Cromwell And The Parliament


The Parliament of England had defeated and put an end to the king; it

remained for Cromwell to put an end to the Parliament. "The Rump," the

remnant of the old Parliament was derisively called. What was left of

that great body contained little of its honesty and integrity, much of

its pride and incompetency. The members remaining had become infected

with the wild notion that they were the governing power in England, and

instead of preparing to disband themselves they introduced a bill for

the disbanding of the army. They had not yet learned of what stuff

Oliver Cromwell was made.



A bill had been passed, it is true, for the dissolution of the

Parliament, but in the discussion of how the "New Representative" was to

be chosen it became plainly evident that the members of the Rump

intended to form part of it, without the formality of re-election. A

struggle for power seemed likely to arise between the Parliament and the

army. It could have but one ending, with a man like Oliver Cromwell at

the head of the latter. The officers demanded that Parliament should

immediately dissolve. The members resolutely refused. Cromwell growled

his comments.



"As for the members of this Parliament," he said, "the army begins to

take them in disgust."



There was ground for it, he continued, in their selfish greed, their

interference with law and justice, the scandalous lives of many of the

members, and, above all, their plain intention to keep themselves in

power.



"There is little to hope for from such men for a settlement of the

nation," he concluded.



The war with Holland precipitated the result. This war acted as a

barometer for the Parliament. It was a naval combat. In the first

meeting of the two fleets the Dutch were defeated, and the mercury of

Parliamentarian pride rose. In the next combat Van Tromp, the veteran

Dutch admiral, drove Blake with a shattered fleet into the Thames. Van

Tromp swept the Channel in triumph, with a broom at his mast-head. The

hopes of the members went down to zero. They agreed to disband in

November. Cromwell promised to reduce the army. But Blake put to sea

again, fought Van Tromp in a four days' running fight, and won the

honors of the combat. Up again went the mercury of Parliamentary hope

and pride. The members determined to continue in power, and not only

claimed the right to remain members of the new Parliament, but even to

revise the returns of the elected members, and decide for themselves if

they would have them as fellows.



The issue was now sharply drawn between army and Parliament. The

officers met and demanded that Parliament should at once dissolve, and

let the Council of State manage the new elections. A conference was held

between officers and members, at Cromwell's house, on April 19, 1653. It

ended in nothing. The members were resolute.



"Our charge," said Haslerig, arrogantly, "cannot be transferred to any

one."



The conference adjourned till the next morning, Sir Harry Vane engaging

that no action should be taken till it met again. Yet when it met the

next morning the leading members of Parliament were absent, Vane among

them. Their absence was suspicious. Were they pushing the bill through

the House in defiance of the army?



Cromwell was present,--"in plain black clothes, and gray worsted

stockings,"--a plain man, but one not safe to trifle with. The officers

waited a while for the members. They did not come. Instead there came

word that they were in their seats in the House, busily debating the

bill that was to make them rulers of the nation without consent of the

people, hurrying it rapidly through its several stages. If left alone

they would soon make it a law.



Then the man who had hurled Charles I. from his throne lost his

patience. This, in his opinion, had gone far enough. Since it had come

to a question whether a self-elected Parliament, or the army to which

England owed her freedom, should hold the balance of power, Cromwell was

not likely to hesitate.



"It is contrary to common honesty!" he broke out, angrily.



Leaving Whitehall, he set out for the House of Parliament, bidding a

company of musketeers to follow him. He entered quietly, leaving his

soldiers outside. The House now contained no more than fifty-three

members. Sir Harry Vane was addressing this fragment of a Parliament

with a passionate harangue in favor of the bill. Cromwell sat for some

time in silence, listening to his speech, his only words being to his

neighbor, St. John.



"I am come to do what grieves me to the heart," he said.



Vane pressed the House to waive its usual forms and pass the bill at

once.



"The time has come," said Cromwell to Harrison, whom he had beckoned

over to him.



"Think well," answered Harrison; "it is a dangerous work."






The man of fate subsided into silence again. A quarter of an hour more

passed. Then the question was put "that this bill do now pass."



Cromwell rose, took off his hat, and spoke. His words were strong.

Beginning with commendation of the Parliament for what it had done for

the public good, he went on to charge the present members with acts of

injustice, delays of justice, self-interest, and similar faults, his

tone rising higher as he spoke until it had grown very hot and

indignant.



"Your hour is come; the Lord hath done with you," he added.



"It is a strange language, this," cried one of the members, springing up

hastily; "unusual this within the walls of Parliament. And from a

trusted servant, too; and one whom we have so highly honored; and

one----"



"Come, come," cried Cromwell, in the tone in which he would have

commanded his army to charge, "we have had enough of this." He strode

furiously into the middle of the chamber, clapped on his hat, and

exclaimed, "I will put an end to your prating."



He continued speaking hotly and rapidly, "stamping the floor with his

feet" in his rage, the words rolling from him in a fury. Of these words

we only know those with which he ended.



"It is not fit that you should sit here any longer! You should give

place to better men! You are no Parliament!" came from him in harsh and

broken exclamations. "Call them in," he said, briefly, to Harrison.



At the word of command a troop of some thirty musketeers marched into

the chamber. Grim fellows they were, dogs of war,--the men of the Rump

could not face this argument; it was force arrayed against law,--or what

called itself law,--wrong against wrong, for neither army nor Parliament

truly represented the people, though just then the army seemed its most

rightful representative.



"I say you are no Parliament!" roared the lord-general, hot with anger.

"Some of you are drunkards." His eye fell on a bottle-loving member.

"Some of you are lewd livers; living in open contempt of God's

commandments." His hot gaze flashed on Henry Marten and Sir Peter

Wentworth. "Following your own greedy appetites and the devil's

commandments; corrupt, unjust persons, scandalous to the profession of

the gospel: how can you be a Parliament for God's people? Depart, I say,

and let us have done with you. In the name of God--go!"



These words were like bomb-shells exploded in the chamber of Parliament.

Such a scene had never before and has never since been seen in the House

of Commons. The members were all on their feet, some white with terror,

some red with indignation. Vane fearlessly faced the irate general.



"Your action," he said, hotly, "is against all right and all honor."



"Ah, Sir Harry Vane, Sir Harry Vane," retorted Cromwell, bitterly, "you

might have prevented all this; but you are a juggler, and have no common

honesty. The Lord deliver me from Sir Harry Vane!"



The retort was a just one. Vane had attempted to usurp the government.

Cromwell turned to the speaker, who obstinately clung to his seat,

declaring that he would not yield it except to force.



"Fetch him down!" roared the general.



"Sir, I will lend you a hand," said Harrison.



Speaker Lenthall left the chair. One man could not resist an army.

Through the door glided, silent as ghosts, the members of Parliament.



"It is you that have forced me to this," said Cromwell, with a shade of

regret in his voice. "I have sought the Lord night and day, that He

would rather slay me than put upon me the doing of this work."



He had, doubtless; he was a man of deep piety and intense bigotry; but

the Lord's answer, it is to be feared, came out of the depths of his own

consciousness. Men like Cromwell call upon God, but answer for Him

themselves.



"What shall be done with this bauble?" said the general, lifting the

sacred mace, the sign-manual of government by the representatives of the

people. "Take it away!" he finished, handing it to a musketeer.



His flashing eyes followed the retiring members until they all had left

the House. Then the musketeers filed out, followed by Cromwell and

Harrison. The door was locked, and the key and mace carried away by

Colonel Otley.



A few hours afterwards the Council of State, the executive committee of

Parliament, was similarly dissolved by the lord-general, who, in person,

bade its members to depart.



"We have heard," cried John Bradshaw, one of its members, "what you have

done this morning at the House, and in some hours all England will hear

it. But you mistake, sir, if you think the Parliament dissolved. No

power on earth can dissolve the Parliament but itself, be sure of that."



The people did hear it,--and sustained Cromwell in his action. Of the

two sets of usurpers, the army and a non-representative Parliament, they

preferred the former.



"We did not hear a dog bark at their going," said Cromwell, afterwards.



It was not the first time in history that the army had overturned

representative government. In this case it was not done with the design

of establishing a despotism. Cromwell was honest in his purpose of

reforming the administration, and establishing a Parliamentary

government. But he had to do with intractable elements. He called a

constituent convention, giving to it the duty of paving the way to a

constitutional Parliament. Instead of this, the convention began the

work of reforming the constitution, and proposed such radical changes

that the lord-general grew alarmed. Doubtless his musketeers would have

dealt with the convention as they had done with the Rump Parliament, had

it not fallen to pieces through its own dissensions. It handed back to

Cromwell the power it had received from him. He became the lord

protector of the realm. The revolutionary government had drifted,

despite itself, into a despotism. A despotism it was to remain while

Cromwell lived.



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