Carrying Oneself in this World

Assorted musings on Thomas Cromwell (as one does on a random Sunday…)

I am working my way through the second volume of Hilary Mantel’s “Wolf Hall” trilogy, which chronicles the rise and fall of Thomas Cromwell, the powerful chief minister to Henry VIII.  As a historical figure, Cromwell has not been portrayed sympathetically through the years. His machinations and servitude have typically been shown in stark contrast to Thomas More, whose principled stand against Henry’s demands for loyalty as the king’s sordid personal life drives England’s shift to Protestantism was made famous in the “The Man for All Seasons.” 

Mantel breaks from that tradition, instead showing us a man who is pragmatic, affable, and devoted to his country and sovereign. I am no historian and have no claim as to which portrayal might be more accurate. One could argue that since Mantel employs a narration which is not omniscient but limited to Cromwell’s psyche, it is neither objective nor reliable. 

Regardless, I’m willing to look past possible historical inaccuracies to appreciate and marvel at Mantel’s literary execution.  Her prose is terse yet flowing with elegant insight into the human condition.  I am struck by how her fictional Cromwell offers much to be admired and emulated as a way of carrying oneself in this world.  An example from Bring Up the Bodies:

Would that I might be worthy of a eulogy (or performance review) that merely hints at such character, work ethic, and emotional intelligence.  

Another example is one of my favorite quotes from the first novel, Wolf Hall:  

“There are some people in this world who like everything squared up and precise, and there are those who will allow some drift at the margins.  He is both these kinds of person.“

I love this passage because it captures so much in two short sentences.  Mantel’s Cromwell exhibits perfectionism and attention to detail in all he does, yet accepts the human element inherent in the affairs of men, replete with fallibility and differing perspectives. It also reminds me of Seamus Heaney’s “Casting and Gathering,” a lovely poem describing the competing inner voices of self-critique and self-acceptance.  This verse in particular often echoes in my mind:

One sound is saying, ‘You aren’t worth tuppence,
But neither is anybody. Watch it! Be severe.’
The other says, ‘Go with it! Give and swerve.
You are everything you feel beside the river.’

A final quote to offer. Mantel writes a concise yet achingly beautiful moment of Cromwell contemplating how to prepare his son Gregory for the brutality of the world while simultaneously shielding him from it: 

“Men, it is supposed, want to pass their wisdom to their sons; he would give a great deal to protect his own son from a quarter of what he knows.“

This is all the more poignant knowing that his son is his only remaining progeny, as Cromwell lost his two daughters shortly after his wife passed, all to sudden illness.

The quote is also reminiscent of John Adams’ letter to his wife Abigail in 1780:

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.

This sentiment resonates strongly with me.  My sincere hope is that after several generations in my family dedicating their lives to mastering the art and science of warfare, my children will have the luxury of devoting themselves to whatever vocation brings them happiness, fulfillment, and peace.   

Some light thoughts on a summer evening.