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

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].