THE CHARACTER AND OPPORTUNITY OF THOMAS CROMWELL
The condition of England at the time of Wolsey’s death was in many ways
an extraordinary one. At home and abroad she had already begun to reap
glorious fruits from the untiring efforts and masterful policy of the
first Tudor. United under a powerful monarchy, which had strengthened
itself at the expense of every other institution in the realm, she
rested secure in the enjoyment of internal peace and of a high degree of
estimation and respect in foreign lands. That she had lost nearly all
those continental possessions which had been the proudest boast of
Edward III. and Henry V. now proved an inestimable advantage. The wise
Cardinal had made use of England’s insular position to such good
advantage, that she had been able, at least up to the time when the
political situation had been complicated by the question of the divorce,
to keep the Emperor and the King of France in a state of constant
anxiety concerning her real attitude, and often to force the two rivals
to bid against each other for her alliance. In 1521 Henry had dedicated
to Leo X. a treatise which he had written against the heresies of
Luther, and had been rewarded with the proud title of ‘Defensor Fidei.’
Success abroad meant popularity at home, at least for the King, whose
enthusiasm and winning manners endeared him to his subjects, and who
usually contrived to shift the blame for the unwelcome measures of his
government on to the shoulders of the Cardinal. As long as the national
honour was upheld on the Continent without draining too deeply the
resources of the people at home, the country seemed quite willing to
trust the King to the full and to allow him to rule as well as govern.
Such was the bright side of the picture, the side which first claims the
attention of the casual observer. A more critical examination of the
state of the country, however, reveals an undercurrent of discontent,
which was almost lost in the crowning years of Wolsey’s greatness, but
which did not fail to make itself felt at a later day, when the
allegiance of so large a part of the people had been alienated by the
affair of the divorce. The surest proof that Henry and Wolsey were aware
of this latent hostility is afforded by the infrequent assemblings of
Parliament. Seldom did the King dare to face the representatives of the
nation with the demand for a subsidy; he preferred to veil his
oppressive financial exactions under the name of an Amicable Loan. The
poverty of the nobles was notorious; and the distress of the poor people
daily increased owing to a succession of bad seasons, thin harvests, and
a few outbreaks of a devastating plague. Economic and agrarian changes
contributed to swell the universal discontent[170]. The break-up of the
old manorial system, the increase of enclosures for pasturage, and the
substitution of convertible husbandry for the old three-field system all
served to displace labour, and so temporarily to diminish the demand for
it. Great distress among the agricultural poor was necessarily the first
result of these changes: unfortunately economic science was not
sufficiently advanced to enable men to discern that it was but a passing
phase, and that as soon as labour had adjusted itself to the new
conditions permanent advantages to it were bound to ensue. The
country-folk contrasted their own wretched condition with the many
reports which reached them of Henry’s sumptuous and luxurious Court:
small wonder if the government was wrongly blamed for a large share of
the misery which was inevitably the first consequence of sudden and
great economic development. Finally all malcontents were united in
opposition to the King’s attempts to gain a divorce from his first wife,
during the closing years of Wolsey’s ministry; so that the maintenance
and further strengthening of the powerful monarchy established at the
accession of the House of Tudor promised in the near future to afford a
problem of even greater difficulty than before.
To turn for a moment to the situation on the Continent. The House of
Hapsburg, under Charles V., seemed to have attained the acme of its
greatness, but its power was not by any means as real as it appeared.
The Emperor’s insatiable desire for foreign conquest had caused him to
neglect affairs in Spain and in the Empire, and to overtax his powers
and drain his resources by continual struggles with his great rival the
King of France. The bone of contention was ostensibly Italy; perhaps a
truer cause of the struggles of the two sovereigns is to be found in the
geographical position of the countries over which they ruled. The
newly-consolidated realm of France divided the dominions of the Emperor
into two parts: the dream of Charles was to connect them; the object of
Francis was to forestall him. Northern Italy belonged to neither, but it
was a rich prize and a fighting-ground easily accessible to both the
combatants, and so it very naturally became the field of war. Soon after
the Imperial election of 1519 the tide began to set slowly but surely
against Francis; he was a true soldier, and was not a man to submit to
any encroachment without a struggle; still he fought at a terrible
disadvantage, betrayed as he was by the Duke of Bourbon, and in 1525 he
was forced to acknowledge a thorough defeat, at the fatal battle of
Pavia[171].
Although the first idea that occurred to Henry and Wolsey after the news
of Charles’ great victory had reached them was a plan for the conquest
and subdivision of the kingdom of Francis, they soon came to the
conclusion that such a scheme would render the Emperor far too powerful.
Charles himself, moreover, had received with little favour the
extravagant proposals for an invasion of France which England had sent
him as soon as the result of Pavia was known, and had consistently
refused to allow Henry any share in his triumph. The Pope also, who had
watched with terror the victorious march of the Imperial army, ventured
for the last time to present himself as the centre of the opposition to
Charles V., and strove in every way to reconcile England and France. The
obstinate resistance that the Commissioners for the collection of the
Amicable Loan had encountered in the spring of 1525 was certainly no
encouragement for undertaking a war of aggression, and Henry and Wolsey
soon determined to abandon all plans of invasion, and to pursue the
wiser policy of maintaining neutrality between the two great continental
powers. With this thought in mind a treaty of peace was made with
Francis in August, and after the escape of the French King from
captivity in January, 1526, the two continental rivals were once more
placed on an even footing. With this restoration of equality Henry was
perfectly satisfied, and he took good care to avoid committing himself
permanently to Francis, by refusing openly to join the League of Cognac
in the following spring. At this juncture the matter of the divorce
began to occupy his exclusive attention, and the foreign affairs of the
next three years were left almost entirely in Wolsey’s hands.
Circumstances now drove the Cardinal temporarily to lose sight of the
policy which he had pursued for the most part up to this time--that of
strict neutrality--and to attempt to convert the peace with France into
a permanent alliance. And certainly the events of 1527 seemed to give
him every justification for this new departure. The sack of Rome
appeared to put Italy at the mercy of the Imperialists, and now the
difficulties connected with Henry’s matrimonial affairs pointed to the
need of securing a firm ally who would aid him in persuading the captive
Pontiff to consent to the divorce in opposition to the wishes of his
jailor the Emperor. With all his experience the Cardinal had hardly
learned how rapidly the diplomatic combinations of Europe could change.
The last great venture of his foreign policy resulted in disaster: the
French alliance utterly failed to accomplish what was expected of it. At
first indeed it seemed that the matrimonial projects which formed the
basis of it would succeed, but the crafty policy of Francis ruined all.
His war with the Emperor broke out again, as was to be expected,
immediately after his release from captivity, but secret negotiations
for peace were soon set on foot, and finally, in 1529, took shape in the
treaty of Cambray--the news of which came as a stunning blow to Wolsey’s
dearest hopes. The lesson which the Cardinal learned at the expense of
his office was by no means lost on his master. Absorbed in the attempt
to obtain a divorce from Katherine, Henry possibly had not been able to
foresee the course of events abroad any better than his minister; but
when, in 1529, the news of the treaty of Cambray aroused him to a true
appreciation of the state of affairs, he at once realized how dangerous
any permanent alliance with either Francis or Charles would be, as long
as the situation on the Continent remained so uncertain. He resolved
that, as soon as he could rectify the Cardinal’s false step, nothing
should tempt him again to abandon the only safe policy--that of strict
neutrality between the two great European powers--as long as the two
rivals remained nearly equal. This point has been purposely dwelt upon
here as a foreshadowing of what was to happen to Cromwell a few years
later. Departure from the policy of neutrality between France and Spain
helped to ruin Wolsey: a similar blunder in foreign affairs was destined
to lead his successor to destruction.
The entire attention of England was now turned to the absorbing question
of the divorce. The history of Wolsey’s failure to bring about the
separation of Henry and Katherine of Aragon, does not belong to the
ground covered by this essay. Suffice it to say that the Cardinal’s
ineffectual attempts to satisfy Henry’s chief desire, coupled with the
obvious error in his foreign policy, sealed his doom and gave Cromwell
his opportunity. There is little need to dwell upon the way in which the
attempt to divorce the Queen was regarded abroad. Henry was looked upon
as the disturber of Christian unity, not only by the Emperor, but also
by all continental Europe[172]. Charles, of course, was the obvious
person to avenge the wrongs of his aunt, but he was far too busy just
then with his schemes for suppressing the Protestants in Germany and of
checking the advance of the Turk into the borders of Christendom,
seriously to contemplate an invasion of Henry’s dominions. It was not
the only time that England’s fortunes were saved by the turn of affairs
in distant lands.
It now remains only to say a few words about the chief persons at the
Court of Henry VIII., preliminary to a description of Cromwell himself.
Foremost among these was of course Anne Boleyn. Born probably in 1507 of
a good English family, a niece of the Earl of Surrey, she had spent a
good part of her early life in France, as ‘one of the French queen’s
women,’ and returned to England in the latter part of the year
1521[173]. At Henry’s exceedingly corrupt Court she did not want for
admirers and suitors, foremost among whom was the King himself, who had
formerly been in intimate relations with her sister Mary. Henry’s
passion for her is sufficiently attested by a succession of royal grants
and favours to her father, beginning only two months after her arrival
in England, and continuing for over three years[174]. How far Anne was
responsible for causing Henry to take steps to divorce Katherine, and
how far he was moved thereto by a conscience that became over-sensitive
at suspiciously short notice, or by more legitimate political
considerations, it is not our business now to inquire; our best sources
of information are the grants to her father, above mentioned, and a most
remarkable series of love-letters[175]. Though she temporarily had the
King at her feet, no woman of Henry’s Court was really to be less
envied. Katherine and Mary, and, in consequence, the majority of the
people, were her bitter foes; to protect herself against the popular
odium, she gathered round her a following, known at Court as the Boleyn
faction, the chief person of which was her uncle, now Duke of Norfolk.
Norfolk was fifty-seven years old when Cromwell came into power. He was
a Catholic and against the New Faith. He had received in his younger
days a thorough military and diplomatic training, and in 1531 was
characterized by the Venetian ambassador, Falieri, as ‘prudent, liberal,
affable, and astute; associating with everybody ... and desirous of
greater elevation.’ This is a very flattering description of this crafty
and ambitious statesman. The chief traits that characterized him were a
cringing subservience to the will of the King, and a bitter hatred of
any rival to his influence with Henry; a hatred which first directed
itself against Wolsey, for whose downfall he laboured incessantly, and
later against Cromwell, whose opponent he was during the decade of the
former’s greatness. He was the equal of neither of these two as a
statesman; but his utter lack of honour and consistency, and his
willingness to break promises in order to please the King, rendered him
an invaluable servant of the Crown at a period when one startling change
followed on the heels of another. He threw himself heart and soul into
the interests of his niece when Henry’s love for her was increasing; and
yet when the royal passion waned, and Anne was accused in 1536, he was
not ashamed to preside at her trial and sentence her to death[176].
The other important person at the Court was Stephen Gardiner, who in
1531 became Bishop of Winchester. Ten years Norfolk’s junior, he was
introduced into political and diplomatic life by the Duke, and spent a
large part of his early life as Wolsey’s servant and ambassador. He did
not cherish any lasting friendship for the Cardinal, however, and he
seems to have been an adherent of the Boleyn faction at Wolsey’s fall;
we find Anne writing to him when the struggle between the two parties
was at its hottest, to thank him for his ‘wylling and faythefull
mynde[177].’ Still he took more or less a middle course on the divorce
question, and pleaded warmly, though vainly, for the restitution of
Wolsey’s colleges. But when the Cardinal’s fate was settled he certainly
expected that his old master’s favour with the King would be transferred
to himself, and when he was disappointed in this by Cromwell’s stepping
in, he developed a hatred for him which he never abandoned. He was less
active than Norfolk in his opposition to Rome, and though he lacked the
Duke’s subserviency, he was fully as able a diplomat. Neither of the two
men could have played the rôle of Cromwell: the scope of their talents
was more limited; they were merely exceedingly able politicians, but as
such they were by no means to be despised. When, however, they united to
procure their rival’s ruin it was difficult to resist them[178].
Thus when at Wolsey’s fall Cromwell entered the King’s service, the
situation of England both at home and abroad was critical in the
extreme. The relations of the government with Rome were strained, owing
to Henry’s proceedings in the divorce; his ‘grete matier’ was unpopular
with the country at large; France and Spain were both of them very
doubtful quantities, and might become friends or foes at any moment. At
the Court, various factions with different aims were disputing for the
precedence, and the best course to be steered by one who was about to
enter the King’s service, after leaving that of a fallen minister, was
not an easy thing to decide. Before inquiring into Cromwell’s action at
this crisis, a brief description of the person and of the character of
the man himself at this time will not be out of place.
Cromwell was a short, strongly-built man, with a large dull face. He was
smooth-shaven, with close-cropped hair, and had a heavy double chin. His
mouth was small and cruel, and was surmounted by an extraordinarily long
upper lip, while a pair of grey eyes, set closely together, moved
restlessly under his light eyebrows. He had an awkward, uncouth gait
which lent itself well to the other peculiarities of his personal
appearance, and gave one the idea that he was a patient, plodding, and,
if anything, a rather stupid sort of man. But this was all merely
external. According to Chapuys, who knew him well, he possessed the most
extraordinary mobility of countenance, so that when engaged in an
interesting conversation, his face would suddenly light up, and the
dull, drudging, commonplace expression give way to a subtle, cunning,
and intelligent aspect, quite at variance with his ordinary appearance.
His conversation at such moments was witty and entertaining to the last
degree, and the Spanish ambassador notes that he had the habit of giving
a roguish oblique glance whenever he made a striking remark. This
extraordinary power of facial control, according to the circumstances in
which he was placed, merely reflects one of the dominant characteristics
of the man. He obviously had remarkable power of quickly adapting
himself to his surroundings. He rarely failed to realize immediately his
relation to those with whom he came in contact, and his manner,
behaviour, and expression varied accordingly. No one knew better how or
when to flatter than Thomas Cromwell; on the other hand no one could be
more harsh and cruel than he, when he was in a position to dictate. He
had thoroughly learned the lesson
‘To beguile the time
Look like the time.’
There are many evidences of his good taste and love of beautiful
things[179]. A long and complicated correspondence with his friend
Stephen Vaughan about an iron chest of very curious workmanship, which
he wanted for his house at Austin Friars, of such expense that Vaughan
was almost afraid to buy it, is not without interest. There is record of
his purchasing a globe, with a set of explanatory notes, and the only
two ‘Cronica Cronicarum cum figuris’ that could be found in all
Antwerp[180]. Especially great was his love of Italian things. His stay
in Italy was of sufficient duration to steep him in the spirit of the
Renaissance; he read and studied his Machiavelli, so that it was a guide
to his future political career; we can well imagine him repeating to
himself the sentence in chapter xviii of The Prince which begins ‘Ma è
necessario questa natura saperla bene colorire, ed essere gran
simulatore e dissimulatore[181],’ or the passage in chapter xvii of the
same, ‘Deve pertanto un principe non si curare dell’infamia di crudele
per tenere i sudditi suoi uniti ed in fede[182].’ He doubtless
possessed many of the important Italian books in print at that time. In
April, 1530, Edmund Bonner writes to him to remind him of his promise to
lend him the Triumphs of Petrarch and the Cortigiano, and to make him a
good Italian[183].
Of his social gifts and of his charm as a host there is no room to
doubt. There are many proofs that he was a most magnificent entertainer,
and that his personal attraction, when he wished to make himself
agreeable, was such that no one could resist it. The letters of Chapuys
inform us that even the most careful and experienced politicians were
often completely put off their guard by Cromwell’s pleasing presence and
address; and more than once were induced to say things which should not
have escaped them.
But all these manners and externals were simply disguises to hide the
real inward character of the man. The whole essence of Cromwell’s
personality consists of different manifestations of one fundamental,
underlying trait, which may perhaps be best expressed by the common
phrase ‘a strict attention to business.’ Cromwell worshipped and sought
after the practical and the useful only, and utterly disregarded
everything else. The first evidence of this quality has been already
noticed, as coming in the shape of a contempt for the vague
generalizations of the Parliament of 1523, which beat about the bush for
an entire session without ever coming to the point[184]. Here it assumes
a somewhat negative form. Another striking instance of it occurs in the
conversation which Pole relates as having taken place between himself
and Cromwell, at Wolsey’s house, concerning the proper duty of a true
servant of a Prince[185]. Pole as usual began theorizing about the best
way to bring honour to one’s master, when he was rudely interrupted by
Cromwell, who advised him in few words to forsake the remote learning of
the schools, and devote himself to reading a new book which took a
practical view of the case, and which Pole later found was the adviser’s
favourite Prince of Machiavelli. Cromwell at the same time took
occasion to tell Pole that the great art of the politician was to
penetrate through the disguise which sovereigns are accustomed to throw
over their real inclinations, and to devise the most specious expedients
by which they may gratify their appetites without appearing to outrage
morality or religion[186]. It is not astonishing that Pole realized that
it was dangerous for him to remain in England, when Cromwell came into
power.
Another more positive and striking way in which this characteristic
stood forth, was in his utter lack of emotion. It was this quality which
enabled Cromwell to tick off in his memoranda the lives of human beings,
as if they were items in an account; or to send people to trials, of
which the verdicts had been determined beforehand, as ‘the Abbott of
Redyng to be Sent Down to be tryed & excecutyd at Reding[187].’ He
totally disregarded the justness or morality of any action; its utility
was for him its morality, and created its justification. He never struck
at his victims in a moment of passion, uselessly or capriciously; no
personal feeling of hatred mingled with his crime. On the other hand,
had the sacrifice of one of his nearest or dearest friends been
necessary to the accomplishment of his purposes, he would hardly have
hesitated a moment. Any means that could bring about the ends he sought
were _ipso facto_ for him justifiable. Whether his desires were attained
by fair means or foul, mattered little to him: he kept his eyes steadily
fixed upon the goal; the smoothness or roughness of the road to it was
of no consequence in his eyes[188].
Finally, and perhaps most important of all, Cromwell never lost anything
that might be turned to good account. It has been shown how he not only
succeeded in freeing himself from any ill-name at Wolsey’s fall, but
also actually used his master’s overthrow to further his own ends, and
make himself known and popular at Court. But this is only a slender hint
of what was to follow. It was precisely from this same practical
utilitarian standpoint, that he regarded and made use of to his own ends
the King’s amours, the suppression of the monasteries, the Reformation.
Catholicism and Protestantism passed over his head; he was not touched
by either of them. He simply used them as pieces in the great game which
he was playing.
Such was the man who, for the next ten years, was to have almost the
sole guidance of the course of English history. As was his purpose when
he rode on the afternoon of All Hallows Day to London to look after his
own interests and those of his master, so was his mission as minister
and counsellor of the King, ‘to make or to marre.’