I was planning to write about a very curious novel featuring Thomas Cromwell this week, but I haven’t finished reading it just yet, so the odd book in question will be finding its way to Substack next time. In the meantime, while wrestling with the early life of Thomas Cromwell, I came across another curiosity.
Little is known about the early life of Thomas Cromwell, and surviving accounts from the 16th century are retrospective, partial, and don’t quite hang together. Hilary Mantel wove these fragments into the Cromwell Trilogy, and - as a novelist and rather than a historian - was able to add to them and create a series of “Lives” for her protagonist, which are set out in The Mirror and the Light.
In my turn, I am trying to piece things together for my Cromwell Narrative Cloth - combining Hilary’s fiction, the fragments of almost-contemporary stories that survive, and the conclusions of more recent Cromwell scholars. It can get horribly complicated, and I have a chronological table that stretches over pages and pages, trying to integrate these various sources. There’s nothing like a research puzzle to whet my appetite.
But back to the curiosity. Last week, I came across a most extraordinary morality tale. On August 25 1893, a weekly newspaper, published in Ireland, the Christian Advocate published a fable,* which seems to have been aimed at Sunday Schools:
Many years ago a poor man, who bore the name of Thomas Cromwell, went as a soldier into Italy, and during a battle was dangerously wounded. As he lay on the field, he remembered hearing of a very good, kind man who lived in the city near, and determined to crawl to him and beg for succour [...] Not only was he received kindly, but he was laid in a nice, comfortable bed, attended by the rich man’s own physician, and nursed during many weeks, till he was quite well again.
When the time came for him to go home, Cromwell received money for his passage and sufficient also to set him up in business when he got home, for the rich man’s sympathy had been aroused on hearing that Cromwell’s widowed mother had to depend on him for support.
On reaching home, Cromwell started in business, and succeeded very well. His leisure time he spent in the study of law, and so fascinated did he become in it, that he gave up business, became a lawyer, and at last, so famous did he grow, that he was known as Lord Chancellor of England.
Things fared very differently, however, with the Italian. All went wrong. He lost nearly everything, and hearing that money was easily made in London, he came to this city, only to find worse ill-fortune than ever attending him. He was walking disconsolately down Cheapside one day, when a grand carriage stopped near him, and the gentleman inside beckoned him in. In a great state of amazement he was driven to the Guildhall, ushered into the banqueting hall and seated next to the Lord Chancellor, whom he recognised us the gentleman who beckoned him into the carriage. What did it mean? Surely it was some mistake, and he would, soon be turned out in disgrace. But when his great friend stood up to make a speech, all his fear, vanished, for the story of poor Thomas Cromwell was told, and how generously he had been helped. ‘And now, friends,’ concluded the Lord Chancellor, ‘you all know that the poor soldier was none other than myself, but you do not know who my benefactor was. Allow me to introduce him to you,’ and he made the shabbily-dressed man by his side rise up and receive the applause of the company. You may be sure, after doing this, Lord Cromwell lost no opportunity of helping the man who, in the past, had so helped him: indeed, the man returned to his native land as rich as he had ever been, through Cromwell's help.
Now, does not this story beautifully show how kindness meets with its reward?
Citing Thomas Cromwell - often considered to be one of English history’s greatest villains - for a Sunday School story about kindness seems unusual to say the least. The story has its roots in Cromwell’s life as recounted by Matteo Bandello in the 16th Century. Bandello was the first person to write of Cromwell being helped by Francesco Frescobaldi, and of his helping Frescobaldi in his turn. In his excellent biography of Cromwell, Diarmaid MacCulloch discusses the Frescobaldis’ multi-stranded business, and Cromwell’s connections with it - but points out that the dates are such that Francesco Frescobaldi himself would have been too young to come to Cromwell’s aid, and that perhaps the person who helped young Thomas was another member of the family. And thus the Sunday School fable of ‘kindness meeting with its reward’ is unbalanced.
This is just one example of the mysteries of timings, differing accounts, and the mythologising of Cromwell’s life which has been going on for centuries. Stitching the contradictory accounts is a fascinating exercise in adaptation.
In my studio
In 2023, I started working on a series of pieces that would represent places associated with Thomas Cromwell. I had a map of Greater London all marked out, various ideas for stitching the house at Fenchurch Street, the Austin Friars houses, and I visited Stepney and Canonbury for inspiration.
And then I decided that the pieces were not working. And I cut them up in irritation.
Last week I found the pieces again. And pinned them up with my London map. And, with even more irritation, realised that they had in fact been fine. And they had all been sewn in a very time consuming backstitch in silk thread. I just hadn’t been able to see them straight.
I know from experience that stitchery can usually be rescued - and I always advise other people to put work aside for a while before doing anything drastic. On this occasion I didn’t follow my own advice. So my Cromwellian morality tale for the week is to always wait at least six months before cutting up abandoned work.
What caught my eye?
A stack of Cromwell research notebooks. I always annotate everything to do with my Cromwell stitching project - there are always index cards to be consulted - and I have many notebooks for each stage of the work.
The Cromwell Narrative Cloth is no exception. Each panel is written up so I have a record of what is included where, when it was stitched, and what any imagery represents.
What caught my eye this week was that I realised I hadn’t written up the colour coding in this ongoing work. My recent post Where’s my orange coat? discussed the importance of colour coding in the first Wolf Hall Quilt, and I must make sure I keep up my records in this regard. Back to the notebooks tomorrow…
* I haven’t been able to find out much about the Christian Advocate so I can’t give any background to the publication of this story. And of course the name “Cromwell” is controversial in Ireland to this day - although of course this refers to a different Cromwell: Oliver.
You can access the Christian Advocate at the British Newspaper Archive.
It can be very tempting to start cutting things up in the first dissatisfaction, and it's almost always the wrong thing to do, I find. I'm comforted to know I am not the only one who doesn't always listen to her own advice!