The Rise and Fall of Thomas Cromwell

by John Schofield

  No one would deny that Tudor laws could be severe, but any comparison between the Cromwellian period and the reign of terror of the French Revolution would be ludicrously wide of the mark. Nevertheless, Cromwell’s forbidding reputation persists, and he is still from time to time made guilty by association with one of the most malignant of all hobgoblin figures of the past – Niccolò Machiavelli.

  It was in 1539 that Lord Morley sent Cromwell a copy of Machiavelli’s History of Florence in Italian, knowing Cromwell’s interest in Italian history, and how conversant among the Italians he was. Morley was amazed at the Italian ‘frauds, mischiefs, treasons and conspiracies’ he had read of. He also recommended The Prince, a book ‘surely a very special good thing for your Lordship to look upon for many causes’.10

  According to Reginald Pole, however, Cromwell had read The Prince ten years earlier, and had warmly recommended it to Pole. Merriman believed Pole’s account though others, including Pole’s recent biographer, are sceptical. The Prince was not published until 1532, three years after Pole alleged that Cromwell had applauded it; so if Pole’s story is true then Cromwell must have seen an early manuscript copy. Because he was fluent in Italian, this is quite possible, so the following discussion will assume for the sake of argument that Cromwell had indeed read The Prince as Pole claimed. He was not the only Englishman to have done so; one of his clients, Richard Morison, had also read it, and he found it a most interesting work.11

  So was Cromwell a Machiavellian? The term has become a carelessly used catch-all insult for any politician who may occasionally display a touch of guile, so in order to try and answer the question, a summary of The Prince might help.12

  To begin with, The Prince contains sections on making war and conquering new territory. As seen already, however, the chief aim of Cromwell’s foreign policy was to keep England at peace, and to dissuade Henry from oversees adventures. Then much of The Prince concerns a ruler who has acquired power by conquest or other means, not a hereditary monarch like Cromwell’s master. Machiavelli also writes admiringly of the Renaissance Pope Alexander VI, who, ‘more than any other pontiff who has ever lived, showed how much a pope could achieve with money and armed force’. After him, Pope Julius ‘not only continued but also improved’ on the feats of Alexander. Thanks to these two, Pope Leo ‘found the papacy in an extremely strong position’. Machiavelli hoped that Leo, ‘by his goodness and countless other virtues, will make it very great and revered’. Not much here to arouse the admiration of Henry’s Lutheran chief minister.13

  Here, now, are some of Machiavelli’s more general points. Generosity is a virtue, but not necessarily a good thing in a prince; it will be misused and resources squandered. Cruelty is acceptable if it keeps his people united and loyal. If a prince is too compassionate, he risks provoking disorder and murder, which harms the whole community; but a few well-timed executions affect only individuals. Nevertheless, his behaviour ‘must be tempered with humanity and prudence’. Ideally a prince should be loved and feared; but rarely is this possible, so it is better to be feared than loved if he cannot be both. An act of love is easily despised, but fear compels obedience. The art of statecraft is to be feared, but not hated. The best way a prince will avoid being hated is to leave his subjects’ property and their women alone. A war leader needs to be cruel to keep discipline: Hannibal showed ‘inhuman cruelty’, and was a great commander; Scipio showed leniency, and his armies mutinied.14

  One of the most controversial passages from The Prince reads as follows:

  A ruler must not honour his word when it places him at a disadvantage, and when the reasons for which he made his promise no longer exist. If all men were good, this precept would not be good; but because men are wretched creatures who would not keep their word to you, you need not keep your word to them … One must know how to colour one’s actions and to be a great liar and deceiver.

  A good prince, the author continues, should be capable of kindness, honesty and mercy; but he should also know how to be the opposite. Reasons of state demand it. He should ‘not deviate from what is good, if that is possible; but he should know how to do evil, if that is necessary’. To appearances a prince should be compassionate, honest, and especially religious; because ‘everyone sees what you appear to be, but few experience what you really are’.15

  Some may find this offensive, though others may feel that Machiavelli was merely stating some uncomfortable truths rather forcefully. There can be few rulers and statesmen, however honourable, who have not behaved with a certain ruthlessness or guile at some time in their careers.

  Machiavelli has an interesting passage, which might have caught Cromwell’s eye, on the relationship between a prince and his key ministers. The prince should not injure any minister ‘close to him in his affairs of state’ – a lesson Henry VIII habitually ignored. ‘Nothing brings a prince more prestige than great campaigns and striking demonstrations of his personal abilities’. As noted already, Cromwell hated great military campaigns. A prince must try and ‘win the reputation of being a great man of outstanding ability’, and be a ‘true friend or a true enemy’. But he must avoid neutrality. A prince ‘should never join in an aggressive alliance with someone more powerful than himself unless it is a matter of necessity’, because ‘if you are the victors, you emerge as his prisoner’. Cromwell, however, was prepared to consider an alliance between Henry and a more powerful monarch, Charles V, against the Turk, as we saw in Chapter 9. A minister should think always of his prince, never of himself. A prince should honour such a minister and share responsibility with him. A good prince must choose wise ministers and allow them, but only them, ‘the freedom to speak the truth to him, though only concerning matters on which he asks their opinion’. A ‘prince who is not himself wise cannot be well advised, unless he happens to trust himself to the hands of one individual who looks after all his affairs, and is an extremely shrewd man’. The danger with this is that the prince would ‘not last long, because the one who governs for him would soon deprive him of his state’. So a prince needs more than one advisor, and he needs also the wisdom to understand and decide on the often conflicting advice he receives. So if Cromwell entertained ideas about becoming an all-powerful minister ruling without rivals, Machiavelli offered no encouragement.16

  Of fortune or providence in the affairs of nations, Machiavelli has little to say. He does not ‘rule out our free will’, so he makes fortune ‘the arbiter of half the things we do’. Fortune is like a ‘great river which may bring floods and destruction; but when such a river is flowing quietly it is sensible to build dykes and embankments, so that when the storm comes it may be less dangerous’. Fortune ‘shows her potency when there is no well-regulated power to resist her’. Machiavelli discusses the career of Pope Julius II, an ‘impetuous’ man; and concludes that ‘it is better to be impetuous than circumspect, because fortune is a woman, and if she is to be submissive it is necessary to beat and coerce her’. Machiavelli hoped that Lorenzo de Medici, to whom the work was dedicated, would be the one raised up of God to liberate Italy and lead her ‘to her salvation’. It is noteworthy how the theme of salvation appears in a political, though not a religious, context.17

  However, Machiavelli was not entirely irreligious. In a separate work – his Discourses – he commended religion, but chiefly as a force for inspiring and maintaining a well-ordered society, as the ancient Romans applied it. He was critical of the Roman Church of his time; he was also, though indirectly, critical of the Christian piety that lauded humility, weakness and gentleness while belittling grandeur, strength and greatness. About Christian themes like salvation, regeneration and sanctification, he has little to say.18

  The Prince was written following Machiavelli’s own experiences as a diplomat and observer of the tangled Italian conflicts of his age, when he had the chance to watch and assess the campaigns of Cesare Borgia and Pope Julius II.19 So it is not particularly relevant to England in the 1530s, a unitary state with a here
ditary monarchy undergoing a period of unprecedented constitutional change. No advice is to be found in Machiavelli on how to persuade the pope to grant the king his heart’s desire, or carry out a religious and political reformation. No hints are given on how best to infuse Lutheran ideas, which the king still only dimly understands, in the hearts and minds of the English people. The admiration for the military and political skills of the renaissance popes sits uneasily with the campaign of Henry and Cromwell to reject papal authority, and to turn the peoples’ affections away from the pontiffs by attacking their worldly, unchristian living.

  To revert to the original question, therefore, calling Cromwell a Machiavellian is the sort of thing that makes a catchy headline but has little real substance to it. Cromwell may indeed have read The Prince around 1529, as Pole claimed. Maybe it made an impression then; maybe he retained, and from time to time practiced, one or two Machiavellian ideas. But Cromwell had moved on since Pole knew him, to a wholly new spiritual and political order. The thoughts and counsels of The Prince were of little use to him when he became Henry’s chief minister. In fact, as a reformer of the Tudor church and state, Cromwell had no man’s writings or works to draw upon. He was one of those men destined to make history, not to follow where others had gone before.

  Another tale about Cromwell is that he was extortionate, rapaciously fond of money and a habitual exactor of bribes. Again the flimsy evidence that exists comes mainly from hostile witnesses. Elton has already demonstrated that two letters in Merriman’s collection (numbers 163 and 180), which appear to show Cromwell demanding bribes, are almost certainly forgeries. The fact that these letters have been preserved indicates that the targets of the deception probably reported the tricks to Cromwell.20

  Beyond doubt, Cromwell profited from his position, and before the hazards of high office dragged him to his downfall, he saw no reason why he should not enjoy some of its benefits. He lived handsomely, though never craved the flamboyant extravagance that Wolsey delighted in. Many of those enquiring about monastic lands for sale offered Cromwell a fee; but this is no more disturbing than a business lunch, a free ticket to the opera, a weekend in the country, or some other inviting perk that is likely to remain a part of daily commercial life. Besides, letters enquiring about church lands came invariably from the nobility and wealthy gentry, and there was no reason why such fortunate people should not be expected to offer something in return for a favour. It is impossible to trace how Cromwell spent all this money, but as many as 400 people depended on him either directly or indirectly for their livelihood. It is also likely that Cromwell used the gentry’s cash to fund his evangelical allies and their cause.

  A study of Cromwell’s relations with the West Country by Dr Mary Robertson has shown how concerned he could be for the wellbeing of a region in which he had little vested interest, and little opportunity to enrich himself. It was comparatively remote from London, generally conservative in religion, and the stronghold of the Exeters, a clan not among Cromwell’s natural supporters. Nevertheless, Cromwell made good use of personal contacts with local gentry, merchants and justices that he had forged since first entering parliament in 1523. Some, though not all, were formally in his service. Cromwell’s contacts supplied him with regular news on a range of subjects including law and order, poverty in Falmouth, building works, tin works, repairs needed to ports, a fight between French and Spanish sailors off the Devon coast, and a similar scrap near Falmouth. These were not routine reports that Cromwell merely read and discarded. Many had a positive outcome. For instance, bills were brought before parliament to improve ports and harbours. When a complaint reached Cromwell that local officials had covered up a crime allegedly committed by a nephew of one of them, and the sheriff failed to take any action, Cromwell quickly sent one of his own men, Richard Pollard, to resolve the matter to general satisfaction. However, Cromwell made no attempt to pack the Devon and Cornish benches or local authorities with loyal evangelical protégées.21

  The West Country may not necessarily be representative of all England, but it is nonetheless a useful pointer to Cromwell’s style of government, and how it impacted on the lives of people in the regions. What emerges from it is a narrative of good, sound practical government, and the right sort of central intervention when needed. This, and the knowledge that the king’s chief minister cared about the welfare of the region, would help foster goodwill among the people, and maybe win acceptance for the sort of religious change which normally would go against the grain of Catholic Devon and Cornwall.

  In fact, there was far more to Tudor government than major constitutional change, and the following examples are selected in order to illustrate what a more or less typical day in the life of Thomas Cromwell could have been like. They will also shed light on his reputation among the Tudor populace. All events occurred between 1534 and the period shortly before his death. Some of the more intriguing cases are petitions from ordinary and not excessively rich folk on day-to-day problems. We begin, however, with a few miscellaneous tasks he undertook just after he was made Principal Secretary.

  In July 1534 he issued an order to detain suspected murderers from Yorkshire, who, after the crime, had fled to Scotland and subsequently returned to Durham. He then sought to reconcile a dispute over property between the abbot of St Austin’s and one George Goldwyn, who had been pursuing Cromwell relentlessly with his ‘continual suit’. He sent directions to Lord Cobham about a ‘farm of the parsonage’, instructing him to ‘cause the corn and other duties to be gathered together’, and promising to ‘order your lordship’ concerning the rent. He summoned Sir Roger Reynolds, Robert Wolf and John Kytch to answer charges against them. An admonitory letter had to be sent to Lord Lisle in Calais, though Cromwell promised Lisle and his wife his friendship. He arranged a lease of a farm for one Mr. Allen. He then wrote to Scottish authorities on behalf of Thomas Miller, a merchant and an English subject, whose ship had run aground, and whose goods were detained ‘against good equity and conscience’ by authorities in the north of Scotland. After being petitioned regarding a land dispute, Cromwell asked that lands belonging to one Reginald Williams should to be restored to him. On Henry’s behalf, he rebuked the authorities of Oxford University for their ‘abusions, usurpations and ungentle demeanour’ towards the king’s subjects in Oxford and its suburbs. Cromwell marvelled that ‘ye being men of learning and in who should remain both wisdom and discretion’ should behave in such a way. Their offence is not explicitly stated, but it reads as though they had used unreasonable heavy-handedness regarding university appointments. Later in the year, keeping watch on all kinds of government projects, Cromwell sent a stern letter to Thomas Wingfield, controller of the works at Dover, giving him a rocket for wastefulness and inefficiency.22

  Cromwell also received many letters from the king’s subjects seeking redress, help or simply making a complaint. A great many of these are disputes regarding lands and property, or requests for annuities, appointments and applications to this or that post. These can be passed over for this purpose – they are repetitive and somewhat dull – in favour of more interesting cases. The outcome of these requests is seldom certain from the surviving records, but when there is clear evidence it will be noted. We begin with letters of a semi-official nature.

  John Peryns of Herton complained about a prior, who, with two of his monks – all disguised with coats, swords and bucklers – entered Malvern Chase to hunt and kill the king’s deer. When William Maunsell, an employee of the sheriff of Yorkshire, was arrested for felony, he wrote to Cromwell asking for a personal hearing. Sir Walter Stonore appealed to Cromwell on behalf of his brother Edmund, who had killed a servant who attacked him; Stonore gave a meticulous account of the event, insisting that Edmund had acted only in self-defence. Lord Lumley complained to Cromwell that Ralph, earl of Westmoreland, had illegally stopped a watercourse; Westmoreland then submitted a lengthy defence (this occurred before the Council of the North was established).23

&nb
sp; When seven convicts escaped from the bishop of Lincoln’s prison, the anxious bishop, now liable for a forfeit, appealed to Cromwell to intercede with Henry and obtain the king’s forgiveness. When a labourer on the king’s works in Dover was injured and unable to work, one John Wynfeld kindly provided for him. Then, when some official advised Wynfeld that he might be able to make a claim for compensation, he wrote to Cromwell asking if his costs might be refunded. Bailiffs of Kingston-upon-Thames, embroiled in a dispute over rents, asked Cromwell to obtain an allowance from the Exchequer. From the north of England – this time when the Council of the North was established – Robert Ferrer, one of Cromwell’s agents, reported that gentry on the borders were oppressing and cheating the poor. Ferrer does not say why he did not take the case to the Council of the North. What really matters, however, is that Ferrer knew this was the sort of thing that ought to be reported to Cromwell.24

  The next three pieces show local officials contacting Cromwell. When Thomas Crofte of Kent, for seditious words, was sentenced to the pillory and to have both his ears cut off, Cromwell somehow heard of the case. He reviewed it, and decided that the pillory alone should be enough. The local justice agreed, and a grateful Master Crofte survived his ordeal with ears intact.25

  Thomas Long was a local officer in the London area. One day, quite lawfully, he set a fellow called Rygeley in the stocks. Soon after this, and quite by chance, Long and Rygeley came face to face in the street. Determined to get his own back, Rygeley set about Long with his fists. Rygeley was getting the better of the brawl until a passer-by restrained him. Long, now heavily bandaged, lodged a most indignant complaint to Cromwell.26