CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WHEN THE GREAT SEAL had been surrendered by Wolsey there arose the question as to who would be his successor. According to Erasmus, there were many around the King who wished to reappoint Archbishop Warham but he refused because of his age. It is difficult to accept Erasmus' opinion because it is quite certain that the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and indeed the entire Boleyn faction, would not, at this critical time, permit the Chancellorship to be entrusted to an ecclesiastic. Who was to take Wolsey's place?

There was a scholar renowned throughout Christendom. The same man was a skilled lawyer. He had been a successful ambassador. Perhaps of equal or greater importance, he was not over-ambitious or self-seeking. Churchmen everywhere respected him for his piety and theology, yet he had been outspoken in his criticism of clerical abuses; a factor of high value to a regime that, under the presence of reform, was to curb prelatical power.

The tempest that had struck Wolsey now swirled Thomas More to the highest office of the realm. On the twenty-fifth of October he was summoned to Greenwich, where the King gave him the Great Seal and proclaimed him Lord Chancellor of England. He was the first commoner and layman not possessed of high judicial experience to be so honoured.


In order that his dignity might not appear mean after the grandiose affectations of Wolsey, the Duke of Norfolk provided a pageant for his installation. A long procession of nobles and judges and professors of law preceded the new Chancellor to Westminster Hall. Having placed More on the high judgment seat, the Duke, speaking for the King, gave him eulogy.

There was no objection to the appointment from any quarter, only applause. Even Wolsey, from his place of exile, stated that the best choice had been made. Friendship did not prompt the compliment. The only bond between the two was a common service to the Crown.

The new Spanish Ambassador, Chapuys, had just landed on English soil. Representing Catherine's nephew, he could hardly be expected to view with friendly eyes any action that was instigated by the group that now had the King's ear, yet he wrote back to the Emperor Charles: "The Chancellor's seal . . . has continued in the hands of the Duke of Norfolk till this morning, when it was delivered to Sir Thomas More. Everyone is delighted at his promotion, because he is an upright and learned man and a good servant of the Queen."[1]

More opened the Parliament which had as its first important business the impeachment of his predecessor. The King was there to listen. It has been charged that on this occasion More spoke harshly and without chivalry. It must be remembered, however, that the rhetorical phraseology of the day differed from modern usage. He spoke under the obligation of duty, not for himself, but for his Royal Master, and it was his own opinion that the whole grievous business of Henry's divorce would never have come into being if the Cardinal had not held out some hope to the King.

The usual compliments were paid to Henry. More likened him to "a good shepherd which not only keepeth and attendeth well his sheep, but also foreseeth and provideth for all thing, which either may be hurtful or noisome to his flock, or may preserve and defend the same against all perils that may chance to come, so the King, which was the shepherd, ruler and governor of this realm, vigilantly foreseeing things to come, considered how divers laws were now made by long continuance of time and mutation of things, very insufficient and imperfect: and also by the frail condition of man, divers new enormities were sprung amongst the people, for the which no law was made to reform the same, which was the very cause why at that time, the King had summoned his High Court of Parliament . . . If a prince is compared to his riches, he is but a rich man, if . . . to his honour, he is but an honourable man, but compare him to the multitude of his people and the number of his fiock, then he is a ruler, a governor of might and puissance; so that his people maketh him a prince, as of the multitude of sheep cometh the name of shepherd: and as you see that amongst a great flock of sheep some be rotten and faulty, which the good shepherd sendeth from the good sheep, so the great wether which is of late fallen, as you all know . . . juggled with the king, that all men must needs guess and think that he thought in himself that the king had no wit to perceive his crafty doing, or else that he presumed that the king would not see nor know his fraudulent juggling and attempts: but he was deceived, for his Grace's sight was so quick and penetrable, that he saw him, yea and through him, both within and without, so that all thing to him was open, and according to his desert he hath had a gentle correction, which small punishment the king will not to be an example to other offenders, but clearly declareth that whosoever hereafter shall make like attempt to commit like offense, shall not escape with like punishment . . ."[2]

The Bill of Attainder projected against Wolsey was preceded by ferocious and often ridiculous charges. It was alleged that Wolsey had been possessed of an evil disease and had breathed it "upon your most Noble Grace with his perilous and infective breath." He had said, and written in divers letters "the King and I." He had forced a gentleman to marry his mistress, the mother of his two children. And so the list of crimes went on. More could not have been happy in reciting the unsavoury charges. But it was his duty as the King's mouthpiece to tell the Commons the mood of the Sovereign, and duty was a binding obligation to this man who rigidly accepted his anointed King as one possessed of authority under God.

He knew the dangers that were ahead, yet it was with apparent calm that he faced them. This Parliament which he addressed was, under the goad of Henry, to make more drastic changes than any which had ever happened before in the history of English legislation. In seven years England was to break with Rome. The Royal supremacy over the English Church was to become law. The monasteries were to be looted and their wealth scattered in a manner that exceeded anything of the kind since William the Conqueror had landed. The power of the Crown was to rise to a strength which it never had before. New laws were to be made which created such grave social problems that an economic revolution was effected. It was not a Parliament as we understand that body to be in modern times. It represented the rich and the privileged, the great landowners, the powerful merchants, rather than the people. It represented those who envied the monastic landlords and who resented the wide influence of the clergy. It was a Parliament that was not only creature to the King but in full sympathy with his ambitions. Fear and greed made for a happy partnership on this occasion. Schism with Rome presented a dazzling prospect of rich spoils to be divided amongst those who were possessed of Henry's good will. Those close to him, as Cardinal Pole, his cousin, pointed out, did not conceal their desire to abolish Papal power, to despoil the monks, and exalt the Monarch at the expense of the Church.

More probably hoped that if he could not act as a deterrent to the King's passion, the Pope might give the annulment, or that Henry, in time, would tire of his mistress.

In the scale of precedence the Lord Chancellor came before the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and the Archbishops. At public ceremonies there was on his right a golden scepter surmounted by the Royal Crown, as a sign of his power under the King, and on his left a book as a sign of his knowledge of the law; the Royal Seal carried before him. These magnificences caused him to remark with a smile that when men bared their heads before him it did not keep his head as warm as his own hat.

His father, Sir John More, was now nearly ninety years old but well in health and mind. He had been appointed to and was performing the duties of a judge in the Court of King's Bench. Every time Thomas More proceeded to his own Court, he would first go into the Court of King's Bench and kneel before his parent and ask for his blessing

Such humility was often misunderstood. The Duke of Norfolk, paying a call upon him one day, found him in church singing with the choir and dressed like them in a simple surplice.

"God body! God body!" said the outraged Duke. "My Lord Chancellor a parish clerk! A parish clerk! You dishonour the King and his Office."

"No," answered More, "your Grace may not think that the King, your master and mine, will with me, for serving of God, his master, be offended, or thereby account his office dishonoured."[3]

The new Chancellor made it known that he would hold his Court between eight and eleven in the morning, then after the noon meal, he would sit with open door and listen to all who chose to present their cases to him, examining their petitions and giving judgment according to law and conscience. He was determined that the law should be administered not only with justice but without senseless delay.

One of his sons-in-law complained that when Cardinal Wolsey was Lord Chancellor, not only the members of his privy Chamber, but his doorkeepers as well, got great gams by him. Since he had married one of More's daughters, he might of reason look for some commodity, but More was so ready to do for every poor man, and keep no doors shut from them, that he could find no gains at all, which was a great discouragement, and all the more so because if he should take anything from his own friends, for bringing them into More's presence, he "should do them great wrong, for that they might do as much for themselves as he could do for them; which condition although he thought in Sir Thomas More very commendable, to him, being his son, he found it nothing profitable."

"You say well, Son," answered More, "I do not mislike that you are of conscience so scrupulous; but many other ways be there, Son, that I may both do yourself good, and pleasure your friend also. For some time, may I by my word stand your friend instead; and sometime I may by my letter help him; or if he have a cause depending before me, at your request I may hear him before another. Or if his cause be not all the best, yet may I move the parties to fall to some reasonable end by arbitrament. Howbeit this one thing, Son, I assure thee on my faith, that if the parties will at my hands call for justice, then, although it were my father stood on the one side, and the devil on the other, his cause being good, the devil should have right."[4]

When More came to the Chancellor's Court he found there was much to do. Many cases there were that had dragged on for twenty years. With tremendous industry he set out to remedy the situation and, within a few terms, he heard each cause as it was made ready for hearing. There came one welcome morning when he was informed by the officers of the court that there was no more unfinished business, not another cause or petition to be put before him. So was born a popular rhyme:[5]

When MORE some time had Chancellor been, No more suits did remain; The same shall never more be seen Till MORE be there again.

His reputation for justice and honesty as a magistrate was to become a tradition, yet, oddly enough, in the records that remain there is no mention of any important judgment or major legal decision made by him.

One afternoon, in his great open hall, he rendered an opinion worthy of Solomon. A beggar woman appeared before him and complained that her little dog had been stolen from her and was now in the possession of the Lord Chancellor's wife. She had tried to get it back but had been put off by Sir Thomas' serving men. More listened to her story, then summoned his wife. He bade her stand at the upper end of the hall, then he ordered the beggar woman to take her place at the opposite end. He took the dog in his arms and stood between the two women, and bade each of them to call the dog.

"Are you content," he asked, "that I shall decide this controversy that is between you concerning this dog?"

On their answering in the affirmative, he commanded: "Each of you call the dog by his name, and to whom the dog cometh, she shall have it."

Both women made their cries. The dog, not intimidated by rank, ran to the poor woman. Whereupon More gave the judgment in her favour, and along with it a gold coin. So overcome was the beggar by his justice and liberality that she promptly made a present of the animal to Lady More.[6]

Wolsey had often interfered with the Courts of common law, and More believed that many changes should be made in the mode of procedure. He granted injunctions and supported them with firmness when necessary. The common law judges, fixed in their ways, were not happy when their proceedings were examined and their verdicts over-ridden. There was considerable grumbling, which More met in typical fashion. He ordered Master Crooke, chief of the Six Clerks, to make a docket containing the whole number and causes of all such injunctions, as either in his time had already passed, or that at present depended in any of the King's Courts at Westminster before him. This done, he invited all the Judges to dine with him in the Council Chamber at Westminster. After dinner, he rehearsed the complaints brought to him against his injunctions. These he refuted one by one, moreover assured them both the number and causes of every one of them, "in order so plainly, that upon full debating of those matters, they were all enforced to confess that they, in like case, could have done no otherwise themselves."[7]

He also reminded them that if the Justices of every Court would themselves mitigate and reform the rigour of the law there should be no more injunctions granted by him.

When his guests displayed no great enthusiasm for his unwelcome advice, he warned them that he would continue to issue injunctions just as long as they persisted in their present practices and actions. The dinner ended on a somewhat sour note, and afterwards the Chancellor confided to his son-in-law that in his opinion the Judges had no wish to accept responsibility or follow principle. "I perceive, Son, why they like not so to do. For they see that they may, by the verdict of the Jury, cast off all quarrels from themselves upon them, which they account their chief defense, and therefore am I compelled to abide the adventure of all such reports."[8]

Accusations have been made and have lingered, that More was unfair and cruel to those accused of heresy. Nothing could be less true. That he led in the fight against heresy is quite true. In 1519 when Henry made it his business to extirpate the Lutheran heresy, More helped the King revise his book against Luther. Later, in 1532, he assumed leadership in the controversy. But it was not until he had resigned the Chancellorship that heresy was made high treason, punishable by death. It should be remembered that during all the years of More's influence at Court not a single heretic was sentenced to death in London. The burnings did not commence until after the clergy had conferred on Henry the title of Supreme Head.

There were two cases in which More ordered floggings. One was a boy whom he had taken into his household and who insisted on spreading his propaganda and teaching another child his heresies. More ordered him to be whipped, not for his beliefs, but for his persistence m propagandizing. The second person to receive the lash was punished for his conduct in church. At the solemn moment of the Elevation, this misguided creature made a habit of creeping up behind women who were praying and throwing their skirts above their ears!

It is inconceivable that the gentle author of Utopia should resort to torture as a weapon against heresy. Kindness and reason constituted the method which he used against Lutheranism. If he failed to convert by these measures, he was content that the recipients of his arguments should not spread their errors. He invited a German scholar, one Grinaeus, who was a professed Lutheran, to be a guest in his house. Years later, after More's death, Grinaeus dedicated a book to More's son, John. He wrote: "Your father at that time held the highest rank, but apart from that, by his many excellent qualities, he was clearly marked out as the chief man in the realm, whilst I was obscure and unknown. Yet, for the love of learning, in the midst of public and private business, he found time to converse much with me: he, the Chancellor of the Kingdom, made me sit at his table; going to and from the Court he took me with him and kept me ever by his side. He had no difficulty in seeing that my religious opinions were on many points different from his own, but his goodness and courtesy were unchanged. Though he differed so much from my views, yet he helped us in word and deed and carried through my business at his own expense. He gave us a young man of considerable literary attainments, John Harris, to accompany us on our journey, and to the authorities of the University of Oxford he sent a letter, couched in such terms, that at once, not only were the libraries of all the colleges thrown open to us, but the students, as if they had been touched by the rod of Mercury, showed us the greatest favour . . . I returned to my country overjoyed at the treasures I had discovered, laden with your father's generous gifts, and almost overwhelmed by his kindness."[9]

The Story of Thomas More, John Farrow

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