H I S T O R Y

described as a reflection of support for monarchy, but can equally be attributed to a sense of relief that the revolutions of the previous year might finally be over. Enthusiasm for Charles Stuart, Reece argues, “did not contribute to the collapse of the republic: it was a result of its fall”. Charles was carried to his throne not on a wave of popular enthusiasm, but “on the foundation of two military coups”.

Like The Fall, Ronald Hutton’s Oliver Cromwell: Commander i n ch i e f i s l a r ge ly about t he relationship between soldiers and politicians, albeit set in the period of the republic’s creation rather than its demise. This is the second volume of Hutton’s biography of Cromwell, covering the period from 1647 to 1653, during which he navigated the politicization of the New Model Army, the search for a settlement with Charles I, the purging of parliament and the regicide. After tracing the actions of Cromwell’s campaigns at the head of the English army in Ireland and Scotland, the volume ends with him on the cusp of absolute power, having expelled parliament in April 1653. As in the first volume, the author takes a novel approach to his subject. Whereas previous biographers have used editions of Cromwell’s surviving letters and speeches as a framework around which to hang their account, Hutton refuses to take Oliver at his own word. This inevitably means placing rather more emphasis on historical sources that might be considered dubious or untrustworthy, mainly because they were written a long time after the events they describe and/or were penned by an enemy with an axe to grind. The result, p e r h a p s u n s u r p r i s i n g l y, i s a b i o g r a p hy t h a t presents its subject as “more devious, ruthless, manipulative and self-seeking” than most recent scholars have claimed.

Yet for all that Hutton’s book promises to reveal “a different Cromwell”, many aspects are unsurprising. That he was “expert in waiting on events” is well known, and few would di sagree that hi s lodestar was an “unwavering commitment to the right of godly and sober Protestants” to worship freely, or that he was relatively uninterested in politic al and constitutional matters. What sets Hutton apart is his emphasis on what he perceives as his subject’s negative character traits, and a w i l l i n g n e s s t o e n t e r t a i n t h e n o t i o n t h a t h i s championing of the godly cause intersected with, and was perhaps a cover for, his personal interest.

During this period Cromwell repeatedly adopted the role of mediator between the army and those with whom it was negotiating, whether Charles I or the parliament. Whenever negotiations stalled, however, he always fell in with the army. A prime example is the famous Putney Debates of 1647, where Cromwell apparently went from supporting a deal with Charles I to professing a willingness to abandon the king. We “can never know”, Hutton s u g ge s t s , h ow much “ t h i s p ro c e s s re s t e d o n expediency, and how much on a genuine conversion experience”. Later references give the impression that the author favours the former explanation over the latter. Cromwell’s subsequent opposition to parliament’s negotiations with Charles

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in 1648, which was “in accord with the feelings of his soldiers”, is described as in “conformity with the strategy he had followed since Putney”. Cromwell also tried to reconcile the Rump Parliament and the army, but, “on failing, had thrown in his lot with the soldiers who were the basis of his power”. His assumed role as champion for the reformist agenda “suited him politic al ly, largely because of the sympathy for radical courses long evident in the army, on which he depended for his position”. These claims are mischievous, insinuating that he fell in with the army out of self-interest, but not dismissing the probability that he did so because he genuinely sympathized with their agenda. Ultimately, though, it seems that Cromwell just cannot win. For, even if he sincerely shared the concerns of the soldiers, Hutton concludes that the army was every bit as mendacious as Cromwell anyway: they ultimately acted out of their “own selfish interests”; professions of intervening to save the “liberties of the nation” were “fantasy and delusion” or “pure hypocrisy”.

This does not mean that Hutton’s account of a ru th l e s s Cromwell l acks subst ance, e spec i a l ly during his infamous campaign in Ireland in 1649 and 1650. The author sets his military record in Ireland firmly in context, methodically presenting the surviving evidence to dispel the more outlandish nationalist myths that have surrounded Cromwell’s actions, particularly claims of a general massacre at Drogheda, but also laying bare the “dreadful and unnecessary” things that unquestionably occurred under his watch. The description of the groans and stench of the dead and dying soldiers and civilians lying on the streets of Drogheda is as evocative as any of the ly r i c a l accounts of the l andsc apes Cromwell may have passed along his travels.

In the political arena, the author’s case for a manipulative, ruthless and deceitful Cromwell is somewhat less clear-cut, resting largely on tantalizing possibilities that the reader is invited to judge by re f e rence to a l l e ged pat t e rns i n t he subjec t ’s character established in the previous volume. Yet those supposedly habitual traits in his nature turn out to be far from stable or ingrained. Certainly, his alleged implacable hatred and ruthless pursuit of enemies sits ill with yet another “pattern which was to obt a in for the re s t of Cromwell’s l i fe , whereby he both took former opponents or critics into favour”, building bridges and drawing on a range of talents and experiences. His repeated efforts to reach out to the irascible John Lilburne, even a f t e r t he l a t t e r publ i shed a p l e t hora o f tracts blackening his reputation, hardly indicates a vindictive man.

At times it seems that rumours are given credence bec ause they match what Hutton t akes to be inherent in his subject’s character: a story about Cromwell plotting to abolish the post of Lord Deputy of Ireland to thwart an ambitious subordinate “ re f l ec t s t he suspic i ons t hat swirled around Oliver because of his genuine slipperiness a s a pol i t i c i an”. The implic at i on i s that such rumours would not circulate if they didn’t contain a kernel of truth. Similarly, Hutton is convinced that Cromwell and the army told deliberate lies to justify the expulsion of the Rump Parliament in April 1653, particularly about the intentions behind the bill in preparation by that assembly for its dissolution, which the army’s earliest printed defence claimed was intended instead to recruit new members. Despite lacking the clinching evidence, because the bill in question does not survive, Hutton suggests this accusation was an “outright falsehood” rather than an error: he does not “think that as canny and well informed a politician as Cromwell would have made any mistake as to the contents of the bill, and I do believe that Cromwell and his allies would tell deliberate lies”. If so, it seems odd that they did not keep up the pretence to suit their purposes, but quickly clarified their story to provide an explanation that even Hutton admits “may actually be the t ruth”: that the bi l l did not include a recruitment clause at the time of the expulsion,

TLS

“Charles II was carried to his throne not on a wave of popular enthusiasm, but ‘on the foundation of two military coups’

and the real cause of offence was that the Rump was pressing ahead at pace to call fresh elections, defying an agreement to dissolve and devolve power to a caretaker government of the army’s nominees.

While absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, Hutton suggests it strengthens his case. The claim that Cromwell was a self-publicist rests largely on a corpus of printed books and pamphlets that “extolled and magnified” his exploits. Yet, as the author admits, at “no point is it clear how directly Oliver himself was involved in representations of himself in the press”. This lack of evidence is apparently no surprise, however: had he been “actively concerned in their dissemination, then he would have been sure to conceal his participation in the process”. Similarly, while Cromwell was “regularly accused of deceiving, manipulating and manoeuvring people” to get his own way, Hutton concedes that “solid proof of these instances is hard to supply”. Again, this is merely a sign of Cromwellian cunning, because “an adroit mover such a s O l ive r would have ensured t h i s ve r y absence”. Of course, the other possibility is that it was simply untrue.

Indeed, we are reminded throughout Hutton’s book that mid-seventeenth-century Britain had a political culture permeated by conspiracy theories. The Civil War was driven more by perceptions than realities: parliamentarians propagated fears about Catholic-inclined evil counsellors misleading the king into tyranny; royalists claimed that parliament had been subverted by a junto of Puritan fanatics seeking religious and political chaos. As Hutton demonstrates, Cromwell and the army came to blame various “scapegoats” for the failure to reach a settlement that satisfied their desires: in 1647 it was a cabal of Presbyterian MPs, by 1648 it was Charles I; and finally, in 1653, it was parliament itself. Yet this process of scapegoating cut both ways, with many who saw their hopes dashed in the 1650s placing the blame on Cromwell, a trend that became even more pronounced after 1660.

The apparent inconsistency at the heart of this account is that such accusations tend to be written off as outright lies when made by Cromwell and the army against their chosen obstacle, but are often taken to contain within them possible truths when directed the other way. This disparit y i s most striking in Hutton’s treatment of Charles I, who is presented as wrongly maligned both by the army and historians. He was “not a bad man” and “completely lacked ruthlessness, let alone cruelty”. One can easily find evidence to the contrary, such as the sworn testimony of the husbandman at the king’s trial who overheard him at the sacking of Leicester in 1645 condoning his soldiers’ mistreatment of parliamentarian prisoners: “I do not care if they cut them three times more, for they are mine enemies”. One might connect this to Charles’s willingness to let adversaries such as Sir John Eliot rot in the Tower after the dissolution of parliament in 1629, even refusing to release his body for burial after his death three years later, and begin to discern a pattern that suggests a cruel streak. Perhaps Charles’s accusers were hypocrites for accusing him of seeking to rule tyrannically “while themselves using armed force to coerce and purge Parliament”, but the notion that Charles had “never clearly intended, let alone actually done” such things neglects the small matter of his attempted arrest of five members of the Commons in January 1642. The army’s accusations against the king may have been overblown, but by denying them any semblance of truth Hutton seems to judge Cromwell against a very different yardstick to Charles.

Whereas Alice Hunt and Henry Reece allow us to look afresh at the republican era by peeling away the myths and narratives that have shrouded it since 1660, Ronald Hutton’s interpretation of Cromwell hints at a revival of tropes amplified during the memory games of the Stuart Restoration. Whether o r n o t t h i s re p re s e n t a t i o n o f a c unn i n g a nd dissembling Cromwell will prove as compelling today as it did back then remains to be seen. n

NOVEMBER 1, 2024