Charles II and English notions of Restoration England’s role in a new world

Samuel Pepys: naïve observation

When Samuel Pepys lays eyes for the first time on the exiled prince who was to be his king, he views the ordinariness of the man with astonishment.  This is his diary entry:

Friday 25 May 1660

By the morning we were come close to the land, and every body made ready to get on shore. The King and the two Dukes did eat their breakfast before they went, and there being set some ship’s diet before them, only to show them the manner of the ship’s diet, they eat of nothing else but pease and pork, and boiled beef. I had Mr. Darcy in my cabin and Dr. Clerke, who eat with me, told me how the King had given 50l. to Mr. Sheply for my Lord’s servants, and 500l. among the officers and common men of the ship. I spoke with the Duke of York about business, who called me Pepys by name, and upon my desire did promise me his future favour. Great expectation of the King’s making some Knights, but there was none. About noon (though the brigantine that Beale made was there ready to carry him) yet he would go in my Lord’s barge with the two Dukes. Our Captain steered, and my Lord went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. Mansell, and one of the King’s footmen, with a dog that the King loved,¹ (which [dirted] the boat, which made us laugh, and me think that a King and all that belong to him are but just as others are), in a boat by ourselves, and so got on shore when the King did, who was received by General Monk with all imaginable love and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of all sorts. The Mayor of the town came and gave him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the King did give him again. The Mayor also presented him from the town a very rich Bible, which he took and said it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. A canopy was provided for him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with General Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for him, and so away through the town towards Canterbury, without making any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy expressed by all is past imagination. Seeing that my Lord did not stir out of his barge, I got into a boat, and so into his barge, whither Mr. John Crew stepped, and spoke a word or two to my Lord, and so returned, we back to the ship, and going did see a man almost drowned that fell out of his boat into the sea, but with much ado was got out. My Lord almost transported with joy that he had done all this without any the least blur or obstruction in the world, that could give an offence to any, and with the great honour he thought it would be to him. Being overtook by the brigantine, my Lord and we went out of our barge into it, and so went on board with Sir W. Batten, and the Vice and Rear-Admirals. At night my Lord supped and Mr. Thomas Crew with Captain Stoakes, I supped with the Captain, who told me what the King had given us. My Lord returned late, and at his coming did give me order to cause the marke to be gilded, and a Crown and C. R. to be made at the head of the coach table, where the King to-day with his own hand did mark his height, which accordingly I caused the painter to do, and is now done as is to be seen.

The coronation of Charles II ( Monday 22 April 1661).  Here the new world of spectacle, the pleasure in spectacle, and its power—for the state and the individual (Pepys saw opportunities of personal advancement in catching the attention of the royal brothers and being a part of the new social fabric where it was most expedient for him to be so):

KING’S GOING FROM YE TOWER TO WHITE HALL.¹

Up early and made myself as fine as I could, and put on my velvet coat, the first day that I put it on, though made half a year ago. And being ready, Sir W. Batten, my Lady, and his two daughters and his son and wife, and Sir W. Pen and his son and I, went to Mr. Young’s, the flag-maker, in Corne-hill;² and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and good cake, and saw the show very well. In which it is impossible to relate the glory of this day, expressed in the clothes of them that rid, and their horses and horses clothes, among others, my Lord Sandwich’s. Embroidery and diamonds were ordinary among them. The Knights of the Bath was a brave sight of itself; and their Esquires, among which Mr. Armiger was an Esquire to one of the Knights. Remarquable were the two men that represent the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitane. The Bishops come next after Barons, which is the higher place; which makes me think that the next Parliament they will be called to the House of Lords. My Lord Monk rode bare after the King, and led in his hand a spare horse, as being Master of the Horse. The King, in a most rich embroidered suit and cloak, looked most noble. Wadlow, the vintner, at the Devil; in Fleetstreet, did lead a fine company of soldiers, all young comely men, in white doublets. There followed the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir G. Carteret, a company of men all like Turks; but I know not yet what they are for. The streets all gravelled, and the houses hung with carpets before them, made brave show, and the ladies out of the windows, one of which over against us I took much notice of, and spoke of her, which made good sport among us. So glorious was the show with gold and silver, that we were not able to look at it, our eyes at last being so much overcome with it. Both the King and the Duke of York took notice of us, as he saw us at the window. The show being ended, Mr. Young did give us a dinner, at which we were very merry, and pleased above imagination at what we have seen. Sir W. Batten going home, he and I called and drunk some mum and laid our wager about my Lady Faulconbridge’s name, which he says not to be Mary, and so I won above 20s. So home, where Will and the boy staid and saw the show upon Towre Hill, and Jane at T. Pepys’s, the Turner, and my wife at Charles Glassecocke’s, in Fleet Street. In the evening by water to White Hall to my Lord’s, and there I spoke with my Lord. He talked with me about his suit, which was made in France, and cost him 200l., and very rich it is with embroidery. I lay with Mr. Shepley, and [continued tomorrow. P.G.]

His conversion to the cause that best suits his ambition and his reticence on his own expediency shapes a conversation with his new master days before Charles II’s coronation.  Note the utter lack of conviction in any ideals here; rather he is watching and waiting—like most of the rest of the nation:

In the afternoon my Lord and I walked together in the Coach two houres, talking together in the coach two hours, talking together upon all sorts of discourse—as Religion, wherein he is, I perceive, wholly Skepticall, as well as I, saying that indeed the Protestants as to the Church of Rome are wholly fanatiques.  He likes uniformity and form of prayer.  About State business, among other things he told me that his conversion to the King’s cause (for so I was saying that I wondered from what time the King could look upon him to become his friend), commenced from his being in the Sound, when he found what usage he was likely to have from a Commonwealth. (1: 141)

Contrast Pepys's response to that of his contemporary, John Evelyn, the other famous (but much less licentious diarist of the period):

The Diary of John Evelyn

“This day came in his Majestie Charles the 2d to London after a sad, & long Exile, and Calamitous Suffering both of the King & Church: being 17 yeares: This was also his Birthday, and with a Triumph of above 20000 horse & foote, brandishing their swords and shouting with unexpressable joy: The wayes straw’d with flowers, the bells ringing, the streets hung with Tapissry, fountaines running with wine: The Major, Aldermen, all the Companies in their liver[ie]s, Chaines of Gold, banners; Lords & nobles, Cloth of Silver, gold & vellvet every body clad in, the windos & balconies all set with Ladys, Trumpets, Musick, & [myriads] of people flocking the streetes & was as far as Rochester, so as they were 7 houres in passing the Citty, even from 2 in the afternoon 'til nine at night: I stood in the strand, & beheld it, & blessed God: And all this without one drop of bloud, & by that very army, which rebell'd against him: but it was the Lords doing, et mirabile in oculis nostris: for such a Restauration was never seene in the mention of any history, antient or modern, since the returne of the Babylonian Captivity, nor so joyfull a day, & so bright, ever seene in this nation: this hapning when to expect or effect it, was past all humane policy.”
― John Evelyn, The Diary of John Evelyn

John Dryden, Astraea Redux (renewal of old world paradigms):

A Poem on the Happy Restoration and Return of His Second Majesty Charles II., 1660.

Now with a general peace the world was blest,

While ours, a world divided from the rest,

A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far

Than arms, a sullen interval of war:

Thus when black clouds draw down the labouring skies,

Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies,

An horrid stillness first invades the ear,

And in that silence we the tempest fear.

The ambitious Swede, like restless billows tost,

On this hand gaining what on that he lost,

Though in his life he blood and ruin breathed,

To his now guideless kingdom peace bequeath'd.

And Heaven, that seem'd regardless of our fate,

For France and Spain did miracles create;

Such mortal quarrels to compose in peace,

As nature bred, and interest did increase.

We sigh'd to hear the fair Iberian bride

Must grow a lily to the lily's side;

While our cross stars denied us Charles' bed,

Whom our first flames and virgin love did wed.

For his long absence Church and State did groan;

Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne:

Experienced age in deep despair was lost,

To see the rebel thrive, the loyal cross'd:

Youth that with joys had unacquainted been,

Envied gray hairs that once good days had seen:

We thought our sires, not with their own content,

Had, ere we came to age, our portion spent.

Nor could our nobles hope their bold attempt

Who ruin'd crowns would coronets exempt:

For when by their designing leaders taught

To strike at power, which for themselves they sought,

The vulgar, gull'd into rebellion, arm'd;

Their blood to action by the prize was warm'd.

The sacred purple, then, and scarlet gown,

Like sanguine dye to elephants, was shown.

Thus when the bold Typhoeus scaled the sky,

And forced great Jove from his own Heaven to fly,

(What king, what crown from treason's reach is free,

If Jove and Heaven can violated be?)

The lesser gods, that shared his prosperous state,

All suffer'd in the exiled Thunderer's fate.

The rabble now such freedom did enjoy,

As winds at sea, that use it to destroy:

Blind as the Cyclop, and as wild as he,

They own'd a lawless, savage liberty;

Like that our painted ancestors so prized,

Ere empire's arts their breasts had civilized.

How great were then our Charles' woes, who thus

Was forced to suffer for himself and us!

He, tost by fate, and hurried up and down,

Heir to his father's sorrows, with his crown,

Could taste no sweets of youth's desired age,

But found his life too true a pilgrimage.

Unconquer'd yet in that forlorn estate,

His manly courage overcame his fate.

His wounds he took, like Romans, on his breast,

Which by his virtue were with laurels drest.

As souls reach Heaven while yet in bodies pent,

So did he live above his banishment.

That sun, which we beheld with cozen'd eyes

Within the water, moved along the skies.

How easy 'tis, when destiny proves kind,

With full-spread sails to run before the wind!

But those that 'gainst stiff gales laveering go,

Must be at once resolved and skilful too.

He would not, like soft Otho, hope prevent,

But stay'd, and suffer'd fortune to repent.

These virtues Galba in a stranger sought,

And Piso to adopted empire brought.

How shall I then my doubtful thoughts express,

That must his sufferings both regret and bless?

For when his early valour Heaven had cross'd;

And all at Worcester but the honour lost;

Forced into exile from his rightful throne,

He made all countries where he came his own;

And viewing monarchs' secret arts of sway,

A royal factor for his kingdoms lay.

Thus banish'd David spent abroad his time,

When to be God's anointed was his crime;

And when restored, made his proud neighbours rue

Those choice remarks he from his travels drew.

Nor is he only by afflictions shown

To conquer other realms, but rule his own:

Recovering hardly what he lost before,

His right endears it much; his purchase more.

Inured to suffer ere he came to reign,

No rash procedure will his actions stain:

To business, ripen'd by digestive thought,

His future rule is into method brought:

As they who first proportion understand,

With easy practice reach a master's hand.

Well might the ancient poets then confer

On Night the honour'd name of Counsellor,

Since, struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind,

We light alone in dark afflictions find.

In such adversities to sceptre train'd,

The name of Great his famous grandsire gain'd:

Who yet a king alone in name and right,

With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight;

Shock'd by a covenanting league's vast powers,

As holy and as catholic as ours:

Till fortune's fruitless spite had made it known,

Her blows, not shook, but riveted, his throne.

Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease,

No action leave to busy chronicles:

Such, whose supine felicity but makes

In story chasms, in epoch's mistakes;

O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down,

Till, with his silent sickle, they are mown.

Such is not Charles' too, too active age,

Which, govern'd by the wild distemper'd rage

Of some black star infecting all the skies,

Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise.

Tremble, ye nations, which, secure before,

Laugh'd at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we bore;

Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail,

Our lion now will foreign foes assail.

With alga who the sacred altar strews?

To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes:

A bull to thee, Portumnus, shall be slain,

A lamb to you, ye Tempests of the main:

For those loud storms that did against him roar,

Have cast his shipwreck'd vessel on the shore.

Yet as wise artists mix their colours so,

That by degrees they from each other go;

Black steals unheeded from the neighbouring white,

Without offending the well-cozen'd sight:

So on us stole our blessed change; while we

The effect did feel, but scarce the manner see.

Frosts that constrain the ground, and birth deny

To flowers that in its womb expecting lie,

Do seldom their usurping power withdraw,

But raging floods pursue their hasty thaw.

Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased away,

But lost in kindly heat of lengthen'd day.

Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive,

But what we could not pay for, freely give.

The Prince of peace would like himself confer

A gift unhoped, without the price of war:

Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care,

That we should know it by repeated prayer;

Which storm'd the skies, and ravish'd Charles from thence,

As heaven itself is took by violence.

Booth's forward valour only served to show

He durst that duty pay we all did owe.

The attempt was fair; but Heaven's prefixed hour

Not come: so like the watchful traveller,

That by the moon's mistaken light did rise,

Lay down again, and closed his weary eyes.

'Twas Monk whom Providence design'd to loose

Those real bonds false freedom did impose.

The blessed saints that watch'd this turning scene,

Did from their stars with joyful wonder lean,

To see small clues draw vastest weights along,

Not in their bulk, but in their order, strong.

Thus pencils can by one slight touch restore

Smiles to that changed face that wept before.

With ease such fond chimeras we pursue,

As fancy frames for fancy to subdue:

But when ourselves to action we betake,

It shuns the mint like gold that chemists make.

How hard was then his task! at once to be,

What in the body natural we see!

Man's Architect distinctly did ordain

The charge of muscles, nerves, and of the brain,

Through viewless conduits spirits to dispense;

The springs of motion from the seat of sense.

'Twas not the hasty product of a day,

But the well-ripen'd fruit of wise delay.

He, like a patient angler, ere he strook,

Would let him play a while upon the hook.

Our healthful food the stomach labours thus,

At first embracing what it straight doth crush.

Wise leeches will not vain receipts obtrude,

While growing pains pronounce the humours crude:

Deaf to complaints, they wait upon the ill,

Till some safe crisis authorise their skill.

Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear,

To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to fear,

And guard with caution that polluted nest,

Whence Legion twice before was dispossess'd:

Once sacred house; which, when they enter'd in,

They thought the place could sanctify a sin;

Like those that vainly hoped kind Heaven would wink,

While to excess on martyrs' tombs they drink.

And as devouter Turks first warn their souls

To part, before they taste forbidden bowls:

So these, when their black crimes they went about,

First timely charm'd their useless conscience out.

Religion's name against itself was made;

The shadow served the substance to invade:

Like zealous missions, they did care pretend

Of souls in show, but made the gold their end.

The incensed powers beheld with scorn from high

An heaven so far distant from the sky,

Which durst, with horses' hoofs that beat the ground,

And martial brass, belie the thunder's sound.

'Twas hence at length just vengeance thought it fit

To speed their ruin by their impious wit.

Thus Sforza, cursed with a too fertile brain,

Lost by his wiles the power his wit did gain.

Henceforth their fougue must spend at lesser rate,

Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate.

Suffer'd to live, they are like helots set,

A virtuous shame within us to beget.

For by example most we sinn'd before,

And glass-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore.

But, since reform'd by what we did amiss,

We by our sufferings learn to prize our bliss:

Like early lovers, whose unpractised hearts

Were long the May-game of malicious arts,

When once they find their jealousies were vain,

With double heat renew their fires again.

'Twas this produced the joy that hurried o'er

Such swarms of English to the neighbouring shore,

To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made

So rich amends for our impoverish'd trade.

Oh! had you seen from Schevelin's barren shore,

(Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,)

Afflicted Holland to his farewell bring

True sorrow, Holland to regret a king!

While waiting him his royal fleet did ride,

And willing winds to their lower'd sails denied.

The wavering streamers, flags, and standard out,

The merry seamen's rude but cheerful shout:

And last the cannon's voice, that shook the skies,

And as it fares in sudden ecstasies,

At once bereft us both of ears and eyes.

The Naseby, now no longer England's shame,

But better to be lost in Charles' name,

(Like some unequal bride in nobler sheets)

Receives her lord: the joyful London meets

The princely York, himself alone a freight;

The Swiftsure groans beneath great Gloster's weight:

Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these,

He that was born to drown might cross the seas.

Heaven could not own a Providence, and take

The wealth three nations ventured at a stake.

The same indulgence Charles' voyage bless'd,

Which in his right had miracles confess'd.

The winds that never moderation knew,

Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew;

Or, out of breath with joy, could not enlarge

Their straighten'd lungs, or conscious of their charge.

The British Amphitrite, smooth and clear,

In richer azure never did appear;

Proud her returning prince to entertain

With the submitted fasces of the main.

And welcome now, great monarch, to your own!

Behold the approaching cliffs of Albion:

It is no longer motion cheats your view,

As you meet it, the land approacheth you.

The land returns, and, in the white it wears,

The marks of penitence and sorrow bears.

But you, whose goodness your descent doth show,

Your heavenly parentage and earthly too;

By that same mildness, which your father's crown

Before did ravish, shall secure your own.

Not tied to rules of policy, you find

Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind.

Thus, when the Almighty would to Moses give

A sight of all he could behold and live;

A voice before his entry did proclaim

Long-suffering, goodness, mercy, in his name.

Your power to justice doth submit your cause,

Your goodness only is above the laws;

Whose rigid letter, while pronounced by you,

Is softer made. So winds that tempests brew,

When through Arabian groves they take their flight,

Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite.

And as those lees, that trouble it, refine

The agitated soul of generous wine;

So tears of joy, for your returning spilt,

Work out, and expiate our former guilt.

Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's strand,

Who, in their haste to welcome you to land,

Choked up the beach with their still growing store,

And made a wilder torrent on the shore:

While, spurr'd with eager thoughts of past delight,

Those, who had seen you, court a second sight;

Preventing still your steps, and making haste

To meet you often wheresoe'er you past.

How shall I speak of that triumphant day,

When you renew'd the expiring pomp of May!

(A month that owns an interest in your name:

You and the flowers are its peculiar claim.)

That star that at your birth shone out so bright,

It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light,

Did once again its potent fires renew,

Guiding our eyes to find and worship you.

And now Time's whiter series is begun,

Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run:

Those clouds, that overcast your morn, shall fly,

Dispell'd to farthest corners of the sky.

Our nation with united interest blest,

Not now content to poise, shall sway the rest.

Abroad your empire shall no limits know,

But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow.

Your much-loved fleet shall, with a wide command,

Besiege the petty monarchs of the land:

And as old Time his offspring swallow'd down,

Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown.

Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine free,

Our merchants shall no more adventurers be:

Nor in the farthest East those dangers fear,

Which humble Holland must dissemble here.

Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes;

For what the powerful takes not, he bestows:

And France, that did an exile's presence fear,

May justly apprehend you still too near.

At home the hateful names of parties cease,

And factious souls are wearied into peace.

The discontented now are only they

Whose crimes before did your just cause betray:

Of those, your edicts some reclaim from sin,

But most your life and blest example win.

Oh, happy prince! whom Heaven hath taught the way,

By paying vows to have more vows to pay!

Oh, happy age! oh times like those alone,

By fate reserved for great Augustus' throne!

When the joint growth of arms and arts foreshow

The world a monarch, and that monarch you.

Ottobah Cuguano, Thoughts and Sentiments on the Evil of Slavery (1787)
He records that Charles II chartered The Royal African Company, empowering it to “trade from Salle in South Barbary to the Cape of Good Hope.”  Later he reflects that “we may find many of the different chiefs and kings in different parts of the world, in all ages—wading through a sea of blood to their throne's, or supporting themselves upon it, by desolating and destroying others; and we may find good and bad in all ages setting Up wretched examples for men to be guided by; and herein we may find a-David, a Solomon, a Cromwell, committing murder and death, and a Charles the Second committing a greater carnage upon more innocent people than those who suffered in the reign of a bloody Queen Mary; and even in a late rebellion there were many suffered in Britain, which, if they had been preserved to this mild reign, they would have been as good neighbours, and as faithful subjects, as any other.”  In other words, from the perspective of the other lands affected by the imperialist reach that began during the Restoration, the Augustan hero was little more than a blood thirsty criminal.  

What presentations of Charles II can you find in the early eighteenth-century on ECCO?