; on measures which were seen to have ‘conservative’ and ‘innovative’ sides, the innovators were required to leave the House to be counted, relinquishing their seats without a guarantee that they would still have a place to sit when they returned at the conclusion of the counting.

48 TSP, 5:477-8. He advocated that one man’s exclusion be reversed and requested clarification as to why two other men had been excluded, for he could not perceive any reason that these men were unfit to serve the commonwealth.

49 TSP, 5:426, records Councillors agreeing that they have “discharged their duty” to “the best of their judgments” and that they would be prepared to account for their actions either to the Lord Protector or to the parliament.

50 TSP, 5:427.

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of their course. Subsequently the parliament voted to have the excluded members apply to the

Council for reconsideration of their individual cases.51 Thus, the matter of the excluded

Members appeared to be wrapped up in the House by Monday, September 22, 1656, one week into the session. Not all MPs were satisfied with the chosen response and several recused themselves from further participation in the session, but the majority proceeded “very cheerefully” in the weighty business that lay before them.52 A searing pamphlet entitled An

Appeale From the Court to the Country appeared in October and compared the exclusions to

Charles I’s actions against the five members. The pamphlet decried Cromwell’s tyranny, accusing him of “arrogat[ing] to himfelf a jurifdiction farre greater then that with which hee contefted, or then yet any King of England ever affumed”.53 This did not inspire MPs to revisit the matter, however.

Months later, in the midst of a debate about the extent of and basis for parliament’s jurisdiction, a Councillor cited the exclusions as an example for his position. Lord Lambert, author of the Instrument, used the exclusions as an example of the maxim, “salus populi is suprema lex”. He asked his fellow MPs to consider, “if such course had not been taken, consider what a Parliament you might have had,” for, in his mind, “if a Parliament should be chosen according to the general spirit and temper of the nation, and if there should not be a check upon such election, those may creep into this House, who may come to sit as our judges for all we have done in this Parliament, or at any other time or place.”54 His statement vindicated earlier outrage at the exclusions as un-democratic and violating parliamentary honor. It was also odd.

51 CJ, 7:425-6; Mercurius Politicus 328 (September 18-25, 1656), 841.

52 TSP 5:453.

53 Anon, An Appeale From the Court to the Country. Made by a Member of Parliament lawfully chofen, but fecluded illegally by my L. Protector, (N.P. [London]: 1656), 3, 4-5.

54 Burton, Diary, 1:281.

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As I showed earlier, the Council had the legal right to act as it did. Despite confessing to acting in self-preservation apropos of nothing, Lambert’s admission neatly illustrates my point about the Protectorate: its executives acted to retain their authority and would take extreme measures to safeguard their position.

The exclusions – parliamentary anger stemming from them as well as the authoritarian streak that apparently inspired them – have often been seen as emblematic of Cromwell’s contentious relationship with his parliaments. Studies of the exclusions at the start of the parliament tend toward the prosopographical and have generally concluded that, if there was an underlying logic to the exclusions, it is not discernible through existing sources.55 H.R. Trevor-

Roper forcefully argued that the subject of Oliver Cromwell and his parliaments was “a tragi- comedy” because, in a cruelly ironic twist, “the one English sovereign who had actually been a member of parliament proved himself, as a parliamentarian, the most incompetent of them all.”56

Revisionists challenged this view in the 1970s, arguing that party politics caused the

55 Jones, “Composition and Activity,” passim, provides an extraordinarily detailed analysis of the membership of Protectorate Parliaments. Carol S. Egloff, “The Search For a Cromwellian Settlement: Exclusions from the Second Protectorate Parliament. Part 2: The Excluded Members and Reactions to the Exclusion,” Parliamentary History 17, No. 3 (1998): 321, argues that the exclusions were the result of a bitter and protracted debate between the military and civilian wings of the ruling cabal.

56 H.R. Trevor-Roper, “Oliver Cromwell and his Parliaments,” in Essays Presented to Sir Lewis Namier ed. Richard Pares, (London: Macmillan, 1956), passim, quotes at 1, 48. The basis for this argument is Trevor-Roper’s sense that Cromwell was what he calls a natural back-bencher, a common state for country gentry elected to sit in early modern parliaments. But when Cromwell was named Lord Protector, this inclination proved to be a poison pill, for he, despite first-hand experience as an MP, “lacked the electoral patronage, nucleus of MP Privy Councillors, and control over the Speaker that made Elizabethan parliaments successful.” Roger Howell, Jr., “Cromwell and his Parliaments: The Trevor-Roper Thesis Revisited,” Cromwelliana (1988): 25-35, argued convincingly that the Trevor-Roper thesis is ahistorical, because the norms governing Elizabethan parliaments had vanished (or were mythical). Peter Gaunt also effectively refuted Trevor-Roper’s argument by demonstrating that Cromwell didn’t fail to master Elizabethan parliamentary management tactics but rather that he opted not to try; see “Oliver Cromwell and his Protectorate Parliaments: Co-operation, Conflict and Control,” in ‘Into Another Mould’: Aspects of the Interregnum ed. Ivan Roots, (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1998), 97. For a different, but not altogether convincing, take on the friction between Cromwell and his parliaments, see David L. Smith, “Oliver Cromwell and the Protectorate Parliaments,” in The Cromwellian Protectorate ed. Patrick Little, (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2007), 14. Smith attributes the lack of a functional working relationship between Cromwell and his parliaments to the Protector’s religious radicalism and his desire to have parliament implement his religious agenda.

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dissension.57 Recent studies have corrected Trevor-Roper’s view and added significant nuance to the picture of the Protectorate Parliaments. Ivan Roots has argued that the second Protectorate

Parliament was extraordinarily prolific and garnered impressive achievements.58 Patrick Little and David L. Smith explicitly sought to rehabilitate the Protectorate Parliaments by demonstrating that many of the failures traditionally attributed to Cromwell personally were in fact systemic and reminiscent of issues that early Stuart monarchs faced.59

My general contention about the executive branch of the regime also explains the odd relationship between Cromwell and the second Protectorate Parliament. A chief magistrate who preemptively purged twenty-five percent of men elected to represent the body politic should not have accepted the destruction of the Major-Generals regime or a new constitution, yet Cromwell did. Dear as both the Major-Generals and the Spanish war were to the Lord Protector’s commitment to advancing the Reformation, he could not accomplish this if he lost his position.

Guarding both the regime and his position in it – defending the document from which their authority stemmed – was, as always, Cromwell’s top priority.

Silence regarding ancillary matters was also a tactical decision. Prosecuting the war with

Spain and continuing the Major-Generals’ regime were both impossible without renewed supply, a decision that was solely in parliament’s power. Little was done to support the impetus behind

57 Ellen Goldwater, “Two Cromwellian Parliaments: Politics, Patronage and Procedure,” (PhD diss., The City University of New York, 1973), 8 argued that what occurred in the Protectorate Parliaments was a reenactment of the struggle seen in the 1640s to determine where the locus of power resided: executive or legislature. Four distinct political parties (the “court”, “country”, “republicans”, and “military court”) drive Goldwater’s analysis of how traditional parliamentary procedural tools were wholly insufficient for solving the central issue that parliament faced, thus leading to internecine conflict. While I agree partially with Goldwater’s definition of the problem – the locus of sovereignty in the state – I do not concur with her that Trevor-Roper’s identification of conciliar ineptness offers an adequate explanation for the parliaments’ failure.

58 Ivan Roots, “Lawmaking in the Second Protectorate Parliament,” in British Government and Administration: Studies Presented to S.B. Chrimes ed. H. Hearder and H.R. Loyn, (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1974), 134- 135. While 71 bills were presented to the Lord Protector for his assent, the first session of the parliament considered well over 100 bills in the course of its sitting, entailing an enormous amount of effort.

59 Patrick Little and David L. Smith, Parliaments and Politics during the Cromwellian Protectorate, (Cambridge: Cambridge, 2007), 294-300.

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the extraordinary assembly in the early days of the session. Thurloe characterized the House’s action in early months as “jogginge on” but bringing “very little to perfection”.60 More than a month passed before MPs agreed the war was just.61 Even after agreeing with the Lord Protector in principle, the House dragged its feet on voting supply. A Grand Committee of the whole

House debated various means of raising the necessary funds for a week in late October and early

November but could not reach consensus and dropped the matter. In December Lord Fleetwood, a Councillor, expressed his exasperation with the extremely slow pace of business by noting the hypocrisy in voting “a war with Spain long since,” but neglecting to make “provision for monies to carry it on.”62 The difficulty, of course, was that MPs were loath to impose further levies on an already heavily taxed populace.63 At last, on January 30 the House resolved to raise “the sum of 400,000l . . . for carrying on the war with Spain, and other affairs of the Commonwealth,” but the funding mechanism remained undetermined.64 Following a March 7 reminder from the Lord

Protector that they had been summoned to raise troops and otherwise help with “the carrying on the War with Spaine,” MPs voted to allow the Lord Protector to raise troops for the war. They also read the long-delayed assessment bill for the second time.65 It was only on the eve of the session’s June adjournment that the bill was finalized and presented to the Lord Protector.66

Parliament was hardly idle in the intervening months, but this was still a remarkably lengthy process.

60 TSP, 5:584; TSP, 5:672.

61 CJ, 7:431, 440. On October 1, a committee began drafting a declaration explaining the war with Spain was just. The draft declaration was read on October 17 and recommitted. 62 Burton, Diary, 1:174.

63 TSP, 5:584.

64 Burton, Diary, 1:371.

65 CJ, 7:499-500.

66 A&O, 2:1234. “Act for an assessment . . . for a temporary supply towards the maintenance of the Armies and Navies of this Commonwealth” was presented to Cromwell on 26 June 1657.

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Addressing the question of the Major-Generals did not consume nearly as much time or energy. As noted in Chapter 5, the regime justified the decimation as a reformation of the existing sequestration system rather than a new tax. With Parliament in session, the continuation of the decimation (and hence of the militia it supported) was open to approval or discontinuation.

December 25, in keeping with the Directory of Worship, was not recognized as a festival day and

Members were enjoined to attend the House as usual. Most ignored this instruction and Major-

General Desborough took advantage of the drastically reduced attendance to introduce a bill continuing the decimation tax (and hence the Major-Generals). Even in the diminished House, two close divisions decided the matter.67 A month later, the bill was brought up for debate.

Several days of discussion resulted in two more divisions. By votes of 121-78 and 124-88, the

House resoundingly rejected the Bill touching the Militia Forces.68 The Major-Generals were dead in the water.

Why did Cromwell refrain from intervening as the second Protectorate Parliament dithered over funding the Spanish war and then demolished his system of quasi-military rule?

Simply put, his hands were tied. The Instrument of Government unambiguously granted parliament sole discretion over taxation. Unlike the exclusions or even his dissolution of the first

Protectorate Parliament, the constitution left no latitude for creative interpretation of this matter.

Reverence for the document that bestowed the regime with authority – which inspired other apparently illegal (but technically legal) measures – required that Protector and Council permit elected representatives to decide whether to burden the population in service of the executive’s

67 CJ, 7:475. Following the Commons’ byzantine procedure, the House divided twice. First, on whether they should acknowledge Desborough’s bill (decided 86-63 in favor) and then for a second time to decide whether they would take the actual bill into consideration (again decided 86-63 in favor).

68 CJ, 7:483.

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policy aims. To do otherwise would blatantly abrogate the constitution and undermine all the regime’s claims to legal rule.

The story of the second Protectorate Parliament was thus not a failure of parliamentary management but rather another facet of the regime’s chosen method of governance. Certainly

Cromwell would have avoided summoning parliament if that course of action was possible, but between the regime’s desperate need for money and the constitutional requirement that representatives be elected to advise the Lord Protector “forthwith” concerning any declaration of war, there was no alternative. Measures to ensure that MPs were well-affected to the government and would be amenable to the regime’s preferred program were undertaken. After the regime admitted the three-hundred-odd men who fit this description to the House, however, they had to permit MPs to debate and vote without interference. The double-edged sword of the regime’s strict adherence to the letter of the law left no other option. Parliament held the power to fund (or not) the Major-Generals and the war with Spain. If the regime interfered with this business it would shred the constitution it had devised. So they permitted the end of the Major-

Generals and waited patiently while parliament devised a means of financing the war effort.

This same approach also held true for the constitution drafted by the second Protectorate

Parliament.

“the publick Profession of these Nations”69: The Second Protectorate Parliament’s Religio-

Political Settlement

Sir Christopher Pack introduced “The humble Address and Remonstrance of the Knights,

Citizens, and Burgesses, now assembled in the Parliament of this Commonwealth” on February

69 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 454; CJ, 7:507.

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23, 1657. Codifying “the ancient constitution of this nation”, which was “most agreeable to the temper and inclination of this people” in law, the Remonstrance, as the document came to be known, proposed reviving the shape of the pre-regicide government with a king and bi-cameral parliament.70 Though its origins and authors remain obscure,71 the presentation of the

Remonstrance inaugurated a new phase in the session, and the second Protectorate Parliament transformed into a constitutional convention for much of the spring of 1657. Following a month of discussion the Remonstrance was renamed the Humble Petition and Advice and parliament presented the new constitution – complete with the offer of the crown – to Cromwell on March

31.72 The Lord Protector carefully considered the new constitution and the crown. Upon reflection, Cromwell declined to be king. Turmoil followed. The proposed constitution clearly stated that if Cromwell “shall not be satisfied to give [his] consent to all the matters and things in this humble Petition and Advice, that then nothing in the same be deemed of force”.73 At length, the second Protectorate Parliament acquiesced to Cromwell’s scruples and amended the constitution to retain the title of Lord Protector. On May 25 Cromwell accepted the revised constitution and on June 26, 1657 the Humble Petition and Advice replaced the Instrument of

Government as the fundamental law of the land.

70 Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 307. Appendix 2 reprints the original draft of the Remonstrance.

71 Pack later admitted that he had neither drafted the Remonstrance nor even read the document prior to presenting it to parliament. Consensus generally exists that a small group of MPs – most likely including Glynn, Broghill, Pierrepont and St. John – prepared the document in the weeks immediately preceding its introduction; see Firth, Last Years, 1:128; Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 207. Margaret Joy Tibbetts, “Parliamentary Parties under Oliver Cromwell,” (PhD diss., Bryn Mawr College, 1944), 148, 156-7, argues that this group of conservative courtiers had been carefully laying the groundwork for the new constitution and kingship since early December 1656, two months prior to the introduction of the Remonstrance. Patrick Little and David Smith merely note that it was introduced by a group of “civilian” courtiers, allowing this assertion to stand as the entirety of their discussion of authorship; Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 19.

72 CJ, 7:512-13, 516.

73 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 458.

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From start to finish, the episode was a fascinating drama. Kingship revealed fractures within the regime and body politic as no other issue. It divided Councillors among themselves,74 turned Army against Lord Protector,75 and eventually pitted Lord Protector and Parliament against each other in a battle of wills.76 The question of the crown has been identified as a turning-point in the Protectorate.77 Some scholars even see in the question of the crown the seeds of the Protectorate’s eventual downfall.78 Because the kingship debates consumed so much political energy, this has been the central historiographical focus.

74 Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 210, argues that the firm opposition of some Councillors, complete with a serious promise to resign their positions if England became a monarchy once more, was the ultimate reason for Cromwell’s sudden reversal and rejection of the crown.

75 Egloff, “The Search for a Cromwellian Settlement: Part 2,” 308, 321; Tibbetts, “Parliamentary Parties,” 159-163.

76 CJ, 7:519-22. Determined to replace the Lord Protector with a king, the second Protectorate Parliament persisted, appointing a committee with the specific task of meeting with Cromwell and assuage any concerns he had regarding the title. Jonathan Fitzgibbons, “Recording, Reporting and Printing the Cromwellian ‘kingship debates’ of 1657,” Historical Research 89, No. 245 (August 2016): 509, has shown, in the course of determining the provenance of the restoration pamphlet Monarchy Asserted (which publicized the discussions over the offer of the crown), that Cromwell provided ample notice of his scruples which parliament repeatedly ignored. In a letter to the Protector’s son, John Bridges reported that he had nearly come to blows over the matter back in November; Peter Gaunt, ed., The Correspondence of Henry Cromwell, 1655-1659: From the British Library Lansdowne Manuscripts, edited by, Camden 5th Series 31, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 186-7.

77 See, for example, Firth, Last Years, 1:128-66; Firth, “Cromwell and the Crown,” The English Historical Review 17, No. 67 (July 1902), 429-442; Firth, “Cromwell and the Crown. II,” The English Historical Review 18, No. 69 (January 1903), 52-80. Blair Worden, “Oliver Cromwell and the Sin of Achan,” in History, Society and the Churches: Essays in Honour of Owen Chadwick ed. Derek Beales and Geoffrey Best, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 140-3, argues persuasively that the failure of the Western Design sent Cromwell spiraling into self-doubt, concerned that he had sinned gravely enough that God had decided to show displeasure through this epic defeat. Studying the story of Achan, Cromwell felt that he could not, in good conscience, accept the crown: if providence had deserted him due to sin, taking the crown would compound the error and potentially drag England down with him.

78 Ralph C.H. Catterall, “The Failure of the Humble Petition and Advice,” The American Historical Review 9, No. 1 (October 1903): 41-2, 53, argues that, pragmatically, it was impossible to effectively administer English law and justice in the absence of the kingly office (or without entirely rewriting the legal code), and politically, offering the crown to Cromwell consolidated the antipathy of republicans who were readmitted to the Second Protectorate Parliament for its second session and dominated discussions following Oliver Cromwell’s death. A.H. Woolrych, “The and the Fall of the Protectorate,” The Cambridge Historical Journal 13, No. 2 (1957): 135-7, sees the Army’s coup d’état of April 1659 stemming directly from the fracturing of Oliver Cromwell’s Council that began with the offer of the crown. More recently Jonathan Fitzgibbons has offered a similar argument from an intellectual and legal historical standpoint; see “The definition of treason and the offer of the crown,” in Revolutionary England, c.1630-c.1660: Essays for Clive Holmes ed. George Southcombe and Grant Tapsell, (London: Routledge, 2017), 127-8.

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Analyzing the offer of the crown, while an excellent means of discerning political faultlines in 1657, neglects several other issues illuminated by the new constitution. In this section I argue that the gradual redefinition of Catholics’ place within the political imagination – heretofore confined to Protector and Council – had advanced sufficiently for parliament to reflect the revised thinking in its constitution. In this respect the Humble Petition and Advice (together with its addendum, the Additional Petition and Advice) represented the culmination of the trend begun when the regicide broke the link between church and state. Hints of discontent with the

Protector’s reliance on literal interpretations of the law also crept into the constitution. And yearning for a return to the ways of the past is also discernible.

Divine providence, manifested in the Lord Protector and Army, freed Englishmen from the horrid “tyranny and bondage, both in our spiritual and civil concernments” they experienced under Charles I. MPs lauded this deliverance in the preface to the Humble Petition and Advice.

Despite this perspective, MPs sought to resurrect the political structure of English monarchical government. King Cromwell – later amended to the “Chief Magistrate of these nations” – would govern according to the new constitution and “according to the laws of these nations”. Perhaps as a holdover from the monarchical version of the document, the Humble Petition and Advice did not discuss the source of the sovereign’s authority. Nor did it explicitly divide authority amongst the executive and legislative branches. It instructed the chief magistrate to work with his “great Council,” parliament, “in whose affection and advice yourself and this people will be most safe and happy.”79 The formulation suggests that the Lord Protector was the supreme authority in the land, not parliament. This is also likely why Cromwell acquiesced to parliament’s desire for a new constitution. Particulars of the religio-political settlement changed

79 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 447-9.

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but, once parliament accepted his title of Lord Protector, Cromwell’s position and authority remained unaltered.

Council and the now bicameral parliament would advise the Lord Protector in all matters.

The chief magistrate had the power to dispose of the “standing forces of this Commonwealth”.80

But other limits on the single person’s power reflected a retrospective view of the previous two decades. Parliament’s “ancient and undoubted liberties” were sacrosanct. Laws could only be created, “suspended, abrogated or repealed” by the legislative assembly. And no Englishman would “be compelled to contribute to any gift, loan, benevolence, tax , aid or other like charge without common consent by ”.81 These safeguards would have prevented Charles I’s abuses and certainly indicated that MPs looked back at the 1630s and

1640s while contemplating the revival of monarchical government. Specific instruction that

“those persons who are legally chosen by a free election of the people to serve in Parliament to do their duties, but by judgment and consent of that House whereof they are members” suggested that more recent abuses also affected the supreme law of the land.82 For all of these precautions could also be taken to apply to Cromwell. At various points, using strictly literal interpretations of the Instrument of Government, the Lord Protector had contravened these new principles.

Under the Humble Petition and Advice Cromwell retained his position and authority but parliament strongly indicated his preferred method of governance would no longer be tolerated.

Another area in which the second Protectorate Parliament expressed disapproval of

Cromwell’s preferred religio-political settlement was, of course, the national religion.

Predictably, the new constitution unequivocally declared England to be a Protestant nation.

80 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 453.

81 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 449, 452-3.

82 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 449.

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Originally, the Remonstrance presented a religious settlement very similar to that contained in the Instrument.83 Discussion in the House resulted in a much more firmly Protestant settlement and Article 11 of the Humble Petition and Advice established

That the true Protestant Christian Religion, as it is contained in the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, and no other, be held forth and asserted for the publick Profession of these Nations: And that a Confession of Faith, to be agreed by his Highness and the Parliament, according to the Rule and Warrant of the Scriptures, be asserted, held forth, and recommended, to the People of these Nations.84

“Protestant” featured prominently in this definition. A confession of faith would underpin the public profession of English religion. Liberty of conscience was to be severely curtailed. Only trinitarian Christians who differed in adiaphorous issues of doctrine, worship, or discipline would be permitted to worship outside the national church.85 Even this limited group would be subject to attempts to convert them to the public profession though “sound doctrine, and the example of a good conversation”. Liberty of conscience did not extend “to Popery or Prelacy,” nor to those

“who publish horrible blasphemies, or practise or hold forth licentiousness or profaneness”.86

This settlement was hard-won; one MP described Article 4 as the “difficultest point” of the entire negotiation process.87 Evangelicalism was even more evident when the new constitution referenced the chief magistrate. Assuming that the chief magistrate would possess “zeal to the glory of God and the propagation of the Gospel,” the constitution laid the groundwork for a national ministry and for the prosecution of those who disturbed the workings of the national

83 Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 310-11.

84 CJ, 7:507; Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 454.

85 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 454-5. Only those who professed “faith in God the Father, and in Jesus Christ His eternal Son, the true God, and in the Holy Spirit, God co-equal with the Father and the Son, One God, blessed for ever, and do acknowledge the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament to be the revealed Will and Word of God” would be permitted to worship as they pleased.

86 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 454-5.

87 Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 39.

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church.88 And the Additional Petition and Advice outlined the Lord Protector’s oath of office, which included a promise to “uphold and maintain the True, Reformed, Protestant, Christian

Religion, in the Purity thereof, as it is contained in the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New

Testament; and encourage the Profession and Professors of the same.”89

Margaret Tibbetts has argued that this more conservative approach to religion sprang from an alliance of convenience. In order to end the rule of the Major-Generals and reduce the role of the Army in politics, she believes that conservative courtiers and country gentlemen joined with Presbyterians, resulting in the Humble Petition and Advice’s religious settlement.90

While Tibbetts makes a compelling case regarding the mechanics of the compromise, I believe the omissions in the religious settlement hint at deeper principles. Conservatism aside, the

Humble Petition and Advice did not resurrect the monarchical link between religious profession and the body politic. Qualifications for membership in the body politic demanded that men be

“persons of known integrity, fearing God, and of good conversation”.91 All who “profess[ed] the popish religion” were barred from voting or standing for election.92 And MPs deliberately replaced references to “Roman Catholic” or “Catholic” persons in the Remonstrance to “papists”

88 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 454; Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 310. This is Article 10 in the Humble Petition and Advice but was Article 9 in the Remonstrance. The article is deliberately vague, stating that disturbing the operation of the national church should be a crime and laws should be made to this effect, eliminating current defects.

89 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 462; CJ, 7:571.

90 Tibbetts, “Parliamentary Parties,” 164-5.

91 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 449-51. Additionally, MPs had to be at least twenty-one years old and could not be resident in a tithe-supported living. No “common profaner of the Lord’s day, no profane swearer or curser, no drunkard or common haunter of taverns or alehouses” nor anyone who denied “the Scriptures to be the Word of God, or the sacraments, prayer, magistracy, and ministry to be the Ordinances of God” would be eligible either.

92 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 449, 451; Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 309. The definition of popish included anyone who “hath married or shall marry a wife of the Popish religion, or hath trained or shall train up his child or children, nor any other child or children under his tuition or government, in the Popish religion, or that shall permit or suffer such child or children to be trained up in the said religion, or that hath given or shall give his consent that his son or daughter shall marry any of that religion”.

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or those “Popishly affected”.93 Royalists as well as Scottish and Irish rebels were categorized identically.94 Stiff penalties for participating in the electoral process if disabled were introduced.95

Lumping papists with rebels underlined why these groups were permanently excluded from political participation: they had all denied the authority of non-monarchical government and were considered irredeemably disloyal. However, the formulation also revealed how decoupling church and state radically altered the position of the English Catholic community.

Papists no longer posed a unique threat to the government. Removing the sovereign’s dual authority, even though religion was still linked with politics, meant that papists were no more dangerous to the English government than any member of the population who denied the legitimacy of post-regicide governments.

Qualifications for office-holding reinforced this concern. Loyalty was the primary character trait required of government officers. Where the Remonstrance prohibited papists along with royalists from holding offices in the regime, the corresponding article in the Humble

Petition and Advice omitted any reference to papists.96 This was despite specific instruction that the committee consider “the best Ways and Means . . . for securing the Peace of the Nation, against those who have been of the late King’s Party . . . [and] against Papists.”97 Likely, MPs saw no reason to belabor the point, feeling that sufficient safeguards existed elsewhere to prevent papists from achieving positions of power and this was merely a blindspot instigated by

93 See, for example, CJ, 7:499; on 6 March 1656 it was resolved “That, instead of these Words, ‘Roman Catholick’, the Word ‘Popish’ be inserted in the First Clause of this Article.”

94 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 449.

95 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 450-1.

96 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 456-7; Little and Smith, Parliaments and Politics, 311.

97 CJ, 7:508.

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assumptions about the body politic. But the omission underlines the extent to which royalists and papists were seen as interchangeable terms by 1657. In fact, the omission can be taken as an indication that the second Protectorate Parliament viewed Englishmen who were popishly affected as less threatening than royalists. Further, as Eilish Gregory has shown, the Protectorate government clearly recognized that not all papists were royalists,98 meaning that this formulation, whether intentionally or accidentally, did not necessarily preclude papists from participating in government.

The second Protectorate Parliament included an extensive review of all legislation passed since the beginning of the Long Parliament as part of its constitutional considerations. Article 16 of the Humble Petition and Advice (Article 15 in the version printed by Gardiner, for reasons that Patrick Little addresses99), was designed to ensure the continuation of the rule of law.

Aware of the morass occasioned by the seeming contradiction between the Instrument of

Government and the Protectorate treason ordinance of January 19, 1654, Article 16 explicitly retained all “Acts and Ordinances not contrary hereunto” in full force.100 However, the

Protectorate ordinances – those laws enacted by Protector and Council in the first nine months of the regime – became a sticking point. Days of debate devolved into a discussion about the separation of powers under the new constitution and how to safeguard the religio-political settlement in case future generations were not as fortunate in their Lord Protector as England was

98 Eilish Marguerita Gregory, “Catholics and Sequestration during the English Revolution, 1642-60,” (PhD diss., University College London, 2017), 87-89, shows that from the earliest days of parliamentary sequestration and compounding, the government recognized multiple classes of papists, with only one sub-group accused of raising arms against the parliament.

99 Patrick Little, “Monarchy to Protectorate: Re-Drafting the Humble Petition and Advice, March-June 1657,” Historical Research 79, No. 203 (February 2006): 146-8, demonstrates that the rescission of Article 15 was deliberate and that none of the subsequent articles were renumbered in consequence, with the result being that the published text jumped from Article 14 to Article 16. This corrects Gardiner’s assumption that both Henry Scobell and the publishers incorrectly numbered the articles; Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 457n.

100 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 457.

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currently.101 At length, though MPs disliked endorsing the precedent of legislating “without the consent of the people assembled in parliament,” set by the Protectorate ordinances, they confirmed 72 of them.102 All other acts and ordinances passed after the expulsion of the Rump would become null and void as of June 1, 1657.103 The treason ordinance was in the latter group.

Not only did this effectively eliminate the crime of treason in England, it also returned the English Catholic community to its legally nebulous position. The act of September 27, 1650 liberating tender consciences retained its force. Thus, the Elizabethan and Jacobean recusancy statutes were repealed. Priests were still traitors by the law but recusancy was no longer criminal. However, Catholics were not permitted liberty of conscience. This state of affairs was rectified a month later with the passage of the new Recusant Bill, which I will discuss in the next chapter. But the nebulous position of Catholic religious worship hints at a broader theme in the

Humble Petition and Advice.

Sprinkled throughout the constitution are subtle indications that the nation was wearying of innovation. “[S]ettling and securing our liberties,” after fighting “a long and bloody war” against “the late King and his party” who had revoked these rights was the chief concernment of the constitution. Rehearsals of how Charles I trampled English liberties guaranteed by the ancient constitution were, by 1657, commonplace. In the context of the Protector’s actions and parliament’s deliberations, this language gains additional valence. Englishmen yearned for these rights specifically, not for a complete civil and ecclesiastical revolution. Anticipating the constitutional convention, Mr. Downing expressed a desire to establish “the government upon

101 Burton, Diary, 2:50-1. Specifically, some worried that in the future a Lord Protector could be inclined to either popery or Fifth Monarchism, alter membership on the board of triers, and thus reshape English religion.

102 CJ, 7:524-6; Burton, Diary, 2:80-1.

103 CJ, 7:528-9; Burton, Diary, 2:81-2, 90-4. A proviso ensured that this vote should not construe any laws contrary to the Humble Petition and Advice as remaining in force.

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the old and tried foundation”, which the “long experience of our ancestors” had proved.104 This sentiment explains parliamentary insistence that Cromwell take the crown. At the conclusion of the business, Lord Commissioner of the Great Seal Fiennes lauded parliament’s accomplishment as the result of “a Spirit of Patience and Resolution” and a determination “to rectify . . . what was amiss, to improve what was good, and to make the best of what God laid before them”.105

Rectifying and improving are cautious terms that reference existing states. The Humble Petition and Advice established a new religio-political settlement, but MPs did not intend for the constitution to inaugurate a new phase in the revolution.

Conclusion

Pomp and circumstance attended Cromwell’s second ceremonial installation as Lord

Protector.106 On the same day, June 26, 1656, the Humble and Additional Petitions and Advice replaced the Instrument of Government as England’s legal foundation, vindicating MPs’ labors.

This marked the high point of the second Protectorate Parliament. Adjourned for months, MPs reassembled in January 1658 to commence the parliament’s second session. Excluded MPs rejoined the now bicameral parliament. Infirmity prevented Cromwell from delivering an extended oration; he contended himself with praising God’s mercies and exhorting MPs to continue their righteous labors.107 Deeply disappointed with the discord that dominated the session, Cromwell dissolved the parliament a scant two weeks later, on February 4.108

104 Burton, Diary, 1:363-4.

105 CJ, 7:583.

106 A detailed account of Cromwell’s investiture appeared in Mercurius Politicus 369 (June 25-July 2, 1657), 7881- 4.

107 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:705-8.

108 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:728-32; CJ, 7:592.

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Harmonious though the conclusion to the first session was, during the session itself MPs repudiated any policy the regime justified with creatively strict legal interpretations. Formal protests followed the September exclusions; the new constitution prohibited the practice and reinstated unjustly disqualified Members. Funds for the Major-Generals dried up, effectively ending the experiment in martial enforcement of the Reformation. Liberty of conscience remained but was restricted. MPs realized that the Instrument’s religious settlement was radical in its plain text, without the application of Protectoral innovative interpretation. One particular incident opened MPs’ eyes to this situation and inspired both the restriction of religious liberty and the notorious Recusant Bill. The second Protectorate Parliament’s approach to the English

Catholic community and the events that inspired its more conservative religious settlement are the subject of the next chapter.

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CHAPTER 7

THE SECOND PROTECTORATE PARLIAMENT CONFRONTS LIBERTY OF

CONSCIENCE

Exclusions and the constitution are the two points for which the second Protectorate

Parliament is remembered. Far more occurred in the course of its nine-month session. Between protesting violations of parliamentary privilege and crafting the Humble Petition and Advice,

MPs considered hundreds of other issues. This chapter explores two of the parliament’s lesser- known deliberations: the trial of James Nayler and the passage of the Recusant Bill. Neither decision is unknown but their significance is missed because both outcomes appear to be thoroughly predictable. Analyzing the process that yielded these decisions reveals that the results were far from certain and illuminates a stunning diversity of thought on the matter of religion. Both incidents also add weight to the note of yearning detected in the parliamentary constitution.

Early in the session MPs began work on a new, harsher Recusant Bill. James Nayler’s blasphemy trial consumed the House for weeks and interrupted progress on the bill.

Consideration of the Catholic question resumed in the spring and the bill became law on the last day of the session. When the second Protectorate Parliament adjourned, England was a

Protestant nation, Catholicism was outlawed, and Nayler served as a cautionary example to blasphemers. But the route travelled to arrive at this mundane conclusion included several detours that revealed how a large proportion of the body politic considered the new religio- political settlement.

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To this point we have only seen how Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell and his tightly-knit group of like-minded advisors used the end of the sovereign’s authority over the national church and attendant divorce of religious identity and political allegiance to differentiate between catholics and papists. Frequently this differentiation occurred in the context of securing the nation against attack, either military or political. The second Protectorate Parliament also, I will show, engaged in this process of differentiation but did so more subtly. Exploring the Recusant

Bill’s journey and Nayler’s trial together reveals how eliminating mandatory attendance at national church services forced MPs to confront the reality of (circumscribed) religious toleration and confront deeply ingrained prejudices. In other words, the extinct link between national church and body politic required MPs to explicate previously tacit assumptions about the place of the English Catholic community within England’s political imagination. Tracing the Recusant

Bill’s lengthy and tempestuous journey to passage through Nayler’s trial shows how MPs first articulated, then confronted these issues.

Radicals on both ends of the ideological spectrum sought either complete religious toleration or an unprecedented crackdown on the English Catholic community. The majority of

MPs, however, sought to reinstate the Elizabethan and Jacobean anti-popery statutes (which, as I showed in Chapter 2, were assumed to be distinct from the recusancy laws that pinched

Protestants’ consciences): what they perceived as the status quo ante. These three groups – tolerationists, zealots, and the status quo or conservative group – were never organized political factions, merely loose ideological coalitions that naturally emerged in the course of debating these issues. Nonetheless, I will show how these distinct approaches to the relationship between national religion and minority faith groups drove the parliamentary religio-political settlement.

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The Recusant Bill, Part I

Cromwell’s opening address to the second Protectorate Parliament was riddled with anti- popery. Of course, as I demonstrated in Chapter 6, the Lord Protector specifically deployed this rhetoric in service of the agenda he wanted MPs to follow. This intention does not negate the fact that on the first day of the session MPs heard how papists were united with the regime’s two chief adversaries. Cromwell reminded MPs that “Papists in England” had been considered

“Spaniolised” for many years, that “the Papists, the Priests and Jesuits, have a great influence upon the Cavalier party”, and that Catholics and Cavaliers were united in England.1 Foreign and domestic, external and internal, Cromwell painted a stark picture of the threat posed to England by papists in various guises. Even with this vivid picture of the manner in which “Pope, and

Spaniard, and Devil, and all, set themselves against us,” MPs neither acted with urgency nor evinced any desire to alter the position of the English Catholic community.2

In mid-October, the second Protectorate Parliament created a committee to consider papists in England. Initially, the matter moved forward at a leisurely pace. Tempers flared when the matter became subject to debate, following the bill’s second reading in early December.

Turbulent is the best description of the bill’s journey after that point. Intense quarrels punctuated with close divisions appeared whenever MPs considered the Recusant Bill. But because the bill eventually became law and its contents were so predictable, the heated discussions in the House remain unexamined. C.H. Firth is the only scholar who has paid any attention to the bill’s journey, but his perspective – that the English Catholic community enjoyed a period of reduced persecution during the Interregnum which closed with the passage of the Recusant Bill –

1 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:264-5.

2 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:278.

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predetermines his analysis of the second Protectorate Parliament’s debates on the matter.3

Taking the bill’s passage for granted ignores the diversity of opinion regarding the English

Catholic community.

This section addresses the first stage of the bill’s life: from the creation of the committee in October through the debates following the second reading. I argue that MPs’ lackadaisical approach to the bill belied the threat members of the English Catholic community supposedly presented to the country. Financial gain, not security or religious conformity, initially inspired the law. The December debates revealed the three distinct strains of thought regarding the religious settlement and linked what had been a straightforward revenue extraction matter with a broader and more consequential discussion about religion in England. Less than a dozen weeks into the session, the groupings that would determine the fate of religious minorities coalesced.

A full month passed before the second Protectorate Parliament mentioned English

Catholics or papists. When the House at last broached the matter, after it had decided the

Protector’s war with Spain was just, MPs’ concern was not with an imminent threat posed by a fifth column allied with either Cavaliers or Spaniards, but the far more mundane concern of raising funds and enforcing existing statutes. On Wednesday, October 22, 1656, the House resolved “That it may be referred to a Committee, to consider of the Business of Papists Estates”.

As this phrasing indicates, the concern of the committee would be to consider “how that revenue may be improved; and to offer a regular and effectual way for the Conviction and Conformity of

Papists; and how the Frauds and Collusions in concealing Papists Estates may be discovered; and the Wrong thereby done to the State may be redressed, and prevented for the future.”4 Increasing revenue earned from Catholics’ sequestered estates was the committee’s top priority because, if

3 Firth, Last Years, 1:73-9.

4 CJ, 7:443.

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means of substantially amplifying this source of funding could be found, the House might avoid the unpopular move of raising taxes on the population as a whole. Catholics would certainly grumble and seek means to evade new fines, but as the decimation tax on royalists had proved, the citizenry would not oppose pecuniary punishments aimed at a small segment of the population seen as deserving retribution.5 Referencing “the Frauds and Collusions in concealing

Papists Estates” indicates that MPs were cognizant of schemes which helped Catholics control their estates while avoiding the ruinous sequestration rates.6 Further reinforcing the financial aspect of the committee’s remit is an instruction that they should consider owners who refused to compound and who entered into compounding arrangements but were not up-to-date with payments.7

Convicting papists and forcing them to conform was the subordinate priority of the committee, but still part of its remit. The House requested “a regular and effectual” means of accomplishing these tasks, indicating awareness that neither conviction nor enforced conformity were occurring with the desired degree of regularity. This brief statement also betrays a fundamental misunderstanding about the definition of recusancy in 1656. Technically, recusancy was no longer a crime, nor had it been since the abolition of mandatory attendance at

Church of England services in 1650. This resolution also directly countered the constitution:

5 The Major-Generals regime was funded by the decimation tax, an additional levy of 10% on sequestered estates of royalists and recusants. See above, Chapter 5, for more detail.

6 Local and dynastic studies have revealed that a network of powerful men collaborated with Catholics to save estates from the full force of sequestration. Peter Roebuck, “The Constables of Everingham: The Fortunes of a Catholic Royalist Family during the Civil War and Interregnum,” Recusant History 9, No. 2 (April 1967): 77, demonstrated that , assistant clerk to the Long Parliament and secretary to parliamentary generals, assisted Catholic neighbors in avoiding sequestration. P.G. Holiday, “Land Sales and Repurchases in Yorkshire after the Civil Wars, 1650-1670,” Northern History 5, No. 1 (1970): 76-8, identified a group of men (some of whom had ties to the Protectorate ruling cabal) operating as agents for Yorkshire royalists and Catholics in this endeavor. David Farr, “Kin, cash, Catholics and Cavaliers: the role of kinship in the financial management of Major-General John Lambert,” Historical Research 74, No. 183 (February 2001): 47, passim, demonstrates that the very author of the Instrument of Government was involved in the northern network assisting Catholics and Cavaliers with recovering their estates.

7 CJ, 7:443.

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Article XXXVI explicitly stated that “none shall be compelled” in matters of religion.

Practically, Catholics could not be forced to conform since churchwardens no longer monitored who worshipped in parish churches on Sundays. Perhaps the committee was supposed to devise means of forcing religious uniformity upon the English Catholic community without burdening tender Protestant consciences, but the wording of instruction strongly implies that MPs failed to discern the true consequences of the 1650 ordinance at this point. They appear to share the same blindspot the Council had when drafting ordinances in 1654.

November passed without any increased sense of urgency regarding the English Catholic community. Dilatory attention to the segment of the population Cromwell had linked with the two greatest risks to England’s liberty and religion suggests that MPs understood the Lord

Protector’s references as rhetorical embellishment. Protestant zeal required parliament to strive for the conversion of Catholics and the state of the treasury suggested the English Catholic community as a convenient source of revenue, but nothing in MPs’ approach to the matter indicated that they viewed this religious group as an immediate danger. A November 3 reminder that the “Committee for Recusants also do sit this afternoon” and that all members appointed to the committee “are enjoined to attend the said business” revealed the relative unimportance of the matter by showing that the committee was not even meeting regularly.8 No other committees were reminded to attend their meetings, further suggesting that committee turnout was lackluster.

Prompting committee members to attend to their duties was apparently successful, for Mercurius

Politicus reported that “a Committee, concerning Recufants” met in the Painted Chamber on

November 13.9 This remark constituted the entirety of the newssheet’s reporting on parliament’s progress with the Recusant Bill to that point. Between the lack of a firm timeline set for progress

8 CJ, 7:449.

9 Mercurius Politicus 336 (November 13-20, 1656), 7389.

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on the bill in the House and the absence of reporting on the matter in regime-controlled newspapers, it appears that the executive branch of the government was not anxious for progress on the bill. Lord Protector and Council declined to use their two available tools to hurry the bill’s passage.

Near the end of November the Recusant Bill resurfaced, as the Speaker called for its first reading.10 As ordered, the “Bill for Discovering, Convicting, and Suppressing of Popish

Recusants” was read for the first time on Saturday, November 29, 1656, and “upon the Question, ordered to be read the Second time on Wednesday Morning next.”11 As planned, the bill was read for the second time on Wednesday, December 3. The dates upon which the bill was read for the first and second times underscore the House’s lackadaisical attitude toward the matter. MPs presented their first batch of completed legislation to the Lord Protector on November 27; had there been any urgency, the bill could have been expedited and presented on this date.12 At this juncture, following six weeks of leisurely progress, MPs’ three positions about the English

Catholic community erupted and imperiled the bill’s future.

Parliamentary norms obliged men to refrain from voicing opinions regarding or opposition to bills until the second reading was complete.13 Objecting to a bill late in the process of passage was also an accepted tactic to prevent the enactment of the bill as law.14 These

10 CJ, 7:458. On November 25, 1656, the Journal records an order to read “the Bill touching Recusants” on the following Thursday morning.

11 CJ, 7:461.

12 Five public and six private bills were presented to the Lord Protector on this day. CJ, 7:460; Mercurius Politicus 338 (November 27-December 4, 1656), 7413-14.

13 Catherine Strateman Sims, “The Speaker of the House of Commons,” The American Historical Review 45, No. 1 (October 1939): 93; Elizabeth Read Foster, “Speaking in the House of Commons,” Historical Research 43, No. 107 (May 1970): 53. William Hakewill, an MP in multiple parliaments between 1601 and 1629, penned a detailed record of parliamentary norms of which only one chapter was published; Sims and Read Foster located and printed draft chapters from the procedural manual.

14 Catherine Strateman Sims, “‘Policies in Parliaments’: An Early Seventeenth-Century Tractate on House of Commons Procedure,” Huntington Library Quarterly 15, No.1 (November 1951): 47. Sims reprints another

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standards explain why no Members registered their qualms regarding the bill’s formulation until after the second reading on December 3. It is unclear whether the men who voiced opposition at this point sought to have their concerns assuaged or wanted the matter dropped entirely.

Regardless of the objectors’ intentions, the concerns raised plagued the bill for the remainder of its journey.

“[O]ne desperate clause” stiffening the penalties for having a Papist wife opened the floodgates.15 Previously, penalties were minimal for having a wife who refused to attend Church of England services, turning post-Reformation English Catholicism into something of a matriarchal religion.16 Disciplining men for their wives’ activities assumed that men would only condone such behavior if they, too, were inclined toward Rome and thus the clause was intended to close a loophole. Several MPs fretted that the wording of this clause could ensnare men whose wives suddenly converted to Catholicism along with men who knowingly married a papist and objected on this technicality.17 This single clause forced MPs to divulge their stance toward the English Catholic community and, more broadly, toward liberty of conscience.

As the conversation progressed, disagreement regarding the purpose of the law and its role in an England newly endowed with liberty of conscience deepened. First, it became apparent that the law’s framers believed Catholics were a distinct group of Englishmen who deserved punishment for their religious persuasion. Burton, the diarist, described the group’s parliamentary procedural manual here, which she thinks was contemporaneous with Hakewill’s works though authored by another.

15 Diary of Thomas Burton, 1:7.

16 Statutes of the Realm, 4:1079, 1164. 3 Jac.I 1.c.5 punished men for having a recusant wife by denying them public office unless they scrupulously, visibly, and frequently conformed to the Church of England, along with all children in the household. Earlier statutes suggest that men could be punished if their wives don’t come to church but this is the first explicit codification of the principle. 7 Jac.I c.6 amended this principle to simply imprison women recusants, unless their husbands paid a monthly fine of £10. Literature abounds on the prominent role of recusant women in maintaining English Catholicism.

17 Burton, Diary, 1:6-8. Mr. Bond and Lord Whitlock are noted as opposing the Papist wife clause while Mr. Downing was enthusiastically supportive.

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desire for a return to “the old way” of dealing with recusants in terms of both process and penalties.18 Reviving the Elizabethan and Jacobean status quo was their aim. Burton believed “a great many” of the second Protectorate Parliament’s Members, including “Mr. Attorney-General, and the Speaker” fell into this category and opposed the Recusant Bill in its present form.19

Status quo adherents were a minority in the committee, however, explaining the innovations in the draft bill. Extirpating Catholicism in England by encouraging men to convert to

Protestantism was the second vision of the law’s purpose. Sir William Strickland, a staunch

Presbyterian, spoke for this group when he voiced his opinion that the bill did not go far enough, for merely discouraging men from professing popery was insufficient. Rather, he thought that there needed to be some test that a Catholic had converted to Protestantism, “lest, instead of being a Papist, he become an Atheist.”20 Finally, a Councillor, Sir Gilbert Pickering, reiterated the rationale the government had publicized in its April 26, 1655 proclamation against papists.

Specifically, the government pragmatically sought only to ensure the quiescence of Catholics.

Quietly supporting liberty of conscience, Pickering argued that “no man [should] suffer for his bare opinion” so long as they renounced papal supremacy and were obedient to the government.21 Possibly aligned with this final group were committee members whom Burton described as self-interested government servants closely connected to the collection of fines.

Three views regarding religion and the role of English Catholics in the body politic were thus discernible at this early stage. Most men sought a continuation of what they perceived to be the Elizabethan and Jacobean settlement. Fervent Protestants sought the eradication of popery as

18 Burton, Diary, 1:117.

19 Burton, Diary, 1:117.

20 Burton, Diary, 1:7; Andrew J. Hopper, “Strickland, Sir William, first baronet, appointed Lord Strickland under the protectorate (c.1596–1673),” DNB.

21 Burton, Diary, 1:8.

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part of a godly settlement. And Councillors joined radicals in advocating for a broad vision of toleration, from which Catholics were exempted only on the basis of their allegiance to a foreign power.

With such wide-ranging views on the matter, it was clear the Recusant Bill would require significant revision. Any MP who wanted to influence the bill was invited to a December 4 committee meeting, a tactic designed to begin the process of negotiation and conciliation.22

Some men, however, thought the matter should be shelved in favor of more urgent business.

Because parliament was approaching the end of its allotted three-month term pressure to dispatch more consequential matters mounted.23 The committee postponed its meeting to address

Nayler’s case. When it convened on December 11, the status quo position was overruled. On

December 15, the committee met again to perfect its report.24 The whole House did not learn what the committee decided, for the matter disappeared from view for the next two months.

During this period, the House was preoccupied with Nayler’s case but found time to read myriad bills, hear petitions, and inquire into alleged breaches of parliamentary privilege. It appears that the business of handling popish recusants fell by the wayside because it was unimportant. When the Recusant Bill reemerged in the House following the trial of the blasphemous Quaker and the negotiation of a new religious settlement, it became apparent that the three parties discernible in December still existed but that the events between December and

June opened MPs’ eyes regarding religion in the Protectorate.

22 CJ, 7:463.

23 Sir explicitly called for the swift dispatch of business following the second reading of the Recusant Bill on account of the time limit; see Burton, Diary, 1:6. Article XXIII of the Instrument of Government, which allowed for the Lord Protector to summon extraordinary parliaments outside of the triennial pattern, required that such assemblies “not be adjourned, prorogued, or dissolved without their own consent, during the first three months of their sitting”; Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412.

24 Burton, Diary, 1:148.

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“The great Misdemeanors and Blasphemies of James Nayler”

James Nayler, an outspoken and eccentric Quaker, was brought to the bar for outlandish and ostensibly blasphemous behavior. His trial has frequently been characterized as a test case for liberty of conscience in the Interregnum. I will show in this section that the trial was much more significant than that. Deficiencies in the Instrument came to light in the course of the trial, reinforcing once more the intricacies of the monarchical religio-political system. The three loose ideological coalitions formed just a week earlier in the first set of Recusant Bill debates animated the days of discussion about Nayler’s crime. Conservatives who desired a return to the status quo ante aligned with zealous Protestants in seeking harsh punishment for the renegade Quaker.

Radical tolerationists and members of the ruling cabal invested in maintaining the integrity of the

Instrument at all costs offered creative defenses of the Quaker’s actions. Most importantly, MPs confronted the constitution’s radicality regarding religion.

James Nayler drew the ire of both local and national authorities by riding into on a donkey in imitation of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem in October 1656. Magistrates in Bristol examined the procession’s participants and then sent them to the capital, forcing the second

Protectorate Parliament to take up the case. Proceeding against James Nayler required MPs to make multiple determinations about his crime and parliament’s powers in the new regime. First, parliament needed to ascertain whether it even had the legal right to hear this case. According to the ancient constitution, parliament had jurisdiction as the highest court in the land but the

Instrument of Government did not grant parliament any judicial authority. Second, if parliament prosecuted the case, MPs needed to decide whether to do so with judicial or legislative authority.

Third was the question of Nayler’s guilt: did his actions constitute blasphemy or was his peculiar form of worship constitutionally protected? Fourth, and finally, how should Nayler be punished?

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Recognizing that the queries were linked but unable to abandon outrage and animus, MPs engaged in days of convoluted debates. Unexamined beliefs about the appropriate form for the

English religio-political settlement thus animated the trial of James Nayler.

The brazen nature of the blasphemy, as well as Nayler’s affiliation with the Quaker movement, made the incident a terrible test case for liberty of conscience. Immediately prior to the introduction of Nayler’s case, the House discussed amendments to a bill touching vagabonds;

MPs’ comments indicated that they saw this bill as a means of restraining the spread of

Quakerism.25 Bristol magistrates were incensed with , whom they considered “very provokeinge” and had been meting out harsh punishment for members of the sect or conveniently ignoring their mistreatment at the hands of community members for years.26 Quiet acquiescence was not part of Quakers’ creed. Details of their mistreatment were compiled and presented as part of a request to have several persecutory Justices of the Peace replaced by capable Friends.27 Unafraid to challenge the government, Quakers posed a new hybrid religio- political threat to the administration. Ministers and local officials alike condemned the sect. The

Perfect Pharise under Monkish Holines, published by a group of Newcastle ministers in January

1654, warned Englishmen that the Quakers pretended holiness through their dress, “more then ordinary abftinence, their forfaking the world . . . and many trivial obfervances,” but in reality espoused erroneous doctrines that tended to social subversion.28

25 CJ, 7:464; Burton, Diary, 1:21-4. Major Audley gave his “consent that [vagabonds] should be whipped” if they were Quakers.

26 TSP, 3:181.

27 TNA SP 18/130 f.169. Imprisoning Quakers upon specious pretexts is the chief grievance outlined in the document. Notable offences include “laying violent hands” upon Quakers who refused to remove their hats; encouraging townspeople to stone Quakers; whipping a woman until blood ran and her breasts were raw; and speciously tendering the Oath of Abjuration to create pretext for arrest.

28 Thomas Weld, Rich. Prideaux, Sam. Hammond, Will. Cole, and Wil. Durant, The Perfect Pharise under Monkish Holines, Opposing the Fundamental Principles of the Doctrine of the Gospel, and Scripture Practises of Gospel-

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Drawing upon published material and statements made in court, The Perfect Pharise presented a list of Quaker practices and beliefs which they then systematically refuted using scriptural quotations. Having proved that many of their beliefs were directly contradicted by the

Bible, the Newcastle ministers concluded that the Quakers were antichristian and “that title of

Pharifee, which they ordinarily give to others” applied most aptly to the Quakers themselves.29

This was a serious attempt to paint the new group as both dangerous to the nation’s souls and ineligible for protection under the Instrument of Government. George Fox, the founder of the

Quaker movement, and James Nayler were specifically named in the tract as leaders of the sect.

Unwilling to accept such abuse, Nayler responded to the Newcastle ministers in May, charging that they removed his statements from context and presented the quotations in a manner designed to pervert his meaning.30 Substance (meaning to live the Gospel), he concluded, was far more important than following rules. In the tradition of biblical men who demonstrated steadfast faith in the face of condemnation by religious authorities, Nayler implied that the Quakers were righteous despite their persecution by modern Pharisees.31 The final volley in the 1654 war of words was fired by the Newcastle ministers. Loath to let Nayler’s refutation stand as the last word in the matter, the ministers responded in kind, with a point-by-point negation of Nayler’s arguments. They also escalated the rhetoric, comparing Quaker doctrines to the tenets and practices of the Roman Catholic Church, further suggesting that the sect should be denied liberty

Worship manifesting himself in the Generation of men called Quakers, (London: Richard Tomlins, 1654), Epistle to the Chriftian Reader.

29 Weld et al, The Perfect Pharise, 35, 49. For an examination of the use of the term “Pharisee” as a slur in English religious debates, see Sean B. Bortz’s forthcoming Vanderbilt University dissertation, “Thinking with Jews: Jews and Judaism and the Struggle for Orthodoxy in Late Medieval and Reformation England”.

30 James Nayler, An Answer to the Booke called The perfect Pharisee under Monkish Holinesse, (N.P., 1654), 4-19.

31 Nayler, An Answer to . . . The perfect Pharifee, 34-36.

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of conscience.32 Thanks to their public demonstrations of faith and ready engagement with religious authorities, both the Quaker sect and Nayler specifically were nationally known by

1656.

Against this backdrop, Nayler’s procession incensed a population primed to view

Quakers as a religious, moral, and social threat. An incendiary pamphlet explicated his deeds in full. Ralph Farmer, a zealous Bristol resident, used Nayler’s exploits to decry the general condition of religion in England. Upon his release from Exeter gaol (where he had been imprisoned for other offenses),

the faid Nailer rode on horfeback in at a called Ratclif-gate, with one bare before him, whofe name is Timothy Wedloke of the County of : Two women leading the faid Nailers horfe, with the reins in their hands; one of each fide, Simonds wife of Thomas Simonds of London Stationer, and Sifter to Giles Calvert, and Hannah Stranger the wife of John Stranger of London, Comb- maker, who came finging, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Ifraell.33

Excerpts from the examinations of the procession’s participants by Bristol magistrates and selections from their letters rounded out Mr. Farmer’s bleak presentation of Quakers. Highlights include admissions from Martha Symonds, Hannah Stranger, Thomas Stranger, and Timothy

Wedlock that they all called Nayler either the Son of God or Jesus; Dorcas Erbury additionally claimed that Nayler resurrected her from the dead.34 In conclusion, Farmer accused all the participants in the charade of committing “moft horrid and abominable” blasphemy, of coopting for themselves “the honour of our Lord Jefus Chrift”, and also of “pure Idolatry” in worshiping

Nayler. Blaming the “diftracted, broken and divided Government” for allowing the Quakers to

32 Thomas Weld, Rich. Prideaux, Sam. Hammond, Will. Cole, and Wil. Durant, A Further Discovery of that Generation of men called Quakers: By way of Reply to an Answer of James Nayler to the Perfect Pharisee, ([London]: S.B., 1654), 9-12.

33 Ra. Farmer, Sathan Inthron’d in his Chair of Pestilence. Or, Quakerism in its Exaltation, (London: Edward Thomas, 1656), 3.

34 Farmer, Sathan Inthron’d, 16-19.

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flourish, Farmer appealed to the governors to make an example of the blasphemers.35 Published, according to Thomason, on December 18, Farmer’s account appeared too late to influence MPs’ vote on Nayler’s guilt but showed how the degree of religious liberty permitted by the constitution clashed with popular perceptions of what was acceptable.

Predisposed against Quakers, and knowing that the sect in general and this incident in particular were deeply unpopular throughout the country, the House formally involved itself in the matter on October 31, 1656. A committee was appointed to consider “the great

Misdemeanors and Blasphemies of James Nayler, and others, at Bristoll, and elsewhere; and to examine the Truth thereof.” In addition to ascertaining the facts of Nayler’s case, the committee was supposed to prepare a bill that remedied any defects in the current laws and ordinances that prohibited blasphemy and report on “such old Laws made against tender Consciences, as are fit to be taken away.”36 Mercurius Politicus reported the appointment of the committee, indicating that the regime wanted to be perceived as swiftly addressing the “ftrange and abfurd pranks” he played in Bristol.37 Far more MPs attended the meetings of Nayler’s committee than had been appointed to it; “almost 150” packed in to have their voices heard.38 Several weeks later, on

December 5, the committee delivered its report to the House. After hearing the report, the House resolved to take up the case, and the trial of James Nayler commenced.39

Two weeks were spent discussing the perplexing case. Despite the amount of time MPs devoted to the question of punishing a lone, possibly deranged Quaker, few scholars have truly probed the debates about Nayler’s crime and the appropriate punishment. It is recognized that

35 Farmer, Sathan Inthron’d, 27, 34-5, 56-9.

36 CJ, 7:448.

37 Mercurius Politicus 334 (October 19-November 6, 1656), 7355, 7366.

38 Burton, Diary, 1:43.

39 CJ, 7:464-5; Burton, Diary, 1:24.

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the case provoked a constitutional crisis by dividing Protector and parliament, eventually resulting in the stronger restrictions upon liberty of conscience in the Humble Petition and

Advice.40 This constitutional crisis has been seen as the result of incompetent parliamentary management, essentially proving Hugh Trevor-Roper’s thesis about Cromwell. Peter Gaunt straddles these two approaches, calling the episode a failure of management because Councillors concentrated on the specific issue and did not appreciate the broader implications for the religious settlement.41 Few scholars have taken the case as a window into the second

Protectorate Parliament’s opinion of religious minorities.42 Theodore A. Wilson and Frank J.

Merli present the fullest account of the trial, and do an excellent job elucidating the questions of jurisprudence and separation of powers Nayler’s case raised. However, they use their analysis to promote the old Trevor-Roper thesis that Cromwell was an inept parliamentary manager.43 I agree that the trial provoked a constitutional crisis, but do not concur that the crisis came about because Cromwell’s confidantes failed to manage the case or because the Lord Protector misjudged the temper of the times. Rather, through the three ideological coalitions, I show that the point of contention was far more fundamental. As tolerationists (who were mostly

Councillors) offered creative yet literal interpretations of the constitution to defend Nayler,

40 See, for example, Austin Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 1625-1660, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 648-52. Sarah Gibbard Cook, “The Congregational Independents and the Cromwellian Constitutions,” Church History 46, No. 3 (September 1977): 338-9, 352-3, offers a slightly different take on this thesis. She uses Nayler’s trial to highlight the beliefs and power of a group she terms “Congregational Independents”. The strong defenses of Nayler offered by members of this group, she argues, later forced Cromwell to choose between civil settlement and ecclesiastical independency, with the Lord Protector opting for the former.

41 Peter Gareth Irvine Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate, from December 1653 to September 1658,” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 1983), 198-203.

42 Firth, Last Years, 1:73-106, gestured toward this by treating the Recusant Bill and Nayler’s trial in the same chapter, though he does not explicitly link the treatment of the two religious groups. Blair Worden, The , 1648-1653, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 129-36, maps positions taken in the Nayler debates onto conversations in the Rump, using trial as a litmus test to prove a thesis about affiliation earlier in the 1650s.

43 Theodore A. Wilson and Frank J. Merli, “Naylor’s Case and the Dilemma of the Protectorate,” University of Birmingham Historical Journal 10 (1965-66): 50, 56-9.

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conservatives and zealots worried that the religio-political settlement was deficient. Defending the Instrument of Government required tolerationists to defend Nayler as well, plainly showing that the Lord Protector’s preferred legal interpretation not only permitted Nayler to worship in this manner but also included him as a member of the body politic. Absent a national church at which attendance was mandatory or even a stringent blasphemy statute and without a plain statement that England was an orthodox Protestant nation in the constitution, MPs balked at the revelation that Nayler’s behavior could represent the new normal in Protectorate England.

The “trial” – less an examination of evidence than a parliamentary debate – had two phases, each lasting several days. A heated discussion preceded the vote on Nayler’s guilt.

Then, disagreement regarding the appropriate punishment consumed the House. On several occasions Members broke procedure and spoke multiple times in a day.44 Because so many men voiced their opinions on the matter,45 the course of the debates was haphazard, with each MP voicing his personal opinion and addressing points raised by his colleagues. For purposes of clarity, I will approach the debates thematically rather than chronologically. First, there was a debate as to whether Nayler should be tried for his crime or whether parliament should simply draw up a bill against him. Second, there was a debate as to whether the man was guilty of a crime. Third, MPs discussed the nature of blasphemy and its various degrees, trying to reach consensus as to where Nayler fell on the continuum of blasphemy. Finally, they debated how to

44 Burton, Diary, 1:24-37, records twelve of the thirty-eight men who voiced opinions on the matter speaking more than once on December 5, though the house was not in committee. William Hakewil, The Manner How Statutes Are enacted in Parliament by Passing of Bills, (London: T.H. for John Benson, 1641), 26-7, notes that a man may not speak twice in one day in the House during debates. Hakewil’s instruction applied specifically to bills, however, and allowed for men to speak more than once if their subsequent interjections related to procedure, rather than the substance of the debate. Several MPs conformed to the custom by couching further pronouncements of opinion in procedural terms.

45 Sarah Elizabeth Jones, “Composition and Activity of the Protectorate Parliaments,” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 1988), 75-76, estimates that 15% of Members expressed a substantive opinion regarding Nayler. My count puts the percentage slightly higher (18%). It is worth noting that both figures work with the total number of men returned to the parliament (458) whereas, after the exclusions and the normal drop-off in attendance, the participation would be proportionately much higher.

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punish the blasphemer. Through all four stages of the debate, men consistently adhered to the groupings which emerged in the discussion about the Recusant Bill a few days earlier. However, it became clear that the radical tolerationists stood alone in defending Nayler’s actions as only slightly outside the bounds of permissibility; men who sought a return to the status quo ante aligned with zealots in calling for immediate condemnation and swift execution.

Hearing the committee’s report of fact, MPs’ sense was that “he assumed the gesture, words, names, and attributes of our Saviour Christ,” which appeared to be a clear-cut case of blasphemy.46 This visceral reaction animated sentiment against Nayler. Many men had no need of further proof and no desire to dress up the proceedings with legality; they were perfectly happy to implement the Biblical instruction and stone the blasphemer to death. Major-General

Skippon, who emerged as one of the most vehement prosecutors and advocates of the death penalty, began this line of argument.47 In rhetoric surprisingly reminiscent of what was often said about Catholics, the Major-General thought “that the growth of these things is more dangerous than the most intestine or foreign enemies,” for if they gained power they “would join in one to destroy you, if it should please God to deliver the sword into their hands.”48 Mr.

Church felt the same. He worried, “The Quakers are not only numerous but dangerous, and the sooner we put a stop, the more glory we shall do to God, and safety to this Commonwealth.”49

46 Burton, Diary, 1:24.

47 Ian J. Gentles, “Skippon, Philip, appointed Lord Skippon under the protectorate (d. 1660),” DNB, reports that Skippon was a deeply pious puritan but without strict denominational affiliation. Firth, Last Years, 1:86, comments that Skippon’s opinion was highly respected and carried great weight with puritans because he had taken up arms for parliament early on. Christopher Durston, Cromwell’s Major-Generals: Godly Government during the English Revolution, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 27-8, notes that Skippon was selected as Major- General of London because he was well-regarded by the city’s governors, again indicating a certain zeal in religion.

48 Burton, Diary, 1:24-25.

49 Burton, Diary, 1:128.

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Eliminating the Quakers, beginning with Nayler, would not only rescue England from a threat; it would also defend divine honour.

Cooler heads prevailed, however. Several MPs – most of whom were members of the

Protectorate Council – convinced the House that liberty, tradition, and fairness required that they proceed against Nayler legally. Though the Major-Generals tended to flash their godly zeal by advocating for the stiffest punishment possible without further adieu, Howard was an exception, cautioning the House, “you are launching into a matter of great consequence. Whatever you do in this, it may be of ill consequence to posterity.”50 There was also concern by several Members that, should they find themselves outside the halls of power in the future, they did not want to have any extra- or questionably-legal decisions that they had made taken as precedent to proceed against them. Lord Whitelocke’s comment that “though this wicked fellow deserves all punishment that can be inflicted upon him, that which I fear is the consequence as to future, in the manner of proceedings which may hereafter concern any man’s life or fortune,” neatly encapsulates the concerns of this group.51

According to the 1650 blasphemy ordinance under which Nayler was charged, the case should not have left Bristol. The ordinance only empowered local authorities – Justices of the

Peace and head-officers of cities, towns, or corporations – to proceed against accused or confessed blasphemers.52 Further, if Bristol’s magistrates felt ill-equipped to institute the law,

50 Burton, Diary, 1:78. Durston, Major-Generals, 39, 41, 51-2, notes that not only was Howard the youngest of the Major-Generals (he was not yet thirty at the time of his appointment), his family and religious backgrounds were atypical for this group. Born to a landed family in the Northwest and raised Catholic, Durston notes that Howard’s religious proclivities are difficult to identify and seemed to shift over time, indicating that he may have jumped at opportunities to gain power in order to protect his family’s holdings. Concern for posterity as expressed here would seem to comport with this view.

51 Burton, Diary, 1:32.

52 A&O, 2:411. Wilson and Merli, “Naylor’s Case,” 46, note that Bristol magistrates were uncertain whether they could proceed against Nayler. For, while convinced that he had blasphemed, he did not confess it, nor could they

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parliament was not the appropriate body from which to request aid. According to the Instrument of Government, the second Protectorate Parliament should not have heard Nayler’s case. Article

I explicitly granted “the supreme legislative authority” of the nation jointly to the Lord Protector and parliament; nowhere did the constitution affirm parliament’s ancient and customary role as the highest court in the country. Thus, the House lacked jurisdiction to hear the case, and statute law restricted the maximum punishment to either six months’ imprisonment or banishment

(depending on whether the Bristol episode was considered Nayler’s first incidence of blasphemy), but moral outrage convinced a majority of MPs to proceed with the case.53 In short,

Skippon’s pronouncement on the first day of debate that the “offence is so high a blasphemy” it constituted “a special emergency” that excused the precedent of drafting “laws for matters ex post facto,” captured the sentiment of the House.54 Law and civil administration fell away before an overwhelming sense that Nayler’s actions were unacceptable within England.

Once it was clear that MPs’ outrage would override statute law and the constitution, the

House needed to decide whether to “proceed upon the legislative way or the judicatory way.”55

Absent any mention of parliament’s judicial powers in the Instrument of Government, Lord

Chief Justice Glyn opined, “whatsoever authority was in the Houses of Lords and Commons, the same is united in this Parliament,” permitting the House to utilize either course of action.56

Points were raised for and against both methods. Legislative prosecution offered a means of

locate two witnesses who would testify that the blasphemous words were uttered by Nayler himself rather than other members of the procession.

53 A&O, 2:411-12.

54 Burton, Diary, 1:25.

55 Burton, Diary, 1:31-32.

56 Burton, Diary, 1:30. Firth, Last Years, 1:90-1, notes that MPs’ prickly sense of honor had led the house to censure and imprison people who slighted or impugned parliamentarians without interference from the Lord Protector, thus setting (at least a limited) precedent for parliament retaining judicial power under the Instrument of Government.

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circumventing the Instrument’s protection of liberty of conscience. The precedents of

Archbishop Laud and the Earl of Strafford were repeatedly mentioned as a solid foundation for proceeding with a bill of attainder. Poetic and expansive interpretations of parliament’s ancient power were also offered as justifications for proceeding legislatively. Major Beake conceived parliament to be “so sovereign, that it may declare that to be an offence, which never was an offence before,” and noted that the Roman senate had done so.57 Others agreed that the “House is a living law,” and could certainly enact whatever legislation it wanted to punish Nayler, but doing so would set “a dangerous precedent to posterity” and, more immediately, was “against the

Instrument of Government.”58 At length, the House resolved not to “do justice in an unjust way.”59 Rather than facing the dangerous consequences of taking “away a man’s life by a subsequent law . . . which scarcely agrees with the rule of the Gospel,” or risking the fact that if they went “upon the legislative . . . my Lord Protector must have a negative,” the parliament utilized its judicial power to try Nayler.60 At least, they appeared to proceed judicially, for no bill was brought in. But no vote was taken on the matter; nor were the consequences of this method fully elucidated.

Defaulting to judicial proceedings, MPs next had to determine Nayler’s crime and the law(s) he had broken. Most MPs – both zealots and conservatives – were ardently convinced that Nayler had blasphemed. But a minority – mostly Army officers and members of the Council

– argued that the issue was ambiguous.61 Nayler never confessed to his crime. Called before the

57 Burton, Diary, 1:58.

58 Burton, Diary, 1:88.

59 Burton, Diary, 1:34.

60 Burton, Diary, 1:86, 59.

61 Austin Woolrych, Commonwealth to Protectorate, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), 199-203, notes that a group of what he calls “moderates” and “up-and-coming Cromwellians” had emerged during the Nominated Assembly and that they had consistently upheld liberty of conscience since first emerging on the political scene. Cook, “The

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parliamentary committee, he admitted that he was set up “as a sign of the coming of the

Righteous One,” but never claimed to be more than “a creature”.62 Nor, in any account from

Bristol, did Nayler actively claim to be Jesus, though he permitted his followers to act as though he was. But, even if he did claim to be Jesus, as Captain Baynes observed, “the Instrument of

Government says, all shall be protected that profess faith in Jesus Christ, which, I suppose, this man does.”63

Despite Baynes’s well-timed and entirely accurate point, most MPs could not countenance the notion that Nayler’s peculiar expressions of faith were protected by the terms laid out in the Instrument. Zealots and moderates vocalized a variety of condemnations. The

Major-Generals, noted for their fiery faith, tended to attack Nayler. Major-General Boteler bluntly stated, “It is not intended to indulge such grown heresies and blasphemies as these, under the notion of a toleration of tender consciences.”64 Downing believed that Nayler could not claim liberty of conscience “for he makes himself God himself. Our God is here supplanted.”65

Two more Major-Generals supported Boteler. Skippon pleaded, “If this be liberty, God deliver me from such liberty. It is to evil, not to good, that this liberty extends,” essentially attacking the entire notion of toleration.66 And Goffe proclaimed, “I shall not entertain an irreverent thought of The Instrument of Government. I shall spend my blood for it. Yet if it hold out any thing to

Congregational Independents,” 338-9, 351-2, argues that this group of “Congregational Independents” believed that the civil state should encourage flourishing but were fairly tolerant of religious worship outside the national church, and consequently “spoke cautiously in the Quaker’s defense”.

62 Burton, Diary, 1:11.

63 Burton, Diary, 1:59.

64 Burton, Diary, 1:26-27.

65 Burton, Diary, 1:27.

66 Burton, Diary, 1:50.

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protect such persons I would have it burnt in the fire.”67 Mr. Downing, one of Cromwell’s old scoutmasters, announced, “I am as much for tender consciences as any man; but I deny that this has any share in such liberty.”68

Underlying these pronouncements was a sense that Nayler made a mockery of the

Instrument. Tender consciences, long pinched by the hierarchical Church of England, were liberated by the Rump of the Long Parliament, which clearly intended that freedom of worship only be extended to orthodox Protestants. But with a Lord Protector and Council known to read the law in its most literal form, MPs now had to confront the prospect that Nayler’s blatant blasphemy was legal. In other words, Quakers fell into the same legal blindspot as Catholics. Or they had until Nayler highlighted this oversight.

A handful of MPs protested that Nayler’s beliefs in and of themselves did not constitute sufficient grounds for prosecution. Echoing the apocryphal statement of the revered Queen

Elizabeth, some tried to argue that the “inward thoughts and opinions of men are not to be punished in this world.”69 Several Councillors, aware of the Lord Protector’s principled commitment to liberty of conscience, offered creative defenses for Nayler and suggested alternate grounds for prosecution. Lord President of the Council Lawrence wondered “why any man should be so amazed,” at Nayler’s claim, since God was “in every horse, in every stone, in every creature,” and that believing, as Nayler did, “that Christ is in him in the highest measure” could not be considered blasphemous.70 Colonel Sydenham, wary of the House’s inclination against Quakers, opposed establishing a precedent which would be used to attack the entire sect.

67 Burton, Diary, 1:110.

68 Burton, Diary, 1:61.

69 Burton, Diary, 1:120.

70 Burton, Diary, 1:62.

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More interestingly, he perceived that prosecuting a belief that Christ dwells in all men as blasphemous would expose orthodox men who adhered to the “most glorious truth” revealed in the Gospel “that the spirit is personally in us” to prosecution for their beliefs, a view echoed by

Lawrence and Bulstrode Whitelock. The latter specifically noted that Lutherans believed in “the ubiquity of Christ” and that men “are not filii, but filius Dei”; surely parliament did not want to expose Lutherans to charges of blasphemy.71

Two particularly inventive defenses were offered by Councillors. Technically, Sir

Gilbert Pickering argued, Nayler was not a blasphemer but an idolater: he himself was the idol and allowed his followers to improperly worship him.72 Bulstrode Whitelock did not go quite that far but aligned with Pickering’s view that Nayler “committed a very heinous and execrable sin in suffering adoration to be done to him.”73 And Lord Strickland viewed Nayler as “little else than as that of John Baptist, a forerunner of Christ,” who “does not blaspheme God . . . He nor curses nor reviles at God. I believe he is one of those that would sit on the right or left hand of

God.” Granted, Strickland also felt that Nayler was “under a sad delusion of the devil,” but comparing Nayler to John the Baptist was a fascinating attempt to mitigate the Quaker’s actions.74

Despite these creative attempts at exculpation, sentiment ran so strongly against Nayler that the House’s determination of guilt was never in doubt. For every man who defended Nayler, three or four chimed, “I think him worse than all the papists in the world, worse than possessed with the devil,” or declaimed that Nayler “not only committed blasphemy himself; but . . . caused

71 Burton, Diary, 1:69, 129.

72 Burton, Diary, 1:64-65. Pickering argued, “It is a gross, thick, dark idolatry in the persons that followed him on horseback: they are not only equally but more guilty in this business than himself . . . My present apprehension, in short, is this, that the person is both a flat idolater, and idolatry itself.”

73 Burton, Diary, 1:129.

74 Burton, Diary, 1:56.

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many others to commit blasphemy.”75 Many MPs felt the need to “vindicate the honour of” God by deploring Nayler’s actions, revealing a current of religious conservatism.76 At a minimum, even the most radical tolerationists had to concede that Nayler’s actions violated the Instrument by disturbing the public peace.77 Major Audley conceded that it was less Nayler’s opinion than

“his matter of practice” that caused concern and should be punished.78

After three days packed with debate, the Speaker asked the Question. On December 8, the House decided that “that James Naylor, upon the whole Matter in Fact, is guilty of horrid

Blasphemy.” MPs further affirmed that Nayler was also “a grand Imposter, and a great Seducer of the People.”79 These decisions incited the debate’s second phase: how to punish Nayler.

Punishing Nayler was tricky. MPs were concerned about setting a precedent that could ensnare orthodox Protestants, and, as Captain Baynes noted, “the Instrument of Government says, all shall be protected that profess faith in Jesus Christ, which, I suppose, this man does,” raising a constitutional issue.80 Nayler’s religion was legal under the Instrument of Government: the only crime he could be convicted of under the constitution would have been using religion to disturb the public peace, not blasphemy. Ignoring the constitution and implementing the punishments outlined in the 1650 blasphemy ordinance would have permitted six months’ imprisonment or banishment. The degree to which animus motivated the vote of guilt became apparent when a majority of MPs agreed these punishments were insufficiently severe and so they sought a law by which to proceed, for, in the words of Colonel Hewitson, “If you have no

75 Burton, Diary, 1:55, 51.

76 Burton, Diary, 1:109.

77 Burton, Diary, 1:60.

78 Burton, Diary, 1:76.

79 CJ, 7:465.

80 Burton, Diary, 1:59.

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law, the Scripture tells you, then there is no transgression.”81 Mr. Ashe, Junior, suggested that they utilize a law from 2 Henry IV which required death for blasphemers and heretics.82 Others quickly pointed out that this particular statute presented more problems than it solved, for it was drafted when England was still a Catholic nation and reviving this statute would expose

Protestants to prosecution as heretics.83 Execution was viewed by many MPs as the only just punishment. Sir Thomas Wroth calmly stated, “Seeing Nayler must die, I desire to know what manner of death it must be,” expressing a degree of certainty regarding the implementation of capital punishment that was widely shared. However, members of the ruling cabal cautioned the

House “not [to] proceed without rules” and to decide whether to “take the law of God, or of man, to regulate our judgment herein,” leading to a heated debate about whether Nayler would be put to death.84 Eventually, they resigned themselves to using the 1650 ordinance, but Nayler’s case stretched the law to its limits. To avoid similar confusion in the future, it was decided to enumerate heresies and blasphemies.85

81 Burton, Diary, 1:108.

82 Burton, Diary, 1:118; Statutes of the Realm, 2:125-6. 2 Henrici IV c.15 made provision for prosecuting Lollards, the great threat to established religion and social order at the turn of the fifteenth century. Affirming the supremacy of the Roman Catholic Church first, the statute then noted that “diverse false and perverse People of a certain New Sect . . . make unlawful Conventicles and Confederacies, they hold and exercise Schools, they make and write Books, they do wickedly instruct and inform People, and as much as they may excite and stir them to Sedition and Insurrection, and maketh great Strife and Division among the People, and other Enormities horrible to be heard daily do perpetrate and commit.” The statute further noted that all of these atrocities occurred “in Subversion of the said Catholic Faith and Doctrine of the Holy Church, in Diminution of [God’s Honour,] and also in Destruction of the Estate, Rights and Liberties of the said Church of England.” The provisions attacking the new sect that undermined the authority of the state and incited Englishmen to insurrection obviously appealed to Protectorate MPs, but the rest of the statute is unequivocal that the Roman Catholic Church is the ultimate authority and the crimes of the new sect are also committed against the church, rendering the entire statute inaccessible as precedent for the Protestant Protectorate.

83 Burton, Diary, 1:118.

84 Burton, Diary, 1:54.

85 Burton, Diary, 1:170. The committee began this task but never completed it; no blasphemy act was considered or proposed to the House though the Humble Petition and Advice limited liberty of conscience.

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Two further forces animated the debate about Nayler’s punishment: a prejudice against

Quakers and a disinclination to create a martyr. Fear that Quakers (and similar, new sects) threatened the government drove men to advocate for a harsh punishment. It was a feeling that they “are generally despisers of your government, contemn your magistracy and ministry, and trample it under their feet.”86 Colonel Milton colorfully warned, “These vipers are crept into the bowels of your Commonwealth, and the government too. They grow numerous, and swarm all the nation over; every county, every parish.”87 Others shared this fear and also fretted that liberty of conscience had damaged England’s reputation abroad, as it was now viewed as “the great nursery of blasphemies and heresies; and what will they say, now we have passed a vote against a horrid blasphemer, and we are at stand what to do with him.”88 But counterbalancing this desire to eradicate the threat was apprehension about making Nayler into a martyr. Colonel

Cooper argued against the death penalty, noting “If you take this man’s blood, you do certainly lay a foundation for them. Instead of taking away Quakerism, you establish it.”89 And Mr.

Pedley also thought they could make Nayler into an example for “the discouraging of that party

(who haply will adore him as a martyr if you should cut him off by this censure).”90

Interestingly, Richard Cromwell “was very clear in passing his judgment that Nayler deserves to be hanged.”91 However, he only voiced this opinion at a private dinner with Burton and a few other MPs, not in the House. This seems to indicate a personal inclination tempered by

86 Burton, Diary, 1:26.

87 Burton, Diary, 1:96.

88 Burton, Diary, 1:86.

89 Burton, Diary, 1:98.

90 Burton, Diary, 1:138.

91 Burton, Diary, 1:126.

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knowledge that his father and the Council did not want to execute Nayler and abrogate the new constitution.

Nayler was not executed. Speeches like those delivered by Lord President of the Council

Lawrence and Secretary Thurloe convinced a majority of MPs that the man did not deserve death.92 Knowledge that the Lord Protector vigorously opposed the entire prosecution certainly affected the decision.93 The final vote was very close, with a mere “14 voices” making the difference between life and death.94 Even without executing Nayler, parliament was determined to make a public example of the Quaker: when a group of Londoners petitioned on December 23 to remit Nayler’s punishment, feeling against the Quaker was so strong that there was a division decided by a single vote as to whether the petition should even be heard.95 Ultimately, he stood in the pillory for two hours before being whipped across London. A few days later he again stood in the pillory, was branded with a B, and had a hole bored through his tongue.96 After this, he was imprisoned at the parliament’s pleasure, although his wife was eventually admitted to live with him.97

92 According to Burton, Lawrence “made a long speech to extenuate the offence, and concluded for a moderate punishment, as whipping and imprisonment. Mutilation was as bad as death”; see Burton, Diary, 1:90. Thurloe believed that even though “he is a gross idolater, and an impostor and deceiver . . . I cannot agree that his punishment should be death”; see Burton, Diary, 1:112.

93 An off-hand comment made by Captain Baynes suggested that at least part of the reason for proceeding judicially rather than legislatively was that Cromwell “must have a negative” on bills, and it was believed he would exercise his veto power in this case; see Burton, Diary, 1:59. After the proceedings concluded, Cromwell officially requested an explanation for Nayler’s punishment; Burton, Diary, 1:246; CJ, 7:475. Later, in his speech to the Army officers, Cromwell stated that he abhorred Nayler’s religious beliefs but intervened out of deference to the Army’s absolute commitment to liberty of conscience; Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:419.

94 TSP, 5:709. CJ, 7:468, records the division as 96 to 82.

95 CJ, 7:473-4; Burton, Diary, 1:209, 215-17.

96 Mercurius Politicus 341 (December 18-24, 1656), 7460; Mercurius Politicus 342 (December 24, 1656-January, 1656[1657]), 7478.

97 CJ, 7:483, 497; CSPD 1656-7, 289.

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Multiple divisions punctuated discussions of how to proceed regarding the egotistical

Quaker indicating that at least some MPs either sought leniency or agreed that Naylor’s conduct did not merit indefinite imprisonment, but a brand of Protestant uniformity carried the day and

Nayler was punished and imprisoned. A final, ironic twist neatly demonstrated just how discombobulated the entire affair was. As proceedings concluded, the Lord Chief Justice cautioned, “It hath been the usual practice for a man that is committed only by vote or order of

Parliament, to be discharged by habeus corpus, when the Parliament is dissolved, unless you proceed upon the judicial way, to judgment as a court of judicature.”98 After two weeks of debate there was still no resolution regarding the power parliament exercised in the proceedings!

In possible deference to the legal morass that was Nayler’s trial, Mercurius Politicus did not report the substantive details of the case until after Nayler’s fate had been decided. Brief updates were provided as reassurance that the House was addressing the matter but it was not until the December 11-18 issue that the gazette printed “A briefe Account concerning James

Naylor the Quaker”.99 The story acquainted readers with the depth of Nayler’s depravity, explaining that he had reenacted Christ’s entrance to Jerusalem on multiple occasions and had convinced several people that he was Jesus reincarnated. The report concluded, that “this wretched Impoftor hath prevailed upon his Followers, to bewitch them to the committing of ftrange Abfurdities, and the uttering of many horrible Blafphemies . . . never heard of in any Age before.” An editorial comment indicated that the delay in printing details was so that “the honor and Juftice of the Parlaments Sentence paffed upon him may be made evident to the People.”100

98 Burton, Diary, 1:161.

99 In an unusual practice, the paper remarked on the amount of time the House spent discussing the matter, including notes that there were both morning and afternoon sessions; see Mercurius Politicus 339 (December 4-11, 1656), 7430, 7433, 7438.

100 Mercurius Politicus 340 (December 11-18, 1656), 7451-7454.

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Not even the barest hint of the rancorous debates saw print. Reporting only the hideous details of Nayler’s conduct and the severity of his punishment suggests that the regime relied on the infamous nature of the crime to deflect attention away from a blatant abrogation of the constitution and a decisive defeat for the Lord Protector’s vision of liberty of conscience.

Following the revelation that Councillors and the man they advised did not believe

Nayler had blasphemed (according to their creative interpretation of the law’s plain text), MPs determined to address this egregious loophole. I showed in Chapter 6 how the parliamentary constitution was subtly more Protestant and limited liberty of conscience. But, so long as temporal and ecclesiastic authority remained separate – meaning religious dissent did not connote political subversion, let alone treason – MPs were limited in the extent to which they could circumscribe freedom of worship without unduly burdening tender consciences. Another of the second Protectorate Parliament’s initiatives – frequently taken as additional evidence of their hostility to religious minorities – was actually designed to solve two problems with one law, as we will now see.

The Recusant Bill, Part II

Animated by a vivid example of egregious behavior that could be indemnified by the generous religious settlement outlined in the Instrument of Government, MPs renegotiated the religio-political settlement to emphasize the link between religion and the body politic. In

Chapter 6 I showed how this sentiment was expressed in the new constitution. Parliament also revived the Recusant Bill as part of its new religio-political settlement; the bill complemented the

Humble Petition and Advice. This section explores the latter part of the bill’s journey: from its

February resurrection through the June passage. The three parties which emerged in December –

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radicals who sought complete liberty of conscience, conservatives who desired a continuation of policy that had served the country well for decades, and zealots who hoped to shape England into a godly nation – remained the same. In its final form, I argue that the Recusant Bill satisfied sufficient proportions of the zealots and the status quo group to become law. Tolerationists were disappointed but outnumbered. And men disturbed by Nayler’s case – both his light punishment and the flaws the affair revealed in the religious settlement – crafted the Recusant Bill to address multiple problems.

Recusancy was not mentioned in parliament for two months. Concluding Nayler’s trial did not immediately incite reconsideration of the religious settlement. In February, the House passed a resolution requesting the Court of Exchequer to stop suspending and discharging recusants’ estates while the bill worked its way through the House.101 Given that the draft of the

Recusant Bill was designed to halt fraudulent discharges and potentially to increase the number of estates subject to fines and sequestration, ordering the Exchequer to cease its activities in this regard until the matter was settled was logical. It was also a strong indication that, despite the religious and political animus attending the conversation about recusants, the primary goal of the bill remained pecuniary rather than penal. On February 5, 1657, on the heels of this order to the

Exchequer, the House revived the Committee concerning the Bill for Recusants and the Speaker granted a warrant to seize seditious and Popish books on the 19th.102 After these brief mentions, the bill languished for another month without further action. Again, a ready excuse is found for the interruption – at this juncture, the House was deep in discussions over the Humble Petition and Advice. Religion, its link with the body politic, and the role of the national church were part

101 CJ, 7:485; Burton, Diary, 1:372.

102 CJ, 7:486, 494.

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and parcel of the constitutional negotiations, as we saw above, so the topic was not abandoned, merely the specific iteration of the Recusant Bill.

Saturday, March 21, saw the revival of the Recusant Bill and marked the inauguration of its second stage. Amendments to the bill were read to the House, assented to, and the bill re- committed, slated to be brought back into the house a week hence. Following these readings, there was also a resolution asking the committee “to consider how the People of this

Commonwealth may be restrained from going to Mass at the Houses of the Ambassadors, or other Places.”103 Absent context, the resolution appears apropos of nothing. However, Easter was a mere fortnight away and parliament anticipated that English Catholics would flock to embassies to celebrate the occasion. Giavarina, the Venetian Resident, expressed similar expectations and decorated his chapel, hoping to provide his beleaguered co-religionists with “an inestimable boon in attending the worship of God in an heretical country” during Holy Week.104

A separate resolution “That like Care be taken for suppressing Popery in Scotland, as is for

England: And that they take the like Care for Ireland” was also passed on March 21.105 Neither the approach of Easter nor setting a specific date upon which the bill would be considered once more spurred substantial progress.

Two more months passed without movement on the bill. By the end of May it was apparent to MPs that the session would be adjourned soon; several men requested that business be hurried so that they could break before the summer heat hit Westminster.106 Discussion concerning of business revealed that some MPs, at least, viewed the Recusant Bill as

103 CJ, 7:509; Burton, Diary, 1:390.

104 CSPV, 31:36.

105 CJ, 7:509; Burton, Diary, 1:390.

106 Burton, Diary, 2:124.

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insignificant compared to other matters which had yet to be finalized. A brief debate as to whether the Recusant Bill would raise sufficient funds to justify prioritizing it at this juncture followed.107 Noteworthy is Mr. Godfrey’s objection that the Recusant Bill be postponed on financial grounds. He believed that employing the Oath of Abjuration as a test of conformity, as the Recusant Bill did at that juncture, left “a door for them to creep out at.”108 Loss of revenue would result as duplicitous Catholics swore the oath to avoid financial penalties.

In the event, the Recusant Bill was addressed in short order. Amendments to the bill were introduced and twice read on May 28; MPs voted in favor of these alterations. When the clerk went to record these decisions, it was discovered that documentation relating to the bill was missing: it “wanted the Outside Sheet; whereupon the Entry was made, by the Clerk, of the First and Second Reading of this Bill”. The clerks lost the paperwork for the Recusant Bill! While the Journal is, as usual, matter-of-fact in describing how the clerk and the reporter “excused the same, as being miscarried with long carrying it up and down: But withdrew; and brought in a

Sheet, with the Endorsement of the Title of this Bill, and this Entry upon it,”109 Burton describes how the revelation threw the House into turmoil. Several workarounds for the missing sheet were suggested before Mr. Bedford nipped back to his lodgings and returned with “a dirty paper” that he claimed was the missing cover sheet. Several MPs objected strenuously to the dangerous precedent that would be set by accepting the dirty paper. Speaker Widdrington eventually located the middle ground, diplomatically acknowledging the importance of both parliamentary

107 Burton, Diary, 2:139-40. Mr. Bond, the same man who vehemently objected to the clause punishing men whose wives were papists in December, argued that bills which would produce revenue – meaning the assessment bill funding the war with Spain as well as the bills for the excise and customs – should be prioritized ahead of the Recusant Bill. Lord Chief Justice Glynn shared Bond’s reasoning. Dr. Clarges believed the Recusant Bill would raise “a considerable sum” and consequently should be proceeded upon, while Mr. Bedford merely wanted the Recusant Bill read in order to maintain normal procedure.

108 Burton, Diary, 2:140.

109 CJ, 7:541.

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formalities and of trusting fellow MPs, and the paper was accepted by the House as the missing covering sheet.110 If losing the paperwork for the bill weren’t unusual enough, another curious incident followed quickly on its heels.

Additional amendments to the Recusant Bill were introduced on May 29. Several of them were read and accepted without incident. One particular amendment addressed the manner of identifying popish recusants; it contained an oath men suspected of recusancy would need to swear in order to prove their Protestant faith. From the final form of the bill, we know that the oath in question was the Oath of Abjuration, a tool developed by the Long Parliament and which required denial of Catholicism’s central tenets. Mr. Bampfield, who had desired death for

Nayler, though he remained concerned with procedure throughout the trial, incited debate by vehemently objecting to the utilization of the Oath of Abjuration, a position which Lord

Strickland quickly joined, and requesting that suspects merely be asked whether they maintained the principles of Catholicism or not.111 Debate about the purpose of the bill began anew.

Despite indications the previous week that the Recusant Bill was perceived primarily as a revenue tool, the inclusion of the Oath of Abjuration reanimated the three ideological coalitions.

Outspoken proponents of reformation and toleration attempted to reshape the bill at the eleventh hour. Conservatives who sought a continuation of what they perceived to be the Elizabethan and

Jacobean status quo largely held their tongues in the debate, though they registered opinions at its conclusion.

Multiple MPs objected to the inclusion of the Oath of Abjuration on grounds that it was fundamentally incompatible with liberty of conscience. Not only was the Lord Protector thoroughly committed to this principle, they had just approved circumscribed liberty of worship

110 Burton, Diary, 2:147-8; CJ, 7:541.

111 Burton, Diary, 2:149.

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for orthodox Protestants in the Humble Petition and Advice.112 Mr. Godfrey, recalling the frequency with which liberty of conscience, “a precious privilege”, had been discussed by the

House, accused MPs of hypocrisy. The Oath of Abjuration, in his estimation, was wholly inconsistent with the policy and principle of religious toleration; it constituted “tyranny upon conscience”.113 Also denouncing MPs as hypocrites was Colonel Briscoe, who argued, “[i]t is neither of ingenuity nor integrity” to permit some unsound doctrines while outlawing others. But

Briscoe went further, linking religion and national identity in an unexpected manner. He argued that the Oath of Abjuration violated “that great maxim of law, that no man is bound to betray himself”. Members of the Long Parliament who devised and implemented the oath were excused on grounds of exigency, for it “was a time of war” and the courts were closed, but now that necessity had ended, “the thing [should] ceaseth”.114 Captain Baynes agreed that imposing the oath would be unlawful and contrary to principles of English justice. Rather, he desired that they be convicted by an existing law requiring all men to publicly worship on the sabbath.115

Zealots spun the threat posed by erroneous Catholic doctrine into an argument for strict employment of the oath. Alarmed at the recent increase in the number of papists, Mr. Butler viewed leniency toward the English Catholic community as tantamount to permitting “the limbs of Antichrist to grow rich within your bowels”.116 Less fanatical in his position but also aiming

112 A&O, 2:1053-4.

113 Burton, Diary, 2:153.

114 Burton, Diary, 2:150-3.

115 Burton, Diary, 2:149. The Humble Petition and Advice did not mandate attendance at church services of any sort. However, a bill for the better observation of the sabbath was in process and passed on the final day of the session. The new law decried the frequent neglect of the sabbath, which dishonored Christ, and sought to prevent such abuse by prohibiting working and travelling on Sundays as well as licentious behavior. Attendance at “some Church or Chappel where the true Worship and Service of God is exercised, or . . . some other convenient Meeting- place of Christians, not differing in matters of Faith from the publique Profession of the Nation” was required. See A&O, 2:1162-1170. Failing to repair to some place of incurred a fine of 2s 6d while disturbing congregations at worship would cost the offender 5l.

116 Burton, Diary, 2:153.

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at the extirpation of popery, Sir John Thorowgood was similarly concerned that Catholics were contriving mischief, but he believed the remedy was for “them be conversed with by ministers,” in hopes of conversion.117 Major-General Boteler, noted even among contemporaries for his harsh suppression of popery within his district, pronounced that, in his estimation, Catholics were enemies. Opposed to the government, they were “persons otherwise than Englishmen,” and consequently undeserving of “the liberties of the laws”.118 He elevated the sanctity of the law and granted Briscoe’s point about the inviolability of anti-self-incrimination protections, but viewed Catholics as non-citizens. Pragmatism partially motivated Boteler’s support for the oath

– he could not conceive of any other manner that would result in conviction, rather than mere suspicion – but his blatant segregation of English Catholics from the rest of the population hearkened to an earlier time, when papists were the most visible threat to English existence. His absolute refusal to countenance the possibility that English Catholics were entitled to legal protections, while clearly revealing the depth of anti-papist animus that existed amongst the zealots, ultimately serves to highlight how far out of the mainstream his appetite for persecution was.

Eventually, Mr. Bedford’s declaration that hours of debate in “a full and great

Committee” revealed the Oath of Abjuration as the only possible means of identifying Catholics carried the day and the Speaker adjourned debate in preparation for voting upon the amendment.119 Before he could call the question, however, Colonel Sydenham moved for several men who were not in the chamber at that moment to be notified of the vote and provided with an opportunity to attend and have their voices heard. Other Members objected to setting

117 Burton, Diary, 2:152.

118 Burton, Diary, 2:152. On his activities as Major-General, see “Boteler [Butler], William (fl. 1645-1670),” DNB; Durston, Major-Generals, 45-6.

119 Burton, Diary, 2:149.

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what would have been a most unusual precedent and the vote went ahead.120 By an incredibly slim margin – 53 to 51 – the Noes carried the vote and the bill was recommitted yet again.121 A handful of men had spoken for or against the Oath of Abjuration, but enough men either believed the protection against self-incrimination was sacrosanct or opposed the oath as an innovation to defeat the measure for the time being. Sydenham’s attempted intervention in procedure revealed that the Recusant Bill elicited curiously strong passions which manifested themselves not in the more customary heated debate but in a desire to breach procedure.

Further work on the bill occurred in the committee room over the following days. Burton requested that the House add extra members to the committee, though he unfortunately neglected to include an explanation of this action.122 Final amendments to the bill were proposed to the

House on June 2. The Oath of Abjuration was presented to the House in parts, affording MPs an opportunity to redraft the oath rather than accept or reject it wholesale. Language devised by the

Long Parliament a decade earlier provided the basis for the 1657 oath, but the second

Protectorate Parliament’s version indicated that allegiance to the present government, rather than the heretical tenets of Catholicism, remained the primary concern about the English Catholic community.

Men who shared Burton’s opinion that the new government should deal with recusants in the tried-and-true manner had apparently carried the day in committee deliberations, for the report recommended that the oath should not reference transubstantiation or the saving power of meritorious works. Committee members suggested that suspected popish recusants should swear:

120 Burton, Diary, 2:154-5.

121 CJ, 7:541.

122 Burton, Diary, 2:167.

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I do sincerely Testifie and Declare, That the Pope, neither of himself, nor by any Authority of the Church or See of Rome, or by any other means with any other, hath any Power or Authority to depose the Chief Magistrate of these Nations, or to dispose of any of the Countries or Territories thereunto belonging, or to Authorize any Foreign Prince or State to invade or annoy him or them, or to discharge any of the People of these Nations from their Obedience to the Chief Magistrate; or to give License or Leave to any of the said People to bear Arms, raise Tumults, or to offer any violence or hurt to the person of the said Chief Magistrate, or to the State or Government of these Nations, or to any of the people thereof. And I do further swear, That I do from my heart abhor, detest and abjure this damnable Doctrine and Position, That Princes, Rulers, or Governours, which be Excommunicated or Deprived by the Pope, may, by verture of such Excommunication or Deprivation, by killed, murthered, or deposed from their Rule or Government, or any outrage or violence done unto them by the people that are under them, or by any other whatsoever upon such pretence. And I do further swear, That I do believe that the Pope, or Bishop of Rome, hath no Authority, Power, or Jurisdiction whatsoever, within England, Scotland and Ireland, or any or either of them, or the Dominion or Territories belonging to them, or any or either of them; And all Doctrines in affirmation of the said Points, I do abjure and renounce, without any Equivocation, Mental Reservation, or secret Evasion whatsoever, taking the words by me spoken according to the common and usual meaning of them; And I do believe no Power Derived from the Pope or Church of Rome, or any other person, can absolve me from this my Oath; And I do Renounce all Pardons and Dispensations to the contrary: So help me God.123

This oath captured the sense that English Catholics were distinct from the rest of the population because of their allegiance to an external source of authority which could, at any moment, depose the current English sovereign. By renouncing not only the papal deposing power but also the barest hint that pope (or papist sovereigns) had the right to interfere in English governance, either in the British Isles or in its colonial possessions, the committee’s proposal essentially revived the 1606 Jacobean Oath of Allegiance. As King James sought to do in the wake of the

Gunpowder Plot, the recusant committee devised an oath that distinguished between Catholics and papists. In the context of 1657, the committee’s oath balanced liberty of conscience with the danger posed by papists and the government’s desperate need for money. Unrepentant papists

123 CJ, 7:544; A&O, 2:1171.

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would be identified when they refused to swear the oath and would fund the war against Spain

(and the pope) while loyal catholics who sought only to worship peacefully would be permitted to do so. When the Speaker called the Question, however, the House rejected the committee’s suggestions. The version of the oath in the bill retained renunciations of transubstantiation, purgatory, images, and meritorious works in addition to the language above.

Curiously, Mercurius Politicus reported that “the houfe doth agree with the Committee” concerning all amendments to the Recusant Bill proposed that day.124 No divisions occurred, meaning that the voice vote was not sufficiently muddled to require an official tally, but the newssheet’s report nonetheless ignored a significant difference of opinion. Likely, Nedham merely inserted his standard language indicating that the bill was complete; at the end of June 2 the Recusant Bill was ingrossed in preparation for its third and final reading.125 Without commentary in Mercurius Politicus or Burton’s diary (Burton had been nominated to make the committee’s report to the House and consequently “had no time to take notes”), there is no record of the House’s discussion.126

On June 18 the third reading of the Recusant Bill occurred. Several last-minute provisos were rejected and the bill was ordered to be presented to the Lord Protector.127 In the second

Protectorate Parliament, this was the end of a bill’s journey; MPs presented the legislation to

124 Mercurius Politicus 364 (May 28-June 4, 1657), 7828.

125 CJ, 7:544.

126 Burton, Diary, 2:169; CJ, 7:544.

127 CJ, 7:561. One of the provisos that were rejected would have favored recusants (permitting recusants to dispose of two-thirds of their estates according to terms permitted by the Lord Protector), one would have favored Protectorate office-holders (permitting bailiffs and money-collectors to distrain property seized from recusants if their pay was in arrears) and one was neutral (requiring an annual accounting of revenue to the Lord Treasurer).

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Cromwell in three batches over the course of the session and after a bill was marked as ready for presentation to the Lord Protector, it was stored until the presentation ceremony.128

Except, that is, for the Recusant Bill. On June 26 – the date appointed for all recently passed bills to be presented to the Lord Protector – while the House awaited a summons to attend the Chief Magistrate, debate erupted. No specifics about the debate are available because Burton abruptly ceased his journaling the previous day. Ultimately, there was a division over whether the bill should be presented to the Lord Protector at this time or whether it should be reserved for another time. The Yeas prevailed in the division (88 to 43), but the mere fact that there was a division at all is extraordinarily odd.129 The bill had been in process since the previous

November – it had taken over seven months to arrive at this point – and it was the only bill out of seventeen public acts slated for Protectoral approbation that day singled out for reconsideration.

It is possible that General Lambert, who Giavarina believed opposed the bill, orchestrated this eleventh-hour attempt to sink the bill.130 Another possibility is that Councillor-MPs worried the

Recusant Bill could scupper the nascent Anglo-French alliance; I will discuss this in the next chapter. Further reinforcing the abnormality of the incident, Mercurius Politicus omitted any reference to what happened while including detailed descriptions of all other business transacted on the final day of the parliamentary session.

Ultimately the “Act for discovering, convicting and suppressing of Popish Recusants” was presented to the Lord Protector and passed into law at the conclusion of the second

128 A&O, 3:c-civ. The presentations occurred on November 27, 1656, June 9, 1657, and June 26, 1657. Two bills were presented individually – the Humble Petition and Advice on May 25, 1657 and Instructions for Forest Commissioners on June 19, 1657.

129 CJ, 7:577.

130 CSPV, 31:78; D.N. Farr, “Lambert [Lambart], John (bap. 1619, d. 1684),” DNB. Lambert was close with Captain Adam Baynes, who had taken the radical pro-toleration stance at multiple points in the debates over both the Recusant Bill and Nayler.

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Protectorate Parliament’s first session. This in and of itself begs a question: why did Cromwell, who was thoroughly committed to liberty of conscience and had even contemplated extending this privilege to Catholics, grant his assent to the Recusant Bill? Three possible theories other than the traditional explanation of religious animus present themselves. Desperate need of money is the most obvious possibility. The Lord Protector could not risk calling parliament’s bluff in this matter due to the heavy financial commitments that forced him to summon parliament. This may also have been a case of Cromwell employing his strict interpretation of the law. Both the old and new constitutions bequeathed sole legislative authority to parliament.

Rejecting a bill over which MPs had labored for most of the session – and one which merely codified the widely accepted principle that the English Catholic community would suffer financially for its faith – would have unnecessarily antagonized MPs. The second Protectorate

Parliament was adjourning, not dissolving: Cromwell would have to face this same assembly a few months hence. Preserving a constructive, cooperative relationship with parliament may have been seen as worth two-thirds of the English Catholic community’s material wealth. Finally, the

Lord Protector may have viewed the Recusant Bill with a politique eye in respect of the recently- concluded Anglo-French alliance, which I will discuss at length in the next chapter.

What did the second Protectorate Parliament’s Recusant Bill accomplish? In most respects, it was a superfluous rhetorical device. Both the Instrument of Government and the

Humble Petition and Advice explicitly excluded Catholics from enjoying liberty of conscience; the Recusant Bill merely codified this principle and imposed further financial penalties upon members of the sect. It was essentially a revenue extraction measure.

The bill’s preamble described “a great increase of Popish Recusants within this

Commonwealth . . . whereof great danger may follow thereupon to the Public Peace,” for popish

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recusants were known to be “very active in mischievous Plots and Conspiracies”. Purportedly, the bill was designed to prevent “the rise and growth of so great a Mischief”.131 This language suggested that MPs concurred with the Lord Protector’s assessment of the danger posed by papists. Zealots had argued that papists’ allegiance to a foreign power isolated them from the

English political nation. The constitutional framing implied (though did not state) that the

English Catholic community was a political underclass for this reason. Much of the 1657 Oath of Abjuration reinforced this perception. Yet after this alarming preface the bill declined to introduce any security measures. Convicted popish recusants were subjected only to financial – not criminal – penalties. Imprisonment was only to be imposed as a punishment for those who refused judicial summons and Englishmen caught attending embassy masses.132 Allegiance to the present government was not the Recusant Bill’s objective, nor was encouraging

Protestantism.

Reintroducing the Oath of Abjuration as a means of identifying recusants was the law’s only significant deviation from existing policy. Because the Oath of Abjuration demanded renunciation of Catholicism’s central tenets in addition to the papal deposing power it could not be used to differentiate between catholics and papists. Given the tenor of the preamble, this could have indicated that the second Protectorate Parliament did not recognize this distinction.

Since pecuniary penalties were the only punishments outlined, however, it is more likely that

MPs deliberately cast a wide net to extract more revenue. We saw that MPs had multiple opportunities to remove or modify the Oath of Abjuration and declined to do so, further suggesting they sought to maximize the group who would pay. Employing the Oath of

Abjuration as the sole test of recusancy also had a welcome side effect. Principled opposition to

131 A&O, 2:1170.

132 A&O, 2:1173, 1180.

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oaths and covenants was a well-known aspect of Quaker beliefs.133 Gaols held numerous

Quakers whose sole offence was refusing to swear an oath.134 Catholics and Quakers would be ensnared by the vow while all orthodox Protestants were safe. MPs only debated the plain text of the Recusant Bill but in light of Nayler’s disrespectful behavior at the bar – when summoned on December 6, Nayler incensed MPs with his disrespectful refusal to remove his hat135 – it is reasonable to assume they were aware of Quakers’ disdain for displays of deference and allegiance. Abjuring the tenets of Catholicism may have been abhorrent to liberty of conscience but it offered a convenient means of identifying and punishing the two sects which roused MPs’ ire.

The bill’s bizarre road to passage, and the fact that this outcome was in doubt at multiple points, shows how the divorce of church and state disrupted the position the English Catholic community had occupied within the English political imagination for the previous century.

Popery retained its rhetorical potency, but the text of the Recusant Bill reveals that most MPs had no desire to exterminate the English Catholic community or even imprison these dangerous characters. The prevailing sentiment was that the status quo ante – a system in which Catholics could be easily identified and fined – was most desirable. Presented with circumstances that could have yielded any number of outcomes, the second Protectorate Parliament drafted a bill that showed they did not consider the English Catholic community a threat. Catholics and

Quakers could be distinguished from the mass of Englishmen worshipping outside of their local

133 Weld et al, The Perfect Pharise, 31-5, explained that Quakers would neither engage in shows of deference to other men nor recognize the manifestation of authority in a single person.

134 TNA SP 18/130 f.169, shows that local officials recognized early on that Quakers refused to swear oaths and this could be used as a means of incarcerating them.

135 CJ, 7:465.

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parish church, but neither their consciences nor their persons would be restrained, only their pocketbooks.

Conclusion

When MPs departed for the cool of the country in the summer of 1657, they left a more conservative religious settlement in place. The Humble Petition and Advice unequivocally established Protestantism as the national religion, Nayler’s punishment showed blasphemers what fate awaited them, and the Recusant Bill required English Catholics either to renounce their religion or relinquish their fortune. Debates that preceded these decisions revealed three strains of thought regarding the religious settlement, encompassing a stunning range of opinions.

Perhaps more shocking is what these extensive debates omitted.

For years, alarmists had warned that the Quakers were not a new sect, but rather

Catholics in disguise, taking advantage of the new leniency afford to non-conformists to spread discord. Conspiracy theorists like the indefatigable pamphleteer William Prynne were not alone in sounding this alarm. Ministers and other respected members of society declaimed the subterfuge occurring under the umbrella of tender consciences. Detailed explications of the theory circulated in print.

Theological examinations proved that Quakerism and Catholicism were one and the same. The group of Newcastle ministers who attacked Nayler in 1654 conducted a detailed confutation of Quaker doctrine with Catholic theology and practice, concluding that Quakers were “in compliance with the principles and practifes of the Romifh way”, spreading an old erroneous doctrine through new, deceitful means.136 William Brownsword, a Lancashire

136 Weld, et al, A Further Discovery, 11. Specifically, Quakers and papists rejected several Protestant soteriological tenets, misapprehended the nature of Scripture, and pretended holiness in outward signs.

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minister, published an extended refutation of a Catholic book in 1654. The body of his work is a systematic attack on Catholic doctrine and ecclesiology, but the several introductory epistles are clarion calls to devout Englishmen. Agreeing with the Newcastle Ministers that “the Quaker religion [is] a mixture of Popery with other errors”, Brownsword agitated for immediate action to redress the division that had been so expertly sown by papists.137 In addition to enumerating popery’s doctrinal errors and cautioning that Jesuits existed solely to deceive and seduce men away from true religion, Brownsword warned that England was nearly vanquished by these sly adversaries. For evidence, he pointed to the enmity sectaries evinced toward men who had sworn the Covenant, and whose devotion to true religion and fighting popery could not be doubted. Englishmen, he lamented, “abound in controverfies amongft our felves, whileft Papifts fet by unoppofed”.138 Feeling that he had not been heard, Brownsword published a second pamphlet on the topic in 1660, seeking to demonstrate “that the hand of a Jefuite is in the

Quakers Religion”. For, he asked, “How could they elfe be fo well verfed in their moft abfurd

Doctrines? How could they anfwer fo exactly their Monkifh Rules and Practifes? They could not learn them without a Teacher”.139 Religious conservatives had, as I have shown elsewhere, employed the specter of Jesuits using liberty of conscience to subvert true religion as an argument in favor of conformity. Specifically conflating popery and Quakerism, however, was new, only emerging in the mid-1650s.

Eschewing theology, William Prynne published a pamphlet in 1655 purporting to lay bare Rome’s intricate plan to undermine English religion and liberty. In The Quakers

137 William Brownsword, Rome’s Conviction: Or, A Discoverie of the unsoundness of the main Grounds of Rome’s Religion, in an answer to a book, called The right Religion, evinced by L.B., (London: J.M. for Luke Fawn, 1654), Epistle to the Orthodox Reader.

138 Brownsword, Rome’s Conviction, Epistle to the Orthodox Reader.

139 William Brownsword, The Quaker-Jesuite, Or, Popery in Quakerisme, (London: J.M., 1660), 10.

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Unmasked, Prynne outlined how “fuch multitudes of Romifh Wolves” were crossing the Channel

“to act their feveral parts and Pageants on the Theatre of our diftracted Englifh Church and

State, to bring both of them to ruine”.140 The centerpiece of Prynne’s evidence was a report from one George Cowlishaw, a Bristol ironmonger, who met an old Irish schoolmate in the port city.

Coppinger, the Irish schoolmate passing through Bristol, confessed to Cowlishaw that he had lived in Rome for years, taking vows and joining the Franciscan order. Upon returning to

England, Coppinger joined a Quaker meeting where he and several of his fellow Friars Minor became chief speakers. Having made their mark amongst the sect, the Franciscans masquerading as Quakers were now dispersing throughout the British Isles and establishing new Quaker meetings for nefarious Popish purposes.141 Prynne reported this tale because he desperately sought to animate public sentiment against the Quakers. Those who should be guarding the church against this threat, Prynne felt, were failing to perform their duty. He hoped that

Cowlishaw’s account would convince his fellow Englishmen that greater caution and vigilance was necessary in matters of religion. He wanted the nation to recognize that

by this their new Stratagem and Liberty, they have (under the difguifes of being Quakers, Seekers, Anabaptifts, Independents, Ranters, Dippers, Anti trinitarians, Anti-fcripturifts, and the like) gained more Profelytes, Difciples, and done more harm in eight or nine years fpace to the Church and Realm of England, more prejudice, difhonour, fcandal to our Religion and Minifters, than ever they did by faying Maffe, or preaching, printing any points of groffeft Popery in 80 years time heretofore.142

As further evidence for this, Prynne cited unspecified intelligent Protestants who had studied

Quaker doctrine and concluded that it harbored many Popish tenets. Citing specific sources was

140 William Prynne, The Quakers Unmasked (London: Edward Thomas, 1655). 2.

141 Prynne, The Quakers Unmasked, 4.

142 Prynne, The Quakers Unmasked, 5.

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unnecessary given the number of ministers willing to publicly equate Catholicism and

Quakerism.

At the time of Nayler’s trial further explications of the link between Quakers and papists emerged, with at least one explicitly naming Nayler. A minister named Farmer published an account of Nayler’s deeds which appeared just as the Quaker’s trial concluded. A scurrilous account of Nayler’s blasphemies, together with multiple letters exchanged betwixt his followers opened the book. After presenting all the evidence of Nayler’s crimes against God, Farmer abruptly switched gears. He characterized the entire affair as premeditated play-acting, and claiming that “the Jefuites” orchestrated the charade and would now bring their “next fcene . . . upon the ftage”.143 Concluding his rant, Farmer widened the scope of his accusations from

Nayler and his coterie to the entire Quaker sect. He, like Brownsword, blamed the current government for divisions amongst Englishmen and warned that “thefe wretched Quakers” were taking advantage of the rift to use lies and “Monkifh profeffion” to undermine the true church.144

Coming on the heels of parliament’s verdict against Nayler, Farmer’s tract was sure to be read.

Marchamont Nedham, perhaps wary of saying too much regarding Nayler’s case himself, given his lucrative position as the proprietor of the sole weekly newssheet in print, directed readers who sought “further information on Nailor” to Farmer’s book. The minister’s publication received unrivalled publicity and spread the message that Quakers were Jesuits in disguise (or at least Jesuit puppets) far and wide.145 A few weeks after the trial concluded, Mercurius Politicus added another piece of evidence supporting the conspiracy theory. Reporting from “aboard the

Yarmouth Frigat, at the Spit-Head,” a nameless correspondent shared disturbing news about an

143 Farmer, Sathan Inthron’d, 33.

144 Farmer, Sathan Inthron’d, 56.

145 Mercurius Politicus 340 (December 11-18, 1656), 7453.

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influx of Jesuits to England. While in La Rochelle, he apparently learned that Jesuits were

“being fent by the Pope to frame themfelves Quakers, thereby the more eafily to perfwade the people to caft off all Government, under the pretence of a Light within them.”146 This purported plan closely resembled what had occurred in Bristol.

Educated ministers, profit-driven news editors, and paranoid pamphleteers all agreed that

Quakers were, at best, Jesuit stooges or, at worst, merely a front for Rome’s latest assault of

English Protestantism. The theory of a Catholic-Quaker nexus seemed tailor-made for a country that had gone to war against the creeping threat of popery and that was dissatisfied with the Lord

Protector’s radical religious views. Yet at precisely the moment when this theory could have been deployed to maximum effect it was ignored. Not even the barest hint of this connection entered the second Protectorate Parliament’s debates about Nayler or the Recusant Bill.147 This failure to mention the conspiracy theory shows that MPs employed the same distinction that

Cromwell and the Grandees had since 1647.

One or two sterling exceptions aside, it is clear that all Members of the second

Protectorate Parliament considered Nayler to be a blasphemer. He unequivocally transgressed the Decalogue and was punished for dishonoring God. But this was his only crime. MPs did not give any indication that his actions represented a threat to England’s security (unless one considers the prospect of divine retribution a security threat). Similarly, no discussion of

Catholic involvement with Quakers, or even reflection that the English Catholic community itself posed a threat to the regime’s authority, occurred. Religion and finances were the sole

146 Mercurius Politicus 348 (February 5-12, 1657), 7587.

147 Burton, Diary, 1:307, records a single reference to the union of Catholics and Quakers weeks after Nayler’s trial concluded. Burton noted that, in the course of a committee debate on January 5, 1657 about a book Major-General Whalley wanted parliament to condemn, the discussion veered into the question of how “the papists laboured to delude us and intricate us, by obtruding doctrines of all sizes in their books dispersed abroad; Quakers, and magic, and all devils, &c”. There is no evidence that this discussion was transported to the whole House.

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considerations in the Recusant Bill. Where both Nayler’s trial and the Recusant Bill were concerned, injecting the threat implied by the Catholic-Quaker nexus could have resulted in harsher penalties. Instead, the status quo group prevailed.

Essentially, the second Protectorate Parliament recognized that, while Nayler and the

English Catholic community offended English religious sensibilities, they did not threaten the regime’s authority. Both cases resulted in punishment as a statement of religious principle. No mention is made of Catholics’ or Quakers’ (in)ability to act as loyal Englishmen because this was not the issue at stake. Nayler was only charged with blasphemy and civil disturbance.

While both the old and new constitutions implied that Catholics were excluded from the body politic because of their questionable allegiance to the English sovereign, this was never explicitly stated. Yet the fact that allegiance never entered either discussion – especially given the prevalence of the Catholic-Quaker conspiracy theory – shows how thoroughly religious identity and political allegiance had been divorced in the eight years since the regicide. Absent the sovereign’s religious authority, even with the more conservative religious settlement enacted in the Humble Petition and Advice, the English Catholic community and Quakers did not constitute existential threats to the English religio-political system. The treatment of English Catholics during the last months of the Protectorate and at the Restoration illustrates this.

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CHAPTER 8

ALLIANCES AND ENMITIES: THE ENGLISH CATHOLIC COMMUNITY IN THE

LAST MONTHS OF THE PROTECTORATE

Cromwell’s official approval of the Recusant Bill on June 26, 1657 would seem to indicate that his commitment to liberty of conscience had never encompassed Catholicism.

Because the Oath of Abjuration was the sole test of recusancy, the law plainly punished

Catholics for their faith. Penalties for professing Catholicism were perceived to be so harsh that several prominent members of the English Catholic community reportedly offered a lump sum payment if the Lord Protector suspended enforcement of the new bill.1 Financial considerations aside, I will show in this chapter that the Recusant Bill did not inaugurate a new wave of persecution. Foreign policy in the second half of the Protectorate was both predicated upon

Cromwell’s ability to differentiate between catholics and papists and demanded that he continued to do so. “Pope, and Spaniard, and” Charles Stuart joined forces to launch military assaults on

English forces. A cardinal of the Roman Catholic church, meanwhile, demanded that English

Catholics remain unmolested in return for helping Cromwell defeat the Spanish-Stuart threat.

Amidst these competing priorities, Cromwell employed his trusted method of governance to retain his authority, fulfill his obligations, and vindicate his principles.

1 CSPV, 39:78, 116. Giavarina reported that on the eve of the second Protectorate Parliament’s presentation of the Recusant Bill to the Lord Protector the “principal Catholic gentlemen” met with Cromwell and offered to collect a payment of £80,000 (supposedly £20,000 more than the Exchequer received annually from the English Catholic community) if he would reject the bill. Cromwell declined the offer. In October the scene apparently replayed; Catholics reiterated their offer, and Cromwell again declined. Implementing the Oath of Abjuration as the sole test of recusancy impelled these repeated offers; workarounds employed and loopholes exploited over the previous decade to lessen financial burdens would no longer suffice.

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The Anglo-French alliance forms the heart of this chapter. Multi-year negotiations between the two nations culminated during the second Protectorate Parliament and the new alliance took effect just as the parliament adjourned its first session. Religion threatened to derail the fledgling partnership. A common enemy helped Cromwell and Mazarin surmount the confessional divide and join forces to oppose Spain. Merely uniting Protestant England with

Catholic France shows that the Lord Protector was not blindly animated by prejudice. To countenance a catholic ally his anti-popery had to be at least partly rhetorical. Concessions he made during negotiations emphasize the catholic/papist distinction along with his reliance on creatively literal interpretations of his obligations. As the Spanish-Stuart alliance to which

Cromwell alluded at the opening of the second Protectorate Parliament blossomed and resulted in a Spanish-funded cavalier army in Flanders awaiting transportation across the Channel, the difference between catholics and papists that Cromwell had recognized for years came into stark relief. Royalists joined with the pope’s right hand, vindicating Cromwell’s application of the epithet “popish” to the malignant party. Foreign and domestic threats converged in a visible and menacing fashion. Located at the point of convergence, the English Catholic community should have been a magnet for rhetorical and physical anti-popery. But, surprisingly, given the Spanish-

Stuart alliance and the availability of a new tool to punish recusants, little changed for the

English Catholic community.

Godly Protector and Catholic Cardinal

In response to a request for information years later, Thurloe furnished an accounting of

Cromwell’s foreign policy to Charles II’s Lord Chancellor Edward Hyde. To the best of

Thurloe’s recollection, the Franco-Spanish war meant that both powers sought a defensive

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alliance with England as Cromwell’s tenure began. Bullion and the Black Legend lured

Cromwell to attack Spain. Launching the Western Design necessitated, at a minimum, a non- aggression pact with France. England could ill-afford to battle both France and Spain simultaneously; once Penn and Venables sailed west and war with Spain was all but inevitable, a defensive treaty with France was certain. Cromwellian foreign policy was more complicated than a binary choice between France and Spain, however. Stability – meaning the elimination or neutralization of threats to the Protectorate – was Cromwell’s aim in allying with France.

Interregnum governors pursuing this elusive goal had, as I have shown, distinguished between catholics and papists to focus more intensely on legitimate threats to the commonwealth.

Allying with France to battle England’s enemies required the Lord Protector to articulate – but not fundamentally alter – this unspoken policy. This section will prove that the Anglo-French alliance comported with Cromwell’s aims and principles, merely broadening the scope of existing strategy to encompass international relations.

Anglo-French relations had seesawed since the newly crowned King Charles I wed

French princess Henrietta Maria in 1625. Initially seen as preferable to the dreaded Spanish

Match, Englishmen were not thrilled that their king took a Catholic bride and the debacle of

1627 further soured public opinion. Ships England lent to France to aid an attack on Spanish possessions were instead turned on the Huguenot stronghold of La Rochelle. Royal favorite

George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, attempted to relieve the besieged Huguenots but suffered a disastrous naval defeat. The episode humiliated Charles and Buckingham, and encouraged religious nationalism.2 Aspects of the marriage treaty providing for the young

2 Thomas Cogswell, “The People’s Love: The Duke of Buckingham and Popularity,” in Politics, Religion and Popularity in Early Stuart Britain: Essays in honor of Conrad Russell ed. Thomas Cogswell, Richard Cust, and Peter Lake, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 2002), 225-31, shows that Buckingham, desperate to recapture

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queen’s religious needs, meanwhile, provided a visible focus for this confessionally-tinged animosity.3 Throughout the Personal Rule, as English Catholics gravitated to court, France became associated with popery creeping back into England. As the tide of the Civil War turned against royalists in 1644, Henrietta Maria fled England for the safety of her homeland where her nephew, King Louis XIV, offered sanctuary. She remained in Paris after she was widowed, and was joined by her eldest son. Interregnum rulers viewed the French government with a measure of suspicion. Not only did France represent the abhorrent popish inclinations of the Caroline court, it offered succor to a family which unilaterally denied the new government’s sovereignty.

This contentious history reinforces the widespread perception that Cromwell reluctantly chose

France over Spain as the lesser of two evils.

Concern for the Protestant interest in Europe and a desire to advance true religion were factors in Cromwell’s political calculus but, I argue, they did not override his primary goal.

Many studies of Protectorate foreign policy, segregating international relations from domestic policy decisions, emphasize religion as the primary factor in Cromwell’s international maneuvers, as seen in Chapter 5. Even within the realm of international historiography, the

Protectorate’s policy decisions are frequently geographically segregated. Some of these focused studies offer excellent insight, but this does not alter their narrow scope.4 The best study of

his earlier popularity, preemptively popularized what he anticipated would be a great victory for the Protestant cause. When the expedition failed, news of the failure was widespread.

3 Caroline M. Hibbard, Charles I and the Popish Plot, (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1983), 71, is the best explanation of how this operated. Malcolm Smuts, “Religion, European Politics and Henrietta Maria’s Circle, 1625-41,” in Henrietta Maria: Piety, Politics and Patronage ed. Erin Griffey, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 13-37, offers a more nuanced view, arguing that after a false start as a fifteen-year-old bride, Henrietta Maria successfully employed the politics of intimacy throughout the 1630s and only assumed her place in the popular imagination after the Scots revolved in 1637.

4 Michael Roberts, “Cromwell and the Baltic,” The English Historical Review 76, No. 300 (July 1961): 402-446, presents an excellent yet geographically limited study of Cromwellian foreign policy. Carla Gardina Pestana, The English Conquest of Jamaica: Oliver Cromwell’s Bid for Empire, (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2017), 1-14, focuses only on the English conquest of Jamaica in 1655 but makes a compelling case

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Cromwellian foreign policy resists both of these trends. Charles Korr argues that Cromwell inaugurated a “new model foreign policy” that broke the binary of allying either with France or with Spain. Instead, he convincingly argues that the Lord Protector was in no hurry to encumber

England with foreign entanglements after ending the Dutch war.5 When pushed to engage with

European powers, Korr argues, Cromwell’s “overriding purpose” in doing so “was to insure his position as the political leader of England.”6 Timothy Venning builds upon Korr’s analysis, adding nuance, but his conclusions do not differ appreciably. He too believes that Cromwell’s foreign policy reflected a desire to minimize the risk to England and to his rule, though Venning credits Cromwell’s reliance upon the military for his position (and attendant need to occupy and pay that military), as the greater, paradoxical, risk.7 I agree with Korr’s and Venning’s assessments of Cromwell’s motivation, but I also approach the issue from a different perspective.

In my analysis of how Cromwellian foreign policy reinforced the regime’s domestic position, I align with Anthony Milton’s view of late Elizabethan and early Stuart foreign policy.8

Negotiations with France occurred in two discrete stages. The first, conducted in tandem with the launch of the Western Design, concluded with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in

November 1655. The second came to a head during the second Protectorate Parliament. This

that the planning of the Western Design and capture of the island inaugurated a sea change in European colonialism and geopolitics.

5 Charles P. Korr, Cromwell and the New Model Foreign Policy: England’s Policy Toward France, 1649-1658, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975), 122.

6 Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, 5.

7 Timothy Venning, Cromwellian Foreign Policy, (Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 1995), xii, 4-6, 251-3.

8 Anthony Milton, “A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities of Early Stuart Anti-Catholicism,” in Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts ed. Arthur Marotti, (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999), 96-97, shows how the powerful binary of Protestantism versus Roman Catholicism could coexist with a pragmatic foreign diplomacy that demanded “conceptual distinctions and calculations”. Contrast this with Korr’s lengthy description of the Anglo-French negotiations followed by a brief statement that the resulting treaty “elevated Cromwell’s position in England” at the expense of the Stuarts; Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, 99-137, 148-67, quote at 167.

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section considers the two stages together to more clearly elucidate the link between Cromwell’s domestic preoccupations and his foreign policy decisions.

An emissary from France, Antoine de Bordeaux, traveled to England at Cardinal

Mazarin’s behest in late 1652. Explicitly not an ambassador, he was nonetheless instructed to promise Parliament that France would recognize the English Commonwealth on equal footing with kingdoms if attacks on French shipping would cease. In a difficult position but politically astute, Bordeaux settled down to make incremental progress.9 Two regime changes occurred before Bordeaux could conclude any agreement. Cromwell, once in control, began meeting with both the French and the Spanish, probing for the best deal. He maintained the pretense of good- faith negotiations with both sides for over a year.10 Only once it was clear that England was committed to attacking Spain’s West Indian colonies did Anglo-Spanish negotiations break off.

Even then, Cromwell delayed signing the treaty with France, which Korr argues produced more favorable terms and reduced the chance of a Spanish-funded cavalier invasion.11 When France and Spain were on the verge of ending hostilities (which would have shifted Spain’s attention unfavorably on England), Cromwell at last agreed to terms with France. Three years after

Bordeaux arrived in England, on October 24, 1655, the Treaty of Westminster was signed.

Defensive in nature, the treaty primarily normalized trade. A “firm Peace, Friendship,

Society, and League” was declared betwixt the two nations. Non-aggression would be the policy going forward and both nations agreed to expel anyone the other party considered “Rebels,

Enemys or Adherents”.12 Annexed to the treaty were lists of those to be expelled from both

9 Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, 44.

10 Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, 78-97; Venning, Cromwellian Foreign Policy, 46-68.

11 Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, passim, especially 1-5, 111-22.

12 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:930-1.

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countries; Charles Stuart was among them. Secretly, Bordeaux persuaded the States General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands to join the pact, thus denying Charles Stuart safe harbor amongst the Dutch.13

Satisfactory though the Treaty of Westminster was, both sides desired more from their alliance. Bordeaux learned when he returned home that Mazarin wanted an offensive alliance with England against Spain.14 Meanwhile, Cromwell wanted Charles farther from the Channel than Bruges and saw an opportunity to have France partially finance an expedition to accomplish this. William Lockhart was dispatched to France as ambassador in the spring of 1656, instructed to negotiate a treaty for an offensive alliance to attack the Spanish in Flanders as well as to secure promises that the Huguenots would not be harassed.15 Both men labored diligently, but even with the common goal of attacking Spanish-held Flanders, more than a year elapsed before the second, offensive treaty was finalized. As negotiations continued, Cromwell delivered his anti-popish exhortation to the second Protectorate Parliament. Despite this apparent declaration of opposition to all Romish adherents, the Lord Protector did not break off talks with the French.

Dialogues dragged into 1657. Lockhart reported from Paris in January that a papal nuncio was attempting to persuade Cardinal Mazarin to make peace with Spain and then join forces to fight heresy. Concluding an alliance was imperative to avoid the possibility of the great

Catholic powers uniting and turning on England. When Lockhart hastily signed the treaty in

March, he fretted that the urgency of concluding the agreement produced terms which favored the French more than the English. Multiple letters justify the treaty, explaining that Spain

13 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:938; Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:903.

14 Korr, New Model Foreign Policy, 168-9.

15 Timothy Venning, “Lockhart, William [created Sir William Lockhart under the Protectorate] (1621?-1625),” DNB; C.H. Firth, “Cromwell’s Instructions to Colonel Lockhart in 1656,” The English Historical Review 21, No. 84 (October 1906): 745-6.

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needed to be tied down in Flanders or its forces would be free to assist Charles Stuart’s new design to reclaim his throne.16 Lockhart’s lack of confidence aside, the final treaty signed in

March 1657 satisfied Cromwell. France and England would join forces to assault the Spaniards in Flanders. Neither country could conclude peace with Spain without involving the other.

Basic military strategy for the campaign was agreed upon in the treaty, including assurances that

England would possess Dunkirk. Analyzing why each government granted such concessions has preoccupied historians.17 Oddly absent from these evaluations is Lockhart’s promise (in the

Lord Protector’s name) to permit Catholics in any towns captured during the approaching war to retain their religion.18 This single provision illustrates Cromwell’s appreciation for nuance in the midst of anti-popish rhetoric. It also shows how allying with a catholic power paradoxically advanced the Protestant cause.

Politicians in both England and France considered the alliance an opportunity to safeguard their co-religionists who faced persecution as members of minority faith communities and to defeat Spain, their common enemy. Tolerating heresy grated seventeenth-century consciences.19 However, there was a rationale for permitting small heretical communities to exist. As one English minister explained in a Paul’s Cross sermon, those who wished that in

“Popifh Kingdomes, or State; the Proteftants and fincere Chriftians might bee allowed by one

Church and one Minifter” would need to accept in “Proteftant States and Kingdomes, that our

16 TSP, 6:115, 124. Given that Charles Stuart was reported to have 6,000 men ready to sail and arms for a further 10,000, Lockhart did not believe the French would be able to occupy the Spanish in Flanders without English aid; TSP, 6:33.

17 Firth, Last Years, 1:269-71; Korr, Cromwell and the New Model Foreign Policy, 182-4; Philip A. Knachel, England and the Fronde: The Impact of the English Civil War and Revolution on France, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press for The Folger Shakespeare Library, 1967), 256-62.

18 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:913-14.

19 Alexandra Walsham, Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500-1700, (Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2006), 2, analyzes how early modern Englishmen considered religious persecution an expression of love and charity toward one’s neighbor (by helping to save such souls from eternal damnation) and also ensured political stability.

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Aduerfaries the Papifts, might bee allowed two Churches and two Priefts . . . number for number”.20 Since the Duke of Savoy massacred Protestants in the Piedmont region in the spring of 1655, Cromwell had championed the Protestant cause in France. Letters to Cardinal Mazarin,

King Louis XIV, and the Duke of Savoy himself protested the barbarity and requested that the

Edict of Nantes be honored.21 Reciprocity was expected as part of the 1656-7 negotiations.

Bordeaux and Lockhart, both in London, conferred on December 25, 1656. Alarmed at how rapidly the climate appeared to be turning against the English Catholic community (embodied in the second reading of the Recusant Bill a few weeks prior), Bordeaux sought reassurance that at least passive toleration would prevail. The emissaries agreed that advocating for the fair treatment of their co-religionists in the other’s nation would be accepted as part of the negotiations moving forward.22 Subsequent to this meeting, Cromwell reassured the French that the English Catholic community was (relatively) well-treated.

The Lord Protector wrote a personal letter to Cardinal Mazarin the following day. In this epistle the Lord Protector expressed that he was unable to “answer to your call for Toleration”.

Blaming political circumstances for this refusal, Cromwell assured Mazarin that, while no public declaration on this point would be forthcoming, he believed “that under my Government your

Eminency, in the behalf of Catholics, has less reason for complaint as to rigour upon men’s consciences than under the Parliament.”23 Citing his record of saving men from “the raging fire of persecution, which did tyrannise over their consciences, and encroached by an arbitrariness of power upon their estates,” Cromwell promised to make “farther progress” in the matter as soon

20 Richard Sheldon, A Sermon Preached at Paules Crosse: Laying Open the Beast, and his Marks, (London: William Jones, 1625), 42-43.

21 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 3:724-8.

22 Firth, Last Years, 1:77-78.

23 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:368.

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as “some weights” and “impediments” were removed.24 Completely at odds with the speech he delivered three months earlier to the second Protectorate Parliament, Cromwell’s pledge regarding catholics has either been dismissed as a hollow promise or taken as confirmation that he reluctantly acknowledged the wisdom of unofficially tolerating the English Catholic community.25 Only W.K. Jordan, charting a smooth line toward enlightened modernity (of which religious toleration was an integral part) in thoroughly Whiggish fashion, argues that

Cromwell’s promise to Mazarin was genuine and that the Recusant Bill “was most distasteful” to the Protector’s sensibilities.26

How did the Lord Protector reconcile this promise with his reflexive rhetorical anti- popery? I argue there was nothing to reconcile: he simply extended his long-standing practice of distinguishing between catholics and papists beyond England’s borders.

A three-way comparison of how Spain, France, and England treated members of the minority religious communities living within their borders became ammunition in the negotiations. Henri IV’s celebrated Edict of Nantes theoretically protected Huguenots.

Practically, the paper could not always prevent persecution, as the case of the Piedmontese

Protestants proved. Limited legal toleration, particularly when enforced, was infinitely preferable to the state of affairs that prevailed in Spain. The “bloudy Spanifh Inquisition” was

24 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:368.

25 Firth, Last Years, 1:78; Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:370; Venning, Cromwellian Foreign Policy, 128, all take the former view. Albert J. Loomie, “Oliver Cromwell’s Policy toward the English Catholics: The Appraisal by Diplomats, 1654-1658,” The Catholic Historical Review 90, No. 1 (January 2004): 42-4, believed Cromwell’s “personal alienation” toward Catholics led him to make a promise that could be kept by releasing the estates of a few personal friends (Digby, Viscount Fairfax, Lord Thomas Brudenell) from sequestration without intending any relief for the English Catholic community at large.

26 W.K. Jordan, The Development of Religious Toleration in England From the Convention of the Long Parliament to the Restoration, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938), 3:186-93. Claire Cross, “The Church in England 1646-1660,” in The Interregnum: The Quest for Settlement, 1646-1660 ed. G.E. Aylmer, (London: Archon Books, 1972), 114-15, also believes that Cromwell’s promise was entirely sincere and that the Lord Protector “never permitted the act to be enforced” but she does not support this assertion with evidence.

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infamous in England.27 Clamor Sanguinis Martyrum, or the Bloody Inquisition of Spain appeared in the summer of 1656, just weeks before the parliamentary elections. The anonymous author described the operation of the Inquisition in exquisite detail to illustrate that Spain was “a

Nation fo full of bloody refolutions againft all Proteftants”. Even English merchants conducting honest business burned as heretics after finding themselves arrested upon flimsy pretexts.28

These travails were compared with the relative comfort of English Catholics, who paid “but a part of his Eftate, which part is of lefs value then the liberty of confcience”.29 Ambassador

Lockhart was instructed to emphasize the manner in which France “gives libertie of conscience to the professors of the protestant religion” as compared with Spain’s decision to persecute

Protestants “with losse of life and estate” to show that the Lord Protector sincerely desired an

Anglo-French alliance.30

Cromwell had known of Gallican ecclesiastical idiosyncrasies since speaking with the

Blackloists in 1647. Because French ecclesiastics operated semi-autonomously from papal influence, he felt that France and England could partner, and he shared this perspective with

MPs. In the midst of his anti-popish tirade at the parliamentary opening, Cromwell acknowledged the alliance with France. He explained, “We have not to do with any Popish State except France, and it is true that they do not think themselves under such a tie to the Pope; but

27 England and Wales [Lord Protector], A declaration of His Highnes, by the advice of his council; setting forth, on the behalf of this Commonwealth, the justice of their cause against Spain, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, Printers to His Highness, 1655), 140.

28 By a Friend to the Protestant Interest, Clamor Sanguinis Martyrum, or the Bloody Inquisition of Spain. Wherein is unfolded the Prodigous and Unparelell’d Cruelties of the Bloody-minded Spaniard, against the Protestants. Humble presented to the serious consideration of all Protestant Princes and States, (London: A.M. for Fr. Tryton at the three Daggers in Fleet street, 1656), 154-8.

29 By a Friend to the Protestant Interest, Clamor Sanguinis Martyrum, The Epistle Dedicatory, 147.

30 Firth, “Cromwell’s Instructions,” 744.

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think themselves at liberty to perform honesties with nations with whom they are agreed”.31

Spain, in contrast, was the pope’s handmaiden. Subsumed to the papal will, peace with the

Spanish king would result in Englishmen being “subjected to the determination of Rome and

[the] Pope himself”.32 After all, “the bloody, barbarous, and unparallel’d Inquifition” under which faithful Protestants suffered daily was the pope’s creation.33 Essentially, Cromwell’s pattern of differentiating between catholics and papists easily extended to other European nations and allowed him to rationalize peace with France amidst his religiously-tinged war with Spain.

Another favored technique – creatively-yet-literally interpreting the law – allowed Cromwell to plausibly deny his involvement in the regime’s anti-popish policies.

Two Protectorally-sanctioned measures stand out as prejudicial to the English Catholic community. During the initial negotiations in 1655, Cromwell issued his proclamation “putting in execution the Laws, Statutes and Ordinances against Jesuits and Priests, and for the speedy

Conviction of Popish Recusants” in the wake of Penruddock’s Rising. Shortly after the second round of talks yielded the offensive alliance in spring 1657, Cromwell approved the second

Protectorate Parliament’s Recusant Bill. Both measures involved the Oath of Abjuration and either could have derailed the Anglo-French alliance. But Cromwell scrupulously arranged his affairs to ensure he retained plausible deniability in both cases.

Councillors, not the Lord Protector, drafted the April 26, 1655 proclamation. Colonel

Montague reported from the Committee for the Treasury on April 20 that “the draught of a proclamac[i]on for putting in execuc[i]on the Lawes against Popish Preists Jesuits &c” was ready. Pleased with the committee’s work, the Council ordered a second reading four days

31 Burton, Diary, 1:cliii.

32 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:263.

33 By a Friend to the Protestant Interest, Clamor Sanguinis Martyrum, The Summary.

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hence.34 On the morning of April 24 the proclamation was “read the fecond tyme”. Upon “the

Question whether the fame should be Comted it passed in the Negative.” Subsequently it was agreed to offer the proclamation “to his Highness the Lord Protector as the advice of ye

Councell” and request that he publish it “according to the forme this day read and agreed”.35 The

Lord Protector was not present as the proclamation sped through the approval process. Minutes of Council meetings indicate that Cromwell attended the sessions before and after the one at which the decision was taken: he was present on April 23 and on the afternoon of April 24, but not on the morning of April 24.36 This is not necessarily a sign of anything nefarious; Cromwell was present at roughly one out of three meetings in April 1655, though nearly all of the seven meetings he attended that month fell during the week of April 23.37 Clearly the Lord Protector did not object to the content of the proclamation; it was published just two days later, less than a week after the introduction of the draft. Yet these conveniently timed absences fit with

Cromwell’s preference of upholding, rather than making, controversial decisions.38

Enforcing penal statutes against priests and recusants was hardly a difficult or significant decision, nor was it likely to cause controversy among the English population. Skipping these specific Council meetings allowed Cromwell to claim he only acted as advised by the Council, as he was constitutionally bound to do. Many of the Lord Protector’s powers were, according to the

Instrument of Government, only to be exercised “with the advice of the major part of the

34 TNA SP 25/76 f.39.

35 TNA SP 25/76 f.44.

36 TNA SP 25/76 f.42, f.45. Both include marginal the notation “His Highnes prsent”.

37 Peter Gareth Irvine Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate, from December 1653 to September 1658,” (PhD diss., University of Exeter, 1983), 298, 305.

38 David Underdown, Pride’s Purge: Politics in the Puritan Revolution, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 148-50, details the best known example: his curiously laggard journey to London as Pride’s Purge occurred. Cromwell’s insistence that he accepted his new position in the constitutional government but took no part in crafting the Instrument of Government is another.

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Council”. Nowhere was this phrase defined. Arguments could be made for either a minimalist or a maximalist interpretation of the clause.39 Taking no part in the deliberations and deploying a maximalist reading of the clause would allow Cromwell to plausibly contend that, while the proclamation bore his name as chief magistrate, he disagreed with the contents and was legally obligated to enact the Council’s recommendation.

Parallel logic applied to the 1657 Recusant Bill. Unambiguous when it came to separating executive and legislative functions, the Instrument of Government bequeathed sole legislative power to parliament. The Lord Protector had twenty days after receiving parliamentary bills to either “give his consent thereto . . . or give satisfaction to the

Parliament”.40 The language implied that an explanation was required when the Protector exercised his right to reject bills. No logic could support a veto of the Recusant Bill. Political considerations aside, both the Instrument of Government and the Humble Petition and Advice outlawed Catholicism. All the Recusant Bill did was reiterate one of the fundamental principles of the post-Reformation English religio-political settlement. Cromwell could plausibly argue that he would limit enforcement of the Recusant Bill but could not prevent its passage.

Why would Cromwell bother with such subterfuge if he truly did not object to liberty of conscience for the English Catholic community? First, between Nayler’s trial, the Humble

Petition and Advice, and the Recusant Bill, the second Protectorate Parliament clearly indicated that most Englishmen desired a return of the traditional, more conservative, religious settlement.

39 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 412. George D. Heath III, “Making the Instrument of Government,” Journal of British Studies 6, No. 2 (May 1967): 22-24, takes the maximalist position that the Lord Protector was virtually powerless without the Council. Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 49-52, shows that (probably due to errors and oversights in the drafting process) only some of the Protector’s actions needed conciliar approval and, even in those cases, the Instrument failed to define what conciliar approval meant. The constitution mandated a minimum of fifteen Councillors, meaning that seven Councillors constituted a quorum; therefore at a minimally quorate meeting, the Protector would only need four votes in order to pass a measure “with advice of the Council”.

40 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 413.

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He could not ignore this sentiment given his empty Exchequer. This was certainly the Venetian emissary’s take on the situation: Giavarina believed that if Cromwell were to veto the Recusant

Bill, parliament would reduce the amount of the assessment in correspondence with the amount that might have been raised from recusants.41 Second, without the Recusant Bill, Cromwell could only fulfill his promise to Mazarin with full legal toleration of Catholicism. Approving the bill positioned Cromwell to fulfill his promise to Mazarin with less flagrant concessions.

The Lord Protector carefully constructed his alliance with France to serve his overriding concern: retaining authority. Reciprocal toleration of minority religious populations was a sine qua non for both nations. Decades of precedent and the Edict of Nantes made this an easy concession for Mazarin. A century of anti-popery rendered this unthinkable for Cromwell.

Constrained by domestic politics, the Lord Protector devised a creative intellectual and legal framework to balance his competing interests at home and abroad. Cromwell vowed “to make a farther progress” in liberating the English Catholic community from “the raging fire of persecution”, satisfying the French. Practiced in interpreting the law to suit his purposes, he could thus simultaneously uphold his constitutional obligations to promote the true Protestant religion, provide Mazarin with evidence of his leniency to catholics, and reduce the single greatest threat to his rule: royalists, flush with Spanish gold.

Cavaliers and Spaniards Shake Hands

“The Papists in England they have been accounted, ever since I was born, Spaniolised . . .

Can we think that Papists and Cavaliers shake not hands in England?”42 Cromwell’s intimation

41 CSPV, 31:69. Loomie, “Oliver Cromwell’s Policy,” 38-40, portrays Cromwell as duplicitous in assenting to the bill while dealing with Catholic diplomats but essentially agrees that Cromwell needed the goodwill of parliament and couldn’t lose the funds that fines upon Catholics brought.

42 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:264.

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that the Stuarts and Spaniards had joined forces to oppose the Protectorate was designed to elicit a swift vote of supply for the war. But in divulging details of the devilish Stuart-Spanish union,

Cromwell was neither conjecturing nor allowing his paranoid imagination to conjure threats out of thin air. Spain was indeed supporting the exiled king. England’s enemies had united and were plotting to topple the Protectorate in favor of a restored Stuart monarch. Lurking on the fringes of this conspiracy was the pope himself. These developments vindicated Cromwell’s decision to launch the Western Design. As this section will show, the triumvirate of Spain, pope, and Stuarts also validated the Protector’s practice of using “papist” as shorthand for all who opposed his regime.

Englishmen who professed allegiance to external authorities had been monarchs’ greatest threat since 1558. Post-regicide, English governors retained this fear, though Charles Stuart replaced the pope as the menacing external sovereign. Originally Charles I’s close ties with

Catholicism made “popish” a natural epithet to apply to the king and his adherents. It did not reflect royalists’ actual religious profession but tarred them with a century of accreted negative associations. Connotations of treachery and unwarranted disloyalty could be lobbied with a single term and, as I have shown, Cromwell used this to great effect. Confirmation of the

Spanish-Stuart alliance arrived at precisely the right moment to reinforce the Lord Protector’s tenuous earlier claims.

Agents working on behalf of the Stuarts labored for years to solicit support from the King of Spain. Escalating tensions between Cromwell and the Spanish inspired optimism amongst the exiles.43 Cromwell’s attacks upon Spanish possessions in the West Indies rendered the Spanish emissaries in both the United Provinces and England “very much disaffected to Cromwell” and

43 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 3:67, 85, 116-17. Merchants arrested in Spain and trade embargoes were viewed as particularly promising signs that the conflict between England and Spain would persist.

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increased the odds of a Spanish-Stuart alliance.44 Supporting the exiled king’s attempt to reclaim his throne was a win-win proposition for Spain. Whether Charles Stuart succeeded or failed, the

Protector would be distracted and divert troops to counter the new threat, likely halting assaults on Spanish colonies. Appearing to support a restoration attempt would, for a time, serve the same purpose.

By January 1656, mere months after the Stuart network began seeking an alliance with

Spain in earnest, the Protectorate adopted a defensive posture. Secretary Thurloe warned Henry

Cromwell, Major-General of the forces in Ireland, that the commonwealth’s enemies were

“layeinge the foundation” for an invasion that might target Ireland; the deputy there needed to be on guard.45 Not only were most Irishmen staunch papists, many of them had sided with the

Stuarts in the Civil War. This combination of religious and political allegiances made Ireland a strategic target for Charles Stuart: he would certainly recruit followers to his cause and could easily launch a large invasion force across the Irish Sea.46 The Lord Protector, intimately familiar with the ferocity of an Irish rebellion, also warned his son to guard against the possibility. An August 26 letter reported that the Spanish and Stuarts were “forming designs to invade Ireland” and had “very great correspondence with some of the chief men” there. A separate letter to the Irish Council of the same day added that Charles Stuart “receive[d] very great encouragement” from that quarter.47 Irish priests visited Charles Stuart, lending additional

44 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 3:109.

45 TSP, 4:374.

46 After the outbreak of the Irish Rebellion in 1641 and the appearance of refugees from the conflict in England (which coincided with a desperate Charles I’s decision to allow Catholics to serve in his army), there was widespread belief that the Stuarts would take over England with a bloodthirsty army of Irish Catholics; see Andrew Hopper, “‘The Popish Army of the North’: Anti-Catholicism and Parliamentarian Allegiance in Civil War Yorkshire, 1642-46,” Recusant History 25 No. 1 (May 2000): 14-15.

47 Abbott, Writings and Speeches, 4:238.

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credence to this view.48 Warnings also arrived from the Caribbean, where many Irishmen had been transported after Oliver Cromwell crushed their rebellion. An informant cautioned Thurloe that Irish priests in the Caribbean were persuading “their countrymen to Spain, and the Spanish plantations”, strengthening the enemy at England’s expense.49 Irish involvement with the incipient Stuart-Spanish alliance injected immediacy to the threat. Because of the prolonged rebellion, the Irish node in the conspiracy added layers of treachery. It also, given Cromwell’s dual political and religious antipathy toward the Irish, rendered Charles Stuart’s campaign undeniably papist.

All this occurred before Thurloe even received confirmation “that there is yet any clofure between the kinge of Spayne and C. St.”50 Evidence suggesting that a Stuart-Spanish alliance was merely a matter of time and emphasizing the central role of popery in any agreement continued to pour into Thurloe’s office. For a time in late 1655 the English exiles utilized Jesuit mail carriers, which fit with reports that Jesuits promised “to fuccor him”.51 Members of Charles

Stuart’s entourage recognized that a formal alliance with Spain would require “a right understanding at Rome” for “the Pope is absolute commaunder of the Kinge of Spaines resolucions”.52 To this end, suggestions that the king would welcome English Catholics into his forces – possibly in exchange for reduced persecution once he was safely restored – were included in the plans. A papal nuncio visited Paris in spring 1657 urging Cardinal Mazarin to make peace with Spain and launch a crusade against English heretics. The prospect that the

48 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 3:243.

49 TSP, 5:580; Patrick J. Corish, “The Cromwellian Regime, 1650-60,” in A New History of Ireland: Early Modern Ireland, 1534-1691 ed. T.W. Moody, F.X. Martin, and F.J. Byrne, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 362-4.

50 TSP, 4:374.

51 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 3:235; TSP, 5:447.

52 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 3:64, 136.

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“fcales would turn againft [England] and all other proteftants” frightened the Protectorate. A year earlier, royalists believed that Cromwell had dispatched Sir Kenelm Digby to France to

“hinder any agreemt between Span: & ffra:” on Cromwell’s behalf; the nuncio’s arrival spurred

Lockhart to formalize the Anglo-French offensive alliance, pushing Spain and Charles Stuart closer together.53 Peripheral papal involvement made the application of “popish” perfectly apt.

Opinion split as to whether the exiled king’s next invasion attempt would be financed by the pope, funneling his funds through Spain to mask direct involvement, or whether Charles Stuart desired a straightforward alliance with Spain and papal approbation was merely an aspect of this.54 Either way, by mid-1656 the Protectorate was convinced that the two external authorities with a chance of dissuading Englishmen from their due allegiance to the government were allied.

In fact, representatives of Charles Stuart and the King of Spain concluded an agreement in the spring of 1656. At a summit in Flanders, the Spanish promised foot soldiers, cavalry, and munitions to support Charles’s invasion once he had perfected all other preparations and was ready to cross the Channel. Secretly, Charles also swore “to suspend all penal laws against the

Roman Catholics and endeavour to procure their total revocation; to grant the Roman Catholics full liberty in the free exercise of their religion”.55 Venning argues the official alliance posed no immediate threat due to the preconditions placed on Spanish military support, and that Thurloe did not actively worry.56 The Lord Protector was not so sanguine.

On the eve of the second Protectorate Parliament Cromwell wrote to his son Henry that

“daily intelligence” provided a picture of how “the old malignant party by confederacy with

53 TSP, 6:22; TNA SP 18/125 f.10.

54 TSP, 5:84; 299.

55 Cal. Clar. SP, 3:110-1.

56 Timothy Michael Hamilton Venning, “Aspects of Cromwell’s Foreign Policy, 1653-8,” (PhD diss., King’s College London, 1992), 250-1.

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Spain are forming a design to invade this Commonwealth with foreign forces, and at the same time to raise up a rebellion within our own bowels”.57 This description of the manner in which the threats intertwined perfectly encapsulates Cromwell’s definition of popery. It was the “old malignant party”, the royalists, who had formed a confederacy with Spain. The dreaded fifth column within the commonwealth would rise to join Charles Stuart’s foreign armies. This description distanced the former Prince of Wales from his native land and emphasized the alien nature of his claim to sovereignty. Royalists, in Cromwell’s mind, were not holding on to a conflict between brothers but disregarding the legitimate government in favor of an external authority. No mention is made of how the Lord Protector antagonized Spain with the Western

Design, nor that he was the first to declare war. (The Spanish ambassador, Alonso de Cárdenas, did not abandon his post until well after news of the Western Design reached Europe and

Cromwell’s bellicose intentions were clear.58)

Anticipating financial assistance from Spain, Charles Stuart recruited men. Volunteers would join the Spanish army already harassing French forces in Flanders. By August 1656, a motley assortment of royalist troops were trickling into Spanish camps.59 Though there were no imminent plans to invade England, Mercurius Politicus reported that only money for the passage across the Channel was lacking.60 Supposedly as soon as “the King of Spain’s Plate-fleet” safely

57 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:238.

58 CSPD 1655, 599-600; Gardiner, C&P, 4:171. Though Cardenas received his passport on October 17, he objected to some unusual conditions in the pass and did not depart until October 27, the day after Cromwell printed his official declaration of war.

59 TSP, 5:320, 362-3; Cal. Clar. SP, 3:162-3. The troops included English royalists, Irish soldiers who had become mercenaries for France or Spain after surrendering to Cromwell but now joined the cause, loyal Scots, and even some specifically recruited Germans; TSP, 5:320.

60 Mercurius Politicus 338 (November 27-December 4, 1656), 7407-7408. It also noted that the lack of money for passage might be causing hunger amongst the troops.

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crossed the Atlantic the troops would sail.61 Thurloe received regular reports that “a ftrainge and firme league ’twixt the king of Scots, and king of Spain” existed.62 Cromwell was sufficiently concerned with this development to alert militia officers. In February 1657 he circulated a letter explaining that “there is a Designe by the Cavalier and Popish partie verie shortlie to make a new

Insurrection in severall places of this Commonwealth,” specifically that “the late Kings sonne in coniunction with the Spanyard intends to invade this Com[m]onwealth with an Army from

Flannders” and consequently the nation needed to adopt a defensive posture.63 Funds from Spain were slow to arrive, however. A small subsidy reached Charles in May 1657, but this was a token, insufficient to fund the invasion. Frequently promises produced no money at all.64

Gentlemen loyal to Charles Stuart visited courts across Germany requesting support for their cause or even a pension for their master; the 25,000 crown monthly allowance promised by

Spain came “scantily”.65 Funds never arrived in sufficient quantities to support an invasion, though the exiles refused to abandon hope. Instead, Stuart loyalists joined Spanish forces as they battled combined French and English troops for control of Dunkirk and other port cities.

Charles Stuart’s invasion plan essentially animated Cromwell’s vision of Spaniolized popish English rebels. Mercurius Politicus reported with questionable veracity that popish chaplains were embedded in all of Charles Stuart’s regiments.66 Meanwhile, the exiled king himself wearied of what he perceived to be smears upon his “affection to the Protestant

61 Mercurius Politicus 350 (February 19-26, 1657), 7624. If this had truly been the plan, a serious delay would have occurred for Admiral Blake intercepted the plate fleet at Tenerife in April. Though the Spanish soldiers managed to unload and bury the treasure before their galleons were sunk, the treasure was inaccessible; CSPV, 31:63-64.

62 TSP, 5:580.

63 TNA SP 18/153 f. 256.

64 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 4:4, 10, 12-13.

65 CSPV, 31:32.

66 Mercurius Politicus 345 (January 15-22, 1657), 7524.

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Religion”. He took care, even while living in “places where the contrary Religion is only practised and allowed” to maintain his Protestant faith.67 Charles’s annoyance with the sustained accusations of popery proves my point about Cromwell’s use of the term. For Charles Stuart was right: his Protestantism was rarely questioned. His younger brothers, raised by their

Catholic mother, were frequently rumored to have converted. But such scurrilous reports specifically named the Duke of York or the Duke of Gloucester; the eldest son of the late king was not implicated.68 Accusations of popery nonetheless stuck, though a bewildered Charles wondered why they “should find credit with any”, indicating that the term implied more than religious affiliation.

Hyperbolic statements about England’s enemies uniting against the godly commonwealth, designed to elicit swift supply for the war, were based on limited, unconfirmed reports. In fact, Cromwell’s projections all proved true. United with catholic France, Cromwell spent the last months of his rule fighting combined Stuart-Spanish forces on the continent. He defended the Protestant commonwealth against a popish foe even as the chief architect of the menace proclaimed his Protestantism. This convoluted state of affairs placed the English

Catholic community at the center of a religio-political tug-of-war. The effect of this competition upon English Catholics is the subject of the next section.

The Effect of the Recusant Bill

Swift and severe enforcement of the new Recusant Bill would have been a logical response to Charles Stuart’s provocations, Cromwell’s promise to Mazarin notwithstanding.

67 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 4:71.

68 In fact, Charles Stuart was rumored to have actively intervened to prevent the Duke of Gloucester from converting to Catholicism; see TSP, 3:44, 69.

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Troops loyal to Charles Stuart massed in Flanders, awaiting the order to invade England. As far as the Protectorate knew, Spanish gold funded their arms and provisions, and their souls received care from popish priests. The Lord Protector himself proclaimed that English papists were

“Spaniolised”. Legally, the second Protectorate Parliament’s Recusant Bill eliminated the distinction between catholics and papists by selecting the Oath of Abjuration as the test of recusancy. Pretext for targeting the English Catholic community abounded. Evidence, however, shows that this did not occur. Why did the regime maintain the status quo at this moment of heightened tensions?

Multiple factors converged to make discretion the better part of valor when it came to prosecuting the English Catholic community. First, given popular conceptions about the duplicitous nature of papists, members of the regime may have believed that they would falsely swear the Oath of Abjuration to escape the increased financial penalties. Second, English law no longer differentiated between loyal and disloyal English Catholics, but Cromwell and his

Council continued to recognize a significant distinction between catholics and papists. Finally, the alliance with France would not permit Cromwell to blatantly disregard his promise to

Mazarin. I argue in this section that these considerations combined to protect the English

Catholic community from all prosecutions except a fresh assault on their pocketbook. Ironically, the geopolitical realities of 1657-58 – an Anglo-French alliance battling a Spanish-Stuart coalition – rendered the stability of the English Catholic community a vital strategic consideration.

Casuistry, as we saw in Chapter 2, was considered endemic amongst papists. Members of the second Protectorate Parliament believed that this execrable practice would be employed by popish recusants to escape the penalties of the new Recusant Bill. During the spring debates on

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the draft bill, Mr. Godfrey objected to employing the Oath of Abjuration as the test of recusancy.

He believed this would “rather take monies, than yield you any,” for the oath would “but leave a door for them to creep out at.”69 Colonel Briscoe felt certain only “the most conscientious”

Catholics would hesitate to swear the Oath of Abjuration; to all others it would be as “drinking another glass of sack” and the result would be a loss of revenue.70 Months later, when the regime implemented the new law as a fundraising scheme, Godfrey’s fears proved to be unfounded. Reports (probably second- or third-hand) reached the Vatican that the English

Catholic community remained resolute in the face of this new assault. The faithful refused to swear the Oath of Abjuration, even knowing the penalties the decision entailed, “saying that they would rather commit their souls to God than their purses and effects to the Protector.”71 Coins ringing in the state’s empty coffers as a result of the new Recusant Bill provided substantial incentive for the regime to adopt a laissez-faire approach to the English Catholic community in all other respects.

Deliberate ignorance of the clerical presence best illustrates the chief magistrate’s policy.

Death remained the sole fate for convicted priests but not a single one of them was executed during this period; Southworth was the sole cleric martyred by the Protectorate. Even arrests of priests were virtually non-existent in the last months of the Protectorate. The only exception to this policy of non-intervention occurred in December 1657, when eight priests were “removed

69 Burton, Diary, 2:140.

70 Burton, Diary, 2:151-2.

71 CSPV 31:160. Terence Stephen Smith, “The Persecution of Staffordshire Roman Catholic Recusants: 1625- 1660,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 30, No. 3 (July 1979): 343-4, taking Staffordshire as a case study, has argued that local governments zealously identified recusants by summoning them to swear (or refuse) the Oath of Abjuration, but that only modest increases to existing composition rates resulted, not the seizure of two-thirds of estates as required by law. Alexandra Kate Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue, 1640-1662: Factionalism, Perceptions and Exploitation,” (PhD diss., University of London, 2010), 159-60, shows that the presentments for recusancy generally increased following the passage of the Recusant Bill, though there was significant variation across counties.

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from the houses of leading Catholic gentlemen”. Giavarina, the Venetian Resident, attributed the uncharacteristic crackdown to political opportunism. The apprehensions took place mere weeks before the second Protectorate Parliament was scheduled to reconvene for its second session;

Giavarina thought the arrests were intended “to show that something is being done” for prior to that point nothing had been accomplished “in execution of the act against the Catholics”.72

Publicity surrounding the clerical round-up supported the Venetian’s interpretation. Mercurius

Politicus published the names and brief biographical details of the incarcerated priests.73 At that moment, English and French commanders were at odds over the prosecution of the military campaign in Flanders.74 Evidence that Cromwell’s lackeys were persecuting English Catholics, violating the agreement upon which the alliance was based, would not have helped the Lord

Protector’s case. Only a more pressing political consideration – such as ensuring that MPs were amenable to the Lord Protector’s program when the second Protectorate Parliament reconvened in January – could have overcome Cromwell’s commitment to the cardinal.

Evidence of what happened to these priests after their capture is scant. Supposedly arrested “by order of the Council,” I can find no evidence that the Council issued such a command.75 Nor is there mention of the “rich crosses and jewells” supposedly seized with the priests in the Council Order Book, let alone of Councillors throwing an impromptu fancy dress

72 CSPV, 31:144.

73 Mercurius Politicus 395 (December 17-24, 1657), 192.

74 Delays in troop deployments meant that the Anglo-French army missed most of the 1657 campaigning season; TSP, 3:563. With the limited time and supplies available, the French strategists determined that protecting the fort of Mardyke was the best and most urgent use of resources, but Cromwell had his sights set on taking Dunkirk. Ambassador Lockhart made several lightning trips across the Channel to keep relations smooth and ensure that the alliance did not fracture over the defense of Mardyke; CSPV, 31:124; TSP, 6:578-9. Tensions on this point remained high because the Treaty of Paris arranging the alliance had been a limited-term agreement (it would expire automatically in March 1658) and Cromwell was determined not to renew the pact unless Dunkirk was explicitly agreed as the target of the new offensive.

75 Mercurius Politicus 393 (December 3-10, 1657), 152.

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party with clerical vestments.76 Percy Church, a trusted royalist informant, wrote to Charles

Stuart’s Secretary of State, Sir Edward Nicholas, on December 18 that some of the priests had been transferred from St. James to Windsor Castle.77 Warrants transferring custody or arranging transportation of the prisoners are not extant, either. It is possible that the eight men were not priests but scapegoats who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

One of the alleged priests, identified by Mercurius Politicus as Andrew Knightley, “a Prieft, who profeffed Surgery”, suggests that this may have been the case. A few months before the arrests

Secretary of State Nicholas named Mr. Knight as the surgeon attached to Charles Stuart’s household.78 Similar names and professions, of course, do not guarantee that Knightley the alleged priest was Knight, Charles Stuart’s surgeon. Arresting members of the pretender’s entourage is more logical than a sudden interest in persecuting priests, however.

Lack of corroboration aside, it seems that at least one of the arrestees was a priest. Mr.

De la Croy lodged in Giavarina’s residence; Mercurius Politicus listed him as going “under the notion of the Venetian Refidents Interpreter”. He was snatched while visiting Countess Rivers.79

Even if Mercurius Politicus deliberately misidentified the man’s vocation, it seems unlikely that

Giavarina would be mistaken regarding the capture of some one in his entourage. Diplomats regularly saw their clerical attaches apprehended and knew to intervene on the priest’s behalf.

No record of Giavarina’s application to Thurloe exists in the state’s papers, though he records that “they” (possibly the Council, though he only names “the secretary of state”) put him off with

76 Clarke Papers, 3:129; Firth, Last Years, 1:79.

77 CSPD 1657-1658, 232. The Venetian resident received the same information on the same date; CSPV, 31:147.

78 Mercurius Politicus 395 (December 17-24, 1657), 192; CSPD 1657-1658, 201.

79 CSPV 31:144; Mercurius Politicus 395 (December 17-24, 1657), 192.

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a reminder that “English, Irish and Scotish priests [were] considered traitors by the law of the land.”80

Regardless of whether the regime ordered pursuivants to capture priests or merely seized a fortuitous opportunity, the Council’s response to Giavarina reveals that there was no confusion about priests’ legal status. This may have been a convenient excuse offered as a gentle rebuff of a diplomat’s request. But describing priests as “traitors by the law” highlights the infrequency of clerical arrests. If these eight arrests did occur, they were the only attempt to prosecute an entire class of traitors.81 Priests quietly ministering to a community that consistently paid its fines, even if they were papists, constituted a relatively minor threat in comparison with the active menace across the Channel.

Restraint with regard to the English Catholic community (including priests) also allowed

Cromwell to keep his word to Mazarin. The Lord Protector explicitly promised the cardinal that the community experienced minimal rigor upon their consciences under his government and he would labor to maintain this state of affairs. Within months Mazarin indicated that he expected the Lord Protector to uphold his vow. The French ambassador had multiple audiences with

Cromwell in the days before the second Protectorate Parliament passed the Recusant Bill, urging the Protector to either halt the bill in its tracks or, failing that, exercise his veto. Apparently the conversations grew so heated that Cromwell asked Bordeaux “not to meddle in the procedure of parliament touching his subjects”. The most the Lord Protector was willing to promise was that

“he would do all in his power to prevent the act or at least the execution of its most severe

80 CSPV, 31:144.

81 TNA SP 25/114 f. 128. In July 1658, one John Tirwhitt was arrested on suspicion of being a Romish priest, but this is the only other such arrest before Cromwell’s death in September 1658.

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articles”.82 Of course, reports suggested that the regime fully implemented the financial aspects of the Recusant Bill, apparently violating the Lord Protector’s vow.

Once more, a literal interpretation of his obligations exonerated Cromwell. By treating the English Catholic community as a revenue source, Cromwell upheld both the letter of his promise to Cardinal Mazarin and the letter of the new law. As I showed in Chapter 7, the

Recusant Bill did not impose any restrictions upon Catholics’ consciences. Heavy financial penalties awaited any Englishman or woman unwilling to abjure the central tenets of Roman

Catholicism, but they were not required to conform to the national religion or attend worship services that offended their sensibilities. Criminal penalties – a £100 fine and six months imprisonment – were only attached to attending mass at ambassadors’ houses.83 (However, the

Venetian ambassador felt secure enough to decorate his chapel and prepare to receive at least some English Catholics for Easter 1658.84) Secret masses in other locations were not prohibited, though priests were outlawed and 27 Eliz. c.2 made harboring traitors a felony. Priests were not mentioned at all in the 1657 Recusant Bill.

Even the proclamation issued in February 1658 banning Catholics from the vicinity of the capital did not technically violate the promise. The proclamation repeated periodic orders issued by Interregnum rulers, requiring all “perfons born within this Commonwealth, being a Papift or

Popifh Recufant” as well as all “who hath, or have at any time born Arms againft this

Commonwealth, or adhered to, or willingly affifted the Enemies thereof in the late War,” to

82 CSPV, 31:72.

83 A&O, 2:1180.

84 CSPV, 31:186-7.

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return to their country homes and remain within five miles thereof.85 Not only did the proclamation avoid any religious restrictions, it was again drafted by the Council rather than the

Lord Protector; Cromwell was not present at the meetings where the proclamation was discussed.86 Confining potentially dangerous malefactors to their neighborhoods was the extent of the Council’s security measures in 1658. Though Giavarina recorded a rumor that Councillors contemplated “getting rid of the royalists and Catholics still left in the kingdom, by any means”, including allowing soldiers “to slay all those [Catholics] they meet wherever they find them”, there is no evidence of this among the government’s papers.87 Such a policy would have violently violated Cromwell’s promise and dangerously destabilized the regime. Reverence for the law, the Protectorate’s sole source of authority, precluded any such course of action.

Victory against the Spanish-Stuart forces in Flanders created an opportunity for the

Protector to demonstrate his commitment to preserving Catholics’ consciences. Dunkirk capitulated on June 14, 1658 after a month-long siege and the Battle of the Dunes, in which both sides suffered heavy casualties but the Spanish-Stuart forces were indisputably routed.

According to the terms of the Anglo-French alliance, Dunkirk would be under English control.88

Political custody was not, in this case, accompanied by the imposition of religious uniformity.

Stuart adherents hoped that the Lord Protector would attempt to ban Catholics from the recently captured town (those “whome he knew vpon the cause of religion would be perpetuall enemyes

85 England and Wales (Lord Protector), By the Protector. A Proclamation Commanding all Papists, and all other persons, who have been of the late Kings party or his Sons, to repair unto their places of abode, and not to remove above five miles from the same, (London: Henry Hills and John Field, 1657 [1658]), n.p.

86 TNA SP 25/78 ff. 461-462; Gaunt, “The Councils of the Protectorate,” 304.

87 CSPV, 31:185.

88 S.A. Swaine, “The English Acquisition and Loss of Dunkirk,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 1 (New Series), (1883-1884): 94-96; Firth, Last Years, 2:192-201.

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to him”), which would give the French a pretext for refusing to relinquish control.89

Disappointing this expectation, Ambassador Lockhart promised on the Lord Protector’s behalf to

“sacredly and inviolably” preserve “the Catholick Religion with all its Appendages”, demonstrating his sincerity by declining to interfere in Dunkirkers’ religious observance. Priests were explicitly included in this promise.90 Tompkins cited this promise and several similar instances of leniency to foreign Catholic clerics as evidence that Cromwell sought the least disruptive means of upholding his promise to Mazarin without angering his domestic constituents.91 I agree with her in the facts but believe the matter signified more. Specifically, I contend that it indicates the Protectorate government understood how integral priests were to the practice of Catholicism, reinforcing the abatement of clerical arrests in England.

Quiescent catholics would retain their faith and pay through the nose to do so. Fines imposed on the English Catholic community were desperately needed to repel Charles Stuart’s

Spanish-funded army. English catholics who were confident that their faith carried only financial repercussions would be less likely to turn papist should Charles Stuart succeed in transporting this army across the Channel. Catholicism, of course, depended upon ordained priests to perform its central rites. Ordained clergymen were, according to the law, papists. Yet the regime left the hundreds of priests laboring throughout the country in peace.92 Turning a blind eye as priests fulfilled their vocation not only pacified the English Catholic community in order to maintain the revenue stream, it also constituted a show of good faith for Mazarin.

89 Warner, Nicholas Papers, 4:45.

90 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:922-3.

91 Tompkins, “The English Catholic Issue,” 160-1.

92 Bossy, ECC, 419, estimates that there were 171 Jesuits in England as of 1641; accounting for seculars and members of other religious orders, the total number of Catholic priests in England numbered in the hundreds.

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Conclusion

Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell was a devout man. Religion frequently animated his resolutions, as was the case for many seventeenth-century Englishmen. As chief magistrate of a nation with imperial aspirations, the role of faith in his decisions was far more consequential than that of an average English artisan.93 Cromwell eagerly grasped every opportunity to expound upon the role religion played in his policies. Public pronouncements packed with anti-popery and divine providence contribute to the tenacious perception that faith was the primary driver of his decisions, and even more acutely so in the realm of foreign policy. Religion and reason were not mutually exclusive, however.

Protectorate diplomacy was logically organized. Concern for the European Protestant cause figured substantially in foreign policy deliberations but security outweighed all other priorities, even advancing true religion. Pronouncements of foreign policy concealed this by emphasizing how enmities and alliances mapped onto existing religious schema. Rather than selecting friends and foes based on national religion, the ruling cabal, and especially Cromwell, analyzed how to bolster their authority and ensure the allegiance of Englishmen. Rhetorical presentations masked the regime’s nervousness regarding its position and the concessions made to achieve these aims.

Popery constituted arguably the greatest existential threat to the Protectorate.

Consequently this menace featured prominently in propaganda. But it was the new, areligious, definition of popery Cromwell deployed. Spain’s adherence to Rome and support of Charles

Stuart elide the distinction between religious and political popery. Actual papists – Catholics

93 See, for example, Nehemiah Wallington, a London turner, prolific diarist, and exact contemporary of Cromwell’s who viewed his writing as a mental exercise as well as a means of “glorify[ing] God by self-examination and judgment of myself . . . so also in examining myself I see much of God”; Paul S. Seaver, Wallington’s World: A Puritan Artisan in Seventeenth-Century London, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985), 6.

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who recognized both the spiritual and temporal facets of papal authority – joined with political papists – Englishmen who rejected the sovereign’s authority on the basis of allegiance to an alternate sovereign – to oppose the Protectorate. Distinguishing between the two varieties of popery is difficult without recognizing that Cromwell’s promise to Mazarin regarding the

English Catholic community was sincere and, further, that he upheld his word. Papists posed a clear and present danger to the Protectorate. Catholics enjoyed reduced “rigour upon [their] consciences”.

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EPILOGUE

THE END OF THE PROTECTORATE AND THE RESTORATION

September 3, that most auspicious day for the providentially-minded Lord Protector, was a turning point for English history once again in 1658. On the anniversary of his great military victories at Dunbar and Worcester as well as the opening of his first parliament, Lord Protector

Oliver Cromwell passed away. His death was not unexpected: ill-health had plagued him for years, and his vigor steadily declined throughout 1658. Aware that an undisputed transfer of power was the first defense against anarchy or rebellion, Cromwell’s intimates pressed the Lord

Protector to fulfill his constitutional duty and select his successor. Hours before his death,

Cromwell decided his eldest surviving son Richard would be England’s second Lord Protector.1

Primogeniture and the constitution facilitated a smooth transfer of power, averting immediate crisis, but did not ensure the long-term stability of the regime. Within months it became apparent that the relative stability which had prevailed between 1653 and 1658 was due, in large part, to the force of the elder Cromwell’s personality and the respect accorded him by the Army.

Without the Lord General overseeing the religio-political system, the delicate settlement disintegrated.

The dissolution of the Protectorate was a lengthy and chaotic process. Rumors that

Richard might accept the crown coupled with reports that the third Protectorate Parliament which assembled in January 1659 intended to tighten religious restrictions spurred the Army, long

1 Firth, Last Years, 2:296-305. Apparently Cromwell had recorded and sealed his choice of successor on the eve of his second installation to the post of chief magistrate in June 1657, but the paper could not be found in August 1658, leading to the deathbed pressure.

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displeased with the gradual smothering of revolutionary fervor, to act.2 A coup d’état in April

1659 returned the Rump Parliament and effectively removed Richard from his post. Months of division punctuated with small-scale rebellions resulted in the forcible expulsion of the Rump and fresh elections. The Convention Parliament, whose Members and Lords took their seats at the end of April 1660, was strongly royalist.3 Both Houses agreed on May 1, 1660 that,

“according to the ancient and fundamental Laws of this Kingdom, the Government is, and ought to be, by King, Lords, and Commons.”4 Monarchy was restored and King Charles II ruled in fact before the end of May.

The restored king assumed all of his late father’s temporal and ecclesiastical authority.

Church and state were reunited. Prior to crossing the Channel, Charles indicated his intention to alter the monarchical religio-political settlement in one significant particular: he would respect liberty of conscience. In the Declaration of Breda, which eliminated any misgivings the

Convention Parliament had about restoring him, Charles II promised “liberty to tender consciences”, so long as worship did not disturb the public peace.5 This promise was conditioned upon parliamentary confirmation. Anti-revolutionary fervor dominated the Cavalier

Parliament, the first official assembly of the estates of the realm under Charles II. Lords and

Commons ignored the Declaration of Breda and revived the pre-Civil War religio-political settlement in toto.

2 The best explanation of the Army’s motivations in toppling Richard, and the process through which it did so can be found in see A.H. Woolrych, “The Good Old Cause and the Fall of the Protectorate,” The Cambridge Historical Journal 13, No. 2 (1957): 133-161.

3 Austin Woolrych, Britain in Revolution, 1625-1660, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 725-43, 764-6, 774- 5.

4 LJ, 11:8; CJ, 8:8.

5 Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, 466.

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The Act of Uniformity officially reinstated monarchs as Supreme Head of the Church of

England. Recalling the “uniforme Order of Com[m]on Service and Prayer and of the

Administration of Sacraments Rites and Ceremonies in the Church of England (agreeable to the

Word of God and usage of the Primitive Church)” that flourished during the reign of Queen

Elizabeth, the act also reintroduced homogeneous religious worship.6 Anglican services would again follow the Book of Common Prayer. Most significantly, the Act of Uniformity unambiguously required mandatory attendance at national church services: it revived that all acts previously made in the service of religious uniformity.7 Recusancy was once again a crime.

Designed “to bury all Seed[es] of future Discord[es] and remembrance” of “the long and great Troubles Discord[es] and Warrs that have for many Yeares past beene in this Kingdome,”

The Act of Indemnity and Oblivion forgave all crimes committed against the crown since the

Bishops’ War instigated trouble in the three kingdoms in 1637. Certain classes of offence were excluded from pardon, as was usual in monarchical declarations of forgiveness. Two specific groups of people were exempted from the amnesty, however: and Catholic priests.8

Forcing the regicides to answer for their crime was not surprising, but the exclusion of Catholic priests from receiving His Majesty’s grace constituted a startling reversal of the cozy relationship the exiled monarch had with Catholics during the Interregnum. It indicated that the English

Catholic community threatened the Restoration religio-political settlement on both religious and political grounds. Legally, by 1662, the English Catholic community occupied the same position it had two decades earlier.

6 Statutes of the Realm, 5:364. Jeffrey R. Collins, “The Restoration Bishops and the Royal Supremacy,” Church History 68, No. 3 (September 1999): 549-580, has shown that Charles II was genuinely committed to liberty of conscience but the bishops who endured a decade-long exile refused to countenance anything but a complete restoration of the pre-Civil War Church of England.

7 Statutes of the Realm, 5:365, 368.

8 Statutes of the Realm, 5:226, 230-2.

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CONCLUSION

English Catholics occupied a unique position in both the post-Reformation religio- political settlement and the national imagination. Denying monarchical claims to supreme authority in both temporal and ecclesiastical polities, English Catholics threatened to undermine not just specific rulers but the entire religio-political settlement. Anti-popery began as a systematic refutation of erroneous popish doctrines, but as the likelihood of a papist coup diminished, the prejudice acquired a new purpose. Designed to discredit the religion and its practitioners, the reflexive rejection of all things popish helped Englishmen define themselves as the opposite: a free people who worshipped according to the true religion revealed in the

Scriptures. In this framework, the English Catholic community was a monolith. Ideologically, neither the religio-political settlement nor anti-popery permitted any differentiation amongst members of the community. In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, monarchs nonetheless created two sub-categories of the community: quiescent catholics and menacing papists. Post-regicide, the English Catholic community was no longer unique. Religious nonconformity was permitted, and other groups denied Interregnum regimes’ sovereignty. Legal modifications aside, Interregnum regimes treated the English Catholic community similarly to their monarchical predecessors.

Why did the victors of the Civil War, “the last of the Wars of Religion,” who employed anti-popery as a battle cry, eschew the opportunity to eradicate the English Catholic community?1 In the course of England’s long Reformation, popery was the counterpart against which Englishness was defined but the English Catholic community became equally essential to

1 John Morrill, “The Religious Context of the English Civil War,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th Series, 34 (1984): 178.

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national identity. For rulers, it provided a means of rallying the nation in times of crisis.

Presumably allied with England’s foreign (Catholic) foes, the English Catholic community was a perennial fifth column, adding urgency to otherwise distant conflicts. Cromwell used this to great effect. For citizens, the English Catholic community occupied a nebulous but necessary position. Possibly this was another instance of the mythologizing of Queen Elizabeth and her belief that the “inward thoughts and opinions of men are not to be punished in this world.”2

Regardless of the cause, it is clear that the reverence for tradition and precedent (which, in regard to rights, liberties, and parliament, sparked the Civil War) encompassed the existence of the

English Catholic community, manifested in “the old way” of dealing with recusants.3 As successive Interregnum regimes designed and implemented religio-political settlements – engaging in a process rendered necessary by Henry VIII in the 1530s – it became clear that this community of religious dissidents was an indispensible part of both English national identity and the religio-political system that codified it.

Papists were “persons otherwise than Englishmen,” but, during the Interregnum, one did not have to practice Catholicism to be a papist.4 Pledging allegiance to a sovereign across the

Channel rather than recognizing the authority of English rulers was the hallmark of a papist.

With the monarchy officially abolished but Charles Stuart actively attempting to reclaim his throne and topple the usurpers, royalists now posed precisely this threat. Reflexively pairing

“malignants” or “delinquents” with popish recusants throughout the Civil War, the Long

Parliament capitalized upon rumors of the popish plot at Charles I’s court to indelibly link the royalist cause with popery in the national imagination. Interregnum governors then took

2 Burton, Diary, 1:120.

3 Burton, Diary, 1:117.

4 Burton, Diary, 2:152.

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advantage of this campaign to delegitimize cavaliers and silently redefined “papist” to mean an implacable opponent of the ruling government without respect to denominational affiliation.

Coopting a central tenet of English national identity and redeploying it in service of new political ends was a rhetorical masterstroke.

The long association of royalists with the original form of anti-popery masks this subtle redefinition and makes it easy to overlook unless one appreciates Interregnum rulers’ attitudes towards religious catholics. Fierce denunciations of popery and the malignant papists who opposed Interregnum governments makes the relative leniency shown to catholics all the more striking. Juxtaposing these tendencies not only demonstrates that the distinction between catholics and papists remained operational and the root of government policies during the

Interregnum, it also forms the basis for a larger claim about the nature of these regimes. Post- regicide rulers applied the distinction in service of their overriding goal: retaining authority.

This goal manifested in different manners at different times. The Commonwealth’s careful show of force against pretended diplomats while leaving real ambassadors alone satisfied beacon- firing zealots that popery was not tolerated and avoided damaging relations with powerful foreign nations. Anti-popery was the hallmark of Cromwell’s two signature policies, but was absent when the regime faced opponents seeking to undermine the government in the days prior to the 1656 elections. And the apotheosis arrived in 1656 when Cromwell inveighed against popery to MPs but promised Cardinal Mazarin he would show leniency to English Catholics, then upheld these apparently diametrically opposed positions. His final strategy for retaining authority – using French allies to combat the Stuart-Spanish-popish threat on multiple fronts – was entirely predicated upon his ability to enact these policies simultaneously.

Further work remains to be done regarding how the distinction between catholics and papists operated during the Interregnum as well as whether the new, areligious sense of “papist”

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was widely recognized. The ruling cabal and educated, propertied men well-affected to

Interregnum governments appreciated the distinction and its utility, but a survey of the voluminous pamphlet literature from the period would provide perspective as to the traction the concept gained outside of Whitehall and Westminster. Targeted case studies could reveal whether and how the distinction operated at lower tiers of government. The financial repercussions of the second Protectorate Parliament’s Recusant Bill have been examined, but a wider exploration of the administrators’ thought processes could add much to our understanding.

Finally, there is the possibility of expanding this line of inquiry to encompass the three kingdoms. My dissertation focuses solely on England because Interregnum governments were

Anglo-centric and the catholic/papist distinction was a product of the unique post-Reformation

English religio-political settlement. Investigating whether and how the policy formulated in response to specifically English circumstances translated to Scotland (which declared for King

Charles II and remained rebellious for much of the period) and Ireland (where religious Catholics had taken up arms in 1641) would contribute not only to our understanding of Interregnum administration but also how religion factored in the steadily increasing oversight English rulers exercised over the three kingdoms.

In the English context, however, my elucidation of the catholic/papist distinction also resolves the quandary of Cromwell’s apparent redirection in 1655. Expelling the first

Protectorate Parliament did not, I showed, herald the unveiling of the Lord Protector’s autocratic tendencies. Rather, the abrupt dissolution fit perfectly with Cromwell’s method of retaining authority through literal-yet-creative interpretations of the law; the fact that, in this case, the threat originated in the legislative branch of the government was incidental. Hallmarks of the later Protectorate – the Major-Generals’ rule, the Western Design, and the exclusions of

Members elected to the second Protectorate Parliament – also fit this pattern. Policies grew

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bolder and the rhetoric used to justify them became bombastic, but fundamentally Cromwell weaponized the letter of the law to retain his authority. Differentiating between catholics and papists was a key element of this strategy: it allowed the regime to siphon catholics’ profits then deploy these funds to counter papists. No Catholic clerics were martyred after 1654. The lack of executions underscores both Cromwell’s commitment to liberty of conscience (manifested as a disinclination to kill men for religion) and his recognition that Catholicism depended on ordained priests as intercessors, even if they were “considered traitors by the law of the land.”5

Ideological commitment to complete liberty of conscience was not a prerequisite for differentiating between catholics and papists, since Members of the more conservative, traditionally-minded second Protectorate Parliament also recognized the distinction. Of course,

Cromwell did not invent the categories – they had legally existed for the previous half-century – he merely adapted the existing structure to suit the religio-political realities of the Interregnum and serve his purposes.

Reflexively pairing royalists and papists grated Charles II and his supporters. Made possible by his mother’s Catholicism and his father’s support for Archbishop Laud’s reforms, the association gained heightened significance in the Interregnum as the Lord Protector redefined

“papist”. Restored to power in May 1660, royalists attempted to dissociate their cause from popery. The Act for Safety and Preservation of His Majesties Person and Government against

Treasonable and Seditious practices and attempts passed in 1661 criminalized spreading rumors that Charles was “an Heretick or a Papist or that he endeavours to introduce Popery”, banning offenders from ever holding office.6 The Cavalier Parliament eliminated the legal difference between catholics and papists. The Test Act, designed to insulate the government and court from

5 CSPV, 31:144.

6 Statutes of the Realm, 5:305.

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popery, removed recusants from the rolls of pensioners, expelled Catholic military and civil officers, and instituted a thirty-mile quarantine around London. Participation in the Anglican eucharist, along with the Oaths of Supremacy and Allegiance (modified to include an abbreviated version of the Oath of Abjuration) were the regime’s enforcement tools; the religious nature of these tests obviated the distinction between loyal and treacherous Catholics.7 Privately

Charles II recognized the value of loyalty – pensions granted to the recusants who helped him escape after the debacle at Worcester were unaffected by the new legislation – but publicly

English Catholics were unwelcome in Restoration England.

Perhaps the reason that Cromwell’s redefinition of popery has lain undiscovered for so long is the fact that the areligious version was rendered obsolete just three decades after his death. Charles II, who lamented reports that he abandoned his Protestant faith and assented to the Cavalier Parliament’s harsh treatment of the English Catholic community, died without siring a legitimate heir. His brother, James, succeeded him. Rumors that the Duke of York converted to Catholicism while in exile later became true: King James II became England’s first Catholic ruler in over a century. Upon the birth of James’s son and heir, Englishmen realized they faced an indefinite period of subjection to Catholic rulers. Necessary though Catholicism was to

English national identity, this utility was predicated upon Catholic disenfranchisement. A

Catholic sovereign who would once more have the country “subjected to the determination of

Rome and [the] Pope himself” was not part of this schema.8 The Glorious Revolution ensued and ensured that England remained Protestant. Exiled again, neither James nor his son relinquished their claim to the throne. They also refused to convert to Protestantism. The

Jacobites were papists in both the religious and areligious senses. Ironically, while this state of

7 Statutes of the Realm, 5:782-4.

8 Abbott, Writings & Speeches, 4:263.

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affairs appeared to vindicate Cromwell’s constant pairing of royalists and papists, it obscured his masterful cooption of the rhetoric of Protestantism and liberty to safeguard his position.

325

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