In justifying his assumption of the protectorship to Parliament in 1654, Cromwell recalled
I was by birth a gentleman, living neither in any considerable height, nor yet in obscurity. I have been called to several employments in the nation - to serve in parliaments - and ... did endeavour to discharge the duty of an honest man in those services, to God, and His people’s interest, and [that] of the commonwealth.
Speeches of Oliver Cromwell ed. I. Roots, 42.
His earliest biographers said little about his origins,
Morrill’s assertion that the young Cromwell was ‘a man in humbler circumstances ... than has usually been allowed’ seems to be correct, at least until the later 1630s.
Although Cromwell’s inheritance was modest by gentry standards - his 1628 subsidy rating of £4 in goods was little more than that of Huntingdon’s leading tradesmen - his interest in his mother’s jointure estate, which was valued separately at £3 in goods in the same subsidy roll, made him a figure of some stature within the town.
Morrill rejects the claim that Cromwell’s religious opinions were formed by his schoolmaster, Thomas Beard, whom he sees as ‘a greedy pluralist’ and one whose published works suggest ‘a complacent Jacobean Calvinist conformist: not the man to ignite the fire in Cromwell’s belly’.
The only independently verifiable fact about Cromwell’s education is that he matriculated as a fellow-commoner at Sidney Sussex, Cambridge in April 1616. Few families of such slender means chose to pay the high fees required of such students, but Cromwell’s father had been a fellow-commoner at Queen’s College in 1579.
Cromwell inherited very little at his father’s death: the family home and other freehold lands were reserved for his mother’s jointure, and two-thirds of Hartford rectory was also assigned to his mother for 21 years, to be used to raise portions for his unmarried sisters.
Four months after coming of age, Cromwell married the daughter of Sir James Bourchier, a London Leatherseller who had also acquired a small estate in south-eastern Essex. The size of his wife’s dowry is unknown, but on the eve of his marriage, Cromwell entered into a bond for £4,000 to settle Hartford rectory (which Noble valued at £40 a year) on her as a jointure estate.
Little is known about Cromwell during the 1620s. It is tempting to suppose that he was the Capt. Cromwell who took a company of recruits from Bedfordshire and Huntingdonshire to the Low Countries in Count Mansfeld’s army in the winter of 1624-5, but this was almost certainly his cousin John, who went on to make a career in the Dutch army.
The surviving records of the sessions of 1628-9 mention Cromwell on a single occasion, during a debate of 11 Feb. 1629, when he informed the committee for religion that Thomas Beard had been ‘exceedingly rated’ by Bishop Neile about 12 years earlier for criticizing a sermon by William Alabaster, a former Catholic, as ‘flat popery’. Although Morrill considers the speech to be ‘very stale beer’, it highlighted the bishop’s longstanding opposition to orthodox Calvinism and thus complemented the previous speaker, Christopher Sherland, who reported that Neile had secured the pardons granted to several Arminian clergymen shortly before the parliamentary session. The attack was quickly reinforced by further claims that Neile had treated another cleric, Dr. Marshall, in the same way, and both Beard and Marshall were summoned to give evidence, with the Speaker’s letter to Beard being entrusted to Cromwell for delivery.
Cromwell’s early foray into national politics was brought to an abrupt end by the dissolution of 10 Mar. 1629. Little is known about his attitude to government policies in the 1630s. He displayed no perceptible reluctance to compound for his knighthood fine, which he settled for £10 in April 1631, shortly after a test case had been concluded in the Crown’s favour in the Exchequer.
Almost all the evidence which survives for the 1630s suggests that local and personal issues ranked uppermost in Cromwell’s mind. The first of these concerned a dispute over a bequest of £2,000 to the town of Huntingdon by the London Mercer Richard Fishbourne. The corporation, having resolved to use the sum to buy lands worth £100 a year, pressed the Mercers’ Company to assign £40 of this annuity to pay for the twice-weekly lectureship at All Saints’ church held by Thomas Beard, which they had hitherto funded from the town’s corporate income.
Six months after his appearance before the Privy Council, in a move which was probably designed to allow him to escape the derision of his enemies while keeping in touch with local affairs, Cromwell sold his entire patrimony to Richard Oakeley* and Richard Owen (servants of Bishop John Williams) and took up a lease of a farm at St. Ives, less than three miles away.
Cromwell’s decision to exchange a guaranteed rental income for the unpredictable life of a tenant farmer was ill-advised by contemporary standards, and his willingness to undertake such a risk suggests that he already expected to succeed to at least part of the estates of his childless uncle, Sir Thomas Steward of Ely, estimated to be worth £500 to £700 p.a. in 1636. Steward’s freehold estate comprised a mere 100 acres of arable and 200 acres of marsh scattered across the fens of the Isle of Ely and Norfolk, entailed on the grandson of his second cousin Sir Simeon Steward* of Stuntney, but he held a larger portfolio of lands in lease from the bishop and dean and chapter of Ely cathedral, which were not subject to this entail. His main lease of Ely rectory had been granted for three lives in 1610, these being his wife, Sir Simeon Steward’s heir and Oliver Cromwell; this arrangement imposed no obligation on Sir Thomas, but suggests that he may have considered Cromwell as one of his heirs at this early date.
According to royalist accounts, Cromwell was an inept farmer at St. Ives, and after failing to secure financial help from Steward, he ‘endeavoured by colour of law to lay hold of his estate, representing him as a person not able to govern it’. This claim has been dismissed by historians, but it probably refers to the commission of lunacy held for Steward at Cambridge on 30 Sept. 1635, which, most unusually, returned the verdict that the subject was not insane.
Steward was understandably cool towards his nephew in his will of January 1636, but he did not completely disinherit him, a decision which one generally unreliable source ascribed to the intercession of Cromwell’s friends among the puritan clergy.
Perhaps the most important question about Cromwell’s early life concerns his religion. His writings up to 1636 demonstrate a conventional piety,
My soul is with the congregation of the firstborn, my body rests in hope, and if here I may honour my God either by doing or by suffering, I shall be most glad ... The Lord accept me in His Son and give me to walk in the light ... Blessed be His name for shining upon so dark a heart as mine!
Morrill, ‘Making’, 34; Abbott, i. 97.
There has been much speculation as to the source of this inspiration. Cromwell’s father omitted even the most formulaic claim to assurance of salvation in his will of 1617, and in the light of John Morrill’s findings, Thomas Beard cannot be regarded as a major influence either.
The other important question about Cromwell’s religion concerns the date at which his conversion occurred, and speculation as to whether it was provoked by any particular event. It is tempting to identify the circumstances of Cromwell’s departure from Huntingdon in 1631 as the catalyst for his spiritual quest, but it probably began earlier than this, as Sir Theodore Mayerne, one of the royal physicians, recorded his patient ‘Monsieur Cromwell’ as being valde melancholicus corpus in September 1628. This is often taken to be a diagnosis of depression, but actually signifies an excess of black bile, leading to vomiting - perhaps an ulcer, or an infection of the gall bladder.
The remainder of Cromwell’s career is well known: MP for Cambridge in the Long Parliament, second-in-command of the army of the Eastern Association and then the New Model Army, conqueror of Scotland and Ireland and ultimately lord protector of England. Yet he remained, in many ways, the same awkward individual he had been in his early years, a chancer inclined both to prevaricate, and then to take decisions of astonishing boldness, not to say foolhardiness, which stunned both friend and foe alike. Moreover, his evangelical faith - with its ambiguous origins - explains his reluctance to be ‘wedded and glued to forms of government’, and his willingness to support the regicide and the constitutional experiments of the 1650s.
