The Rise and Fall of Thomas Cromwell

by John Schofield

  19 Daniell, Tyndale, pp. 381–3; Foxe 5, p. 127; LP 11, no. 1296.

  20 LP 11, no. 331; CSP Span., 1536–8, nos 103, 130.

  21 LP 8, no. 955; CSP Span., 1534–5, no. 257.

  22 On the Pilgrimage of Grace, see Elton, Studies 3, pp. 183–215; M.L. Bush, The Pilgrimage of Grace: A study of the rebel armies of October 1536 (Manchester UP, 1996); R.W. Holye, The Pilgrimage of Grace and the Politics of the 1530s (Oxford, 2001).

  On Cromwell as the rebels’ hate figure, see Elton, Policy, pp. 6–8; LP 11, no. 841; LP 12 (1) nos 163, 853, 976, 1021 (5), and also Bush, Pilgrimage of Grace, Index under Cromwell, pp. 438–9.

  23 LP 11, no. 860, p. 346; LP 11, no. 1250; CSP Span., 1536–8, no. 116, p. 284.

  24 Merriman 2, p. 36; LP 12 (1) nos 247, 259; Elton: Policy p. 253.

  25 Chapuys: LP 12 (2), no. 292 (3, p. 121). Norfolk: LP 12 (1), nos 426, 488, 479.

  26 LP 12 (1), no. 698.

  27 McEntegart, Henry VIII, pp. 78–88.

  28 LP 12 (1), nos 457, 708, 789, p. 346.

  29 Foxe 5, pp. 378–84.

  30 LP 12 (2), nos. 289, 445, 466, 581; Cranmer, Misc. Writings, pp. 337–8; Sermons and Remains of Latimer, ed. G.E. Corrie (PS, 1845), p. 379.

  31 J.F. Mozley, Coverdale and his Bibles (London, 1953), pp. 65–71; 111, 115–16, 119–21; S.L. Greenslade (ed.), The Cambridge History of the Bible (3 vols, Cambridge, 1987), vol. 3, p. 148.

  32 Mozley, Coverdale, pp. 110, 123, 136–41; Foxe 4, pp. 121–3. Daniell, Tyndale, p. 334–5. For an absorbing comparison of the ‘Matthew’ with the Tyndale and Coverdale editions, and an analysis of the historical books in the ‘Matthew’, see Mozley, Coverdale, pp. 148–66; Daniell, Tyndale, pp. 335–57.

  33 Cranmer, Misc. Writings, pp. 344–7; Mozley, Coverdale, pp. 126–9.

  34 Merriman 2, pp. 94–5; LP 12 (2), nos 889, 911, 1060.

  35 Cranmer, Misc. Writings, pp. 83–115, 359–9. For more a detailed discussion, see Schofield, Melanchthon, pp. 75–9.

  PART III

  The King’s Chief Minister

  11

  The Administrator

  Once he had entered the king’s service, Thomas Cromwell held various offices of state. He was made master of the king’s jewels in April 1532, clerk of the hanaper of chancery in July the same year, and Chancellor of the Exchequer in April 1533. The following year, in April, he became Principal Secretary, and in October, Master of the Rolls. In January 1535 he was the king’s Vicegerent for the visitation of the monasteries. By July 1536, as Lord Privy Seal and full Vicegerent, he had risen as high as any of the king’s subjects could.

  The first three were comparatively junior offices. As master of jewels he was responsible for the safe keeping of national reserves in jewellery and plate; as clerk of hanaper, for financial administration in chancery. As Chancellor of the Exchequer Cromwell was able to gain more control over revenue and auditing, but this position was far from being the chief finance minister of the crown, as is the case in Britain today. These posts were held by patent and for life. In each case Cromwell took the office following the death of previous holder but nothing sinister need be read into this. It is not known whether Cromwell applied for the posts, or whether he was appointed to them by Henry without asking.1

  The Principal Secretary was the foremost administrative officer of state. This was the office that Cromwell took to new, unprecedented levels, becoming responsible for government administration, revenue, justice, foreign policy, trade, education, defence and even the church.2

  Master of the Rolls was another office normally held for life. However, when the then holder, Dr John Taylor, resigned in May 1534, Cromwell was preferred to another candidate, Dr John Tregonwell. When Cromwell later succeeded Anne Boleyn’s father as Lord Privy Seal, he resigned from the Rolls and Sir Christopher Hales took his place. The Master of the Rolls was one of the government officers authorised to ‘write to the seal’ – that is to write documents worthy enough to have the great seal attached to them. It also gave Cromwell more control over government administration. Today the Master of Rolls is a judge, but it does not appear that Cromwell ever acted as a judge in chancery. It was a lucrative office with a salary of £300-330 per annum, and one of its attractions was an official residence, the Rolls House in Chancery Lane. Cromwell obviously appreciated his new home, and he made sure he kept it when Hales succeeded him.3

  The vicegerency has been discussed in previous chapters, while the chief advantages of being Lord Privy Seal were prestige and a handsome salary.4

  Considering his range of responsibilities, Cromwell can safely be called the king’s ‘chief minister’, provided it is remembered that this was not an official title, and that all appointments to the council were made by the king not Cromwell. His fitness for high office and its multifarious tasks was not disputed by contemporaries, even those who opposed him. Though Cromwell had little formal education, his experiences as a traveller, merchant, lawyer and parliamentarian, and his fluency in languages, combined to make him more qualified than any rival. During his lifetime and since his death he has attracted commendation and carping, praise and hostility, goodwill and antagonism, while opponents have seldom been slow to use his low birth against him; but so far as I have been able to trace, no one ever questioned his ability and proficiency, or his formidable capacity to manage a heavy and arduous workload. He was also blessed with a gift of eloquence, as Chapuys and other witnesses testify. When Cromwell was made Knight of the Garter in August 1537, it was said that he replied to the honour ‘with all the eloquence he was master of, and certainly he was master of the best’. Gabriel Harvey, the Elizabethan critic and scholar, described Cromwell – and also Wolsey, More and Gardiner – as an outstanding orator.5

  Cromwell’s religious faith has been treated already. His political philosophy is territory that needs to be entered into circumspectly, and not for the first time a set of personal memoirs is sorely missed. Some of what follows is therefore conjectural, but there are signs which serve as a guide, and which will hopefully prevent the historian from straying too far from the facts. We can begin with Cromwell’s concept of kingship and kingly government.

  When Thomas More resigned as lord chancellor, he gave Cromwell a few words of advice on how to deal with Henry. ‘Ever tell him what he ought to do, but never what he is able to do. For if a lion knew his own strength, hard were it for any man to rule him’.6

  Cromwell’s response to this counsel is not recorded. However, there is scant evidence that he took it to heart. Cromwell never imagined that he could rule the king, and neither did he particularly want to. So much of what he did was geared towards strengthening rather than restraining kingly power. His famous Act of Appeals, for example, was specifically designed to allow Henry to settle his Great Matter in England, giving Henry a constitutional freedom and authority that he did not otherwise have.

  The first Tudor king had brought stability and good government to England, and Cromwell did his utmost to consolidate and entrench that stability through a strong monarchy. Never did he equate kingly power with tyranny. An enfeebled crown could fling wide the door to upheavals, wars and confusion, as the previous century had shown. A crown strong and secure was the guarantor of the liberties of his people and the wellbeing of the nation.

  Besides a keen knowledge of recent English history, a Protestant minister was bound to be influenced by the Reformation and specifically the Bible. The New Testament enjoins the faithful to obey rulers, even when the rulers were pagans (Romans 13:1–5; 1 Peter 2:13–17). These soon became standard texts used by Luther and Melanchthon to uphold the divinely required duty of princes to exercise government in the civil sphere, free from clerical interference and claims of papal authority. The Old Testament also offers many examples of godly men in the service of pagan kings, like Joseph with Pharaoh and Daniel with Nebuchadnezzar and Darius (Genesis 41–49; Daniel 2–3, 6). Naaman the Syrian, following his conversion in the Jor
dan, returned to his own country to serve his natural, lawful but heathen king, and with the prophet Elisha’s blessing (2 Kings 5). With these examples at hand, it would not matter to Cromwell that he and Henry were not of the same mind in religion. Cromwell could still serve the king faithfully, and with a clear conscience. He might yet be able to persuade Henry to become a Lutheran too; but even if he did not, the English crown remained an authority ordained of God, and the wearer of that crown was entitled to the unswerving obedience of his subjects and ministers. Only in the very last resort – only if the king commanded something directly contrary to the law of God – could the subject invoke the example of Daniel and the apostles and ‘obey God rather than men’ (Daniel 6:6–10; Acts 5:29). This apart, Cromwell’s loyalty was unquestioning but not unthinking – Reformers had thought this out carefully.7

  A little anecdote will aptly illustrate this loyalty. For murmuring against the king’s early supremacy plans, Sir George Throckmorton was summoned one day to Henry’s presence. He warned the king that if he married Anne Boleyn he would compound his sin, ‘for that it is thought ye have meddled both with the mother and the sister’. Henry’s guilty conscience reduced him to sheepish excuses. ‘Never with the mother’, he pleaded tamely. ‘Never with the sister neither, and therefore put this out of your mind’, rapped Cromwell who was also present. Like everyone else, Cromwell knew that Henry had indeed ‘meddled’ with the sister: Mary Boleyn was once – fortunately for her only briefly – Henry’s mistress. But on no account would Cromwell tolerate gossip or anything derogatory to the king’s honour, even if it was true. Cromwell was also reported to be furious when stories of Henry’s lack of virility leaked out of the courtroom during the trial of Anne Boleyn and her co-accused. Cromwell had wanted this stuff hushed up to protect the king’s reputation.8

  Not that relations between Henry and Cromwell were always harmonious. We have already witnessed, with Chapuys, the two men exchanging sharp words, and Cromwell storming out of the room in anger when Henry abruptly wrecked his minister’s hopes and plans for Anglo-Imperial relations (see Chapter 9). Henry was a difficult master to serve, not least because of his fixation with getting involved in details that ought to have been delegated to others. Another reminder of the Milanese ambassador’s words – that Henry ‘chooses to know and superintend everything himself’ – may be timely. Henry once made it very clear to a French envoy that whilst he would seek the opinions of his council on various matters when it pleased him, he and he alone made the decisions.9

  Henry’s servants were under no illusions about their prince. Norfolk told Chapuys one day that Henry did not really need a council at all because he decided all his business himself. Henry, Chapuys wryly observed, has a ‘natural propensity to dispute on all matters’, and he added that Cromwell was only too well aware of it. On another occasion, when protracted negotiations left Chapuys anxiously waiting for an overdue royal reply, Cromwell, after yet another meeting with Henry, wearily told the ambassador that ‘the king, my master, is a great king, but very fond of having things his own way’.10

  So Henry was undisputed lord and master in his own realm. He was the chairman and chief executive officer, Cromwell the general manager. Whereas, however, many managers would simply do as they were bid and nothing more, this one, fired with boundless energy and brimming with ideas, took all kinds of reformist initiatives in church, state and economic affairs. Recognizing that Henry was in control does not mean that his ministers could never try and influence him, or persuade him to change his mind, or steer him in their own preferred direction. Cromwell tried to do so, though inevitably with mixed results. He contrived to secure Henry’s approval for articles of religion on justification by faith that the king did not fully agree with; but no appeals from Cromwell, or even Melanchthon, would induce Henry to relax his uncompromising hostility to the marriage of priests. Cromwell may have used subtle persuasions regarding the English Bible, but he had failed to win Henry’s support for his Poor Law proposals or the Anglo-Imperial alliance. Cromwell could introduce Henry to the German Lutheran states, but he could not compel Henry to accept the Augsburg Confession. Henry could be prevailed upon, but only up to a point. He could never be ruled by an ambitious, over-mighty subject. Like all Henry’s ministers and servants, Cromwell knew his rightful place; he was the man standing beside the throne, not the one sitting on it. He would have it no other way.11

  Reports exist that Henry would occasionally biff Cromwell’s ears and push him out of the Privy Chamber when disagreements arose between them. All was apparently good natured, and Cromwell would laugh it off afterwards. The source is one George Paulet, who may not be the most trustworthy witness. Among his other far-fetched tales are these: Cromwell urged Henry to give away lands of those attainted in Ireland for treason; Cromwell does nothing except for money; Cromwell has recently (spring 1538) been near death; Cromwell uses up all Henry’s revenues. Much of this is either nonsense or overblown, and Paulet soon found himself in the Tower, though whether this was for gossiping about Cromwell is not certain. Still, it could well be the case that Henry and Cromwell had rows from time to time. Rather ruefully Cromwell was wont to tell Cranmer how he (Cranmer) was the ‘most happy of all men; for you may do and speak what you list: and, say what all men can against you, the king will never believe one word to your detriment or hindrance’. Cromwell, by contrast, for all his efforts, felt ‘everyday chidden, and many false tales now and then believed against me’. Cranmer agreed that the king’s goodwill rested on him in a unique way, but he doubted whether Cromwell stood much in need of sympathy on this account. ‘Your wisdom and policy’, the archbishop replied, ‘is such that you are able to shift well enough for yourself’.12

  But working relationships are seldom so affable that nothing is ever said in anger. Moments of exasperation do not undermine the main point that for a Tudor minister, and especially a Protestant one, loyalty to the king was a religious conviction as well as a civil duty or career. It is also worth remembering that even though historians tend to take a dim view of Henry, he possessed qualities of personal magnetism and charm that made him genuinely loved and honoured by those who served him. Under Henry, kingly authority was a divine ordinance that drew forth a willing, not a grudging, obedience.

  Cromwell’s appointment as Principal Secretary set in motion what Elton memorably described as the ‘Tudor revolution in government’. This was never meant to imply that the system was abysmally inept until Cromwell came along and put everything to right, because the first Tudor king had consistently kept meticulous records and accounts. What Cromwell did, or began to do, was to shift the centre of power from the king and his household to the king and his council. Between 1534 and 1536–7 the loose group of councillors around the king became institutionalized as the Privy Council, the king’s national executive and policy-making body, roughly the Tudor equivalent of the modern British cabinet. Exactly how this developed remains uncertain, because Cromwell’s own correspondence and ambassadors’ letters give few clues, and no official document for the formal creation of a Privy Council has survived. Nevertheless, the brain and impetus of Cromwell behind the new developments can still be seen, if dimly. A more efficiently organized council – and Cromwell made sure that all councillors were provided with a clerk and other useful necessities – could implement royal and government policy much more effectively. Membership of the council now became entirely dependant on the king’s discretion and less so on ancestry. The nobility were not automatically excluded, but they would have to compete for the king’s favour on a more or less level playing field with men like Cromwell and his allies. And although the Privy Council of late 1536 was split roughly equally between evangelicals and those of the old faith, evangelicals of low or humble birth are now found holding key offices of state – Cromwell as Principal Secretary and Vicegerent, along with Cranmer and Audley as Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor respectively. Cromwell doubtless hoped that this trend would
continue, and that the balance on the council would tilt further in the reformers’ favour.13

  Apart from ‘chief minister’, another of Cromwell’s unofficial titles might be ‘manager of parliament’ on the king’s behalf. Here, too, his own experience as a parliamentarian served him and the king well. Money was the main reason why late medieval and early Tudor kings convened parliament – all seven parliaments between 1510 and 1523 were summoned to raise money – but increasingly under Henry and Cromwell, parliament was required to legislate on major constitutional changes such as the king’s Supremacy and divorce. A royal circular issued before the elections in May 1536, for the parliamentary session needed to pass the new succession act following Anne Boleyn’s demise, referred to ‘our high court of parliament to be assembled for that purpose’. The crown could not arbitrarily repeal an act of parliament, so the king needed parliamentary affairs to be managed with some skill to ensure than nothing contrary to royal policy found its way onto the statute.14

  Men sought election to the House of Commons generally for prestige, personal advancement and to further their own interests and those of groups with whom they were associated. Consequently, the various vested and conflicting interests of members – including merchants, manufacturers, lawyers and corporate bodies like the city of London – ensured that getting legislation passed was seldom easy or routine. A great deal of detailed planning and discussion went on even before a bill was ready for debate. Many times Cromwell faced opposition to his bills, forcing him to make do with a compromise (as with, for example, his Poor Law proposals – see here). Nevertheless, Cromwell did not despair of parliament or seek to circumvent it. The evidence shows that attendance at parliament increased under his management. Whenever something important needed doing he would usually draft a bill; he even produced a bill to give legal sanction to royal proclamations.15