CHAPTER SEVEN

BEFORE Utopia reached the printer, Thomas Wolsey was elevated to the Cardinalate. For the reception of the Red Hat forwarded by Pope Leo, Wolsey arranged an unparalleled display to dazzle the Londoners. He despatched a Bishop and an Earl with an elaborate escort to Blackheath to meet the protonotary, bearing it to England. The Mayor and Aldermen on horseback, the City Guilds on foot, turned out to give the Hat salute as it was borne in triumph through the streets of the city to Westminster. There it reposed in state upon the high altar until the following Sunday. Three Archbishops, eight Bishops, and eight Abbots participated in the ceremonials. An eye-witness remarked that he had never seen the like, save in the coronation of a mighty prince. Dean Colet was not intimidated and preached a rousing sermon on humility. His words were unheeded. As the aged Archbishop of Canterbury, Warham, passed down the nave at the close of the ceremony, no crozier was borne before him, and none was ever again borne before him in Wolsey's presence.

A fortnight later Cardinal Wolsey urged the dissolution of Parliament. It met but once in the fourteen years that Wolsey remained in his high office. Three weeks later, on December 22, 1515, the Cardinal succeeded Warham as Lord Chancellor.

More, who had returned from his diplomatic mission to Flanders, despatched a copy of Utopia, fresh from the press, with a letter to Warham congratulating him upon his resignation from the heavy burden of the Chancellorship and upon the integrity with which he had borne that burden.

For the new Chancellor, More had nothing but good will. He entertained no political ambitions. Besides, the encouragement of letters furnished a strong bond between the two men. With peace at hand, the longed-for Golden Age might well return. To Erasmus he wrote: "The Archbishop has been at last relieved of the Office of Chancellor, the burden of which, as you know, he has been anxious to shake off for some years. Having secured the privacy he has long desired he enjoys a leisure sweetened by literature, and by the recollection of important affairs well administered. The King has put in his place the Cardinal of York, who so conducts himself as to surpass the high expectation of all. After so excellent a predecessor, it is no easy matter to give, as he does, complete satisfaction.''[1]

With Wolsey as Lord Chancellor, it was inevitable that More be drawn more closely into royal service. In his letter to Erasmus he expressed his distaste for ambassadorial duties. It did not suit a married man thus to leave his family, he complained; "indeed it does not seem as suitable for us laymen, as for you clergymen, who either have no wives and children, or find them wheresoever you go." This latter was a gentle jibe at his friend, himself in orders, and a significant comment on the light manner with which many of the priests of that day observed their vows.

He confessed that he had been offered a royal pension. This, however, I have hitherto refused, and shall, I think, continue to do so, because if I took it, the place I now hold in the City, which I prefer to a higher office, would have to be given up or retained-much to my regret-and with some offence to the citizens, who, if they had any questions with the Government, as sometimes happens about their privileges, would have less confidence in me as a paid pensioner of the King.

"However, in that embassy of mine there were some very agreeable circumstances. In the first place, there was the long and constant intercourse with Tunstall, who, as he is unsurpassed in all literary accomplishments and in strictness of life and character, is at the same time a most delightful companion. Another circumstance was my acquaintance with Busleiden, who entertained me with a magnificence suitable to his noble fortune and a kindness proportioned to the goodness of his heart. He showed me a house adorned with singular taste and provided with the choicest furniture; he showed me many monuments of antiquity, of which you know I am curious, and finally his well-stored library, and a mind still better stored . . ."[2]

In February, 1516, the Queen bore Henry a child. The royal infant was a girl, who was given the name Mary. Her godparents were Wolsey and the Duchess of Norfolk. Henry would certainly have preferred a princeling, nevertheless he displayed high spirit. A week following the birth of his daughter, he jovially confided to the Venetian Ambassador that: "We are both young. if it was a daughter this time by the grace of God the sons will follow."[3]

More might fear unhappiness in the King's service but the Cardinal was obdurate. While the royal pension dangled before More, Erasmus wrote in alarm, warning him against the atmosphere of princes and courts. More pleaded to Wolsey that he could not, in conscience, faithfully execute the duties of Under-Sheriff and at the same time receive a stipend from the King. But all his objections proved futile before the Cardinal's design, and finally, if not eagerly, he accepted the royal pension.

The year of the Princess Mary's birth was the year that Charles of Castile became King of Spain after the death of Ferdinand. The latter had died on the hunting field at the age of sixty-three. Wolsey and Henry watched sharply, waiting for the moves of his successor. Both feared France. On the great stage of European politics the interminable drama never ceased; the ordinary conflicts, the conventional treacheries, the usual game of broken treaties and expected wiles, obscuring the significance of the New Learning, all in this year that was so fruitful to the Erasmian reformers.

When Erasmus had completed his translation of the New Testament he had dedicated it to Pope Leo X and wrote gleefully to More that it was approved by those "whom I thought most likely to find fault; and the leading theologians like it very much."[4] It was a work of high importance, and quite naturally there were critics aplenty to look askance at what they considered--a challenge to tradition. His friend, Martin Dorp, canon and theologian of Louvain, had earlier sent a message of apprehension to the master: "This is another matter upon which in all friendship I have longed to convey a warning to a friend . . . You are proposing to correct the Latin copies by the Greek. But if I show that the Latin version has no mixture of falsehood or mistake, will you not admit that such a work is unnecessary? But this is what I claim for the Vulgate, since it is unreasonable to suppose that the Universal Church has been in error for so many generations in her use of this edition, nor is it probable that so many holy Fathers have been mistaken, who in reliance upon it have defined the most arduous questions in General Councils, which, it is admitted by most theologians as well as lawyers, are not subject to error in matters of faith."[5]

Erasmus made ready reply to this letter, but More offered an abler defence: "Erasmus is not as you seem to suppose a mere grammarian but a theologian too, and he is only at pains to criticize those who give themselves up to scholastic subtleties-men as far removed from true theology as they are from common sense . . ."[6] In a long letter to Dorp he stressed that Scriptural studies must not be sacrificed to scholastic theology: ". . . I cannot hear it said that these minute questionings are more useful than the knowledge of the sacred writings to the flock for which Christ died. If you merely contend that these things are worth studying, I will not contest it; but if you put them on a level with the dissertations of the ancient Fathers, I cannot listen to you.

"I do not think you will contest this with me, that whatever is necessary for salvation is communicated to us in the first place from the Sacred Scriptures, then from the ancient interpreters, and by traditional customs handed down through the ancient Fathers from hand to hand, and, finally, by the sacred definitions of the Church. If, in addition to all this, these acute disputants have curiously discovered anything, though I grant it may be convenient and useful, yet I think it belongs to the class of things without which it is possible to live . . . The reason why the ancient interpreters are so much neglected is because certain unhappy geniuses have first persuaded themselves, and then led others to believe, that there is nowhere any honey besides what has already been stored in the hives of the Summists . . ."[7]

With such encouragement from More, Erasmus was spurred on, and now finally the great work, after sixteen years of prodigious toil, was finished, and the happy author wrote: "I would have the weakest woman read the Gospels and the Epistles of St. Paul . . . I would have those words translated into all languages, so that not only Scots and Irish, but Turks and Saracens too might read them. I long for the ploughboy to sing them to himself as he follows the plough, the weaver to hum them to the tune of his shuttle, the traveller to beguile with them the dullness of his journey . . . Other studies we may regret to have undertaken, but happy is the man upon whom death comes when he is engaged in these. These sacred words give you the very image of Christ speaking, healing, dying, rising again, and make him so present, that were he before your very eyes you would not more truly see him."[8]

More was giving service to the King, but as yet he had not been persuaded or pressed into permanent employ. He still practiced law and still occupied his beloved office of Under-Sheriff. But there now came two incidents which would strengthen Wolsey's resolve into a command. A law suit existed between the Royal and Papal states in the matter of a Papal vessel which, it was charged, had illegally put into the port of Southampton and had thus violated the law of the nations. The Crown had seized the ship and claimed her as a forfeit. More was retained by the Nuncio, and the trial was eventually relayed to the Star Chamber. It was an event complete with the solemn paraphernalia and persons of the Chief Justices, the Lord Treasurer, and the magnificence of the Lord Chancellor himself. Even the King attended. But More was neither intimidated nor bewildered by his audience. He argued with his usual brilliance and logic, and the judgment was delivered in his favour. Both King and Cardinal listened to his arguments with keen appreciation, both all the more convinced that they were witness to a talent which must be diverted to their use and to their ends.

Then came "Evil May Day," long to be a black memory in London. Once again the measure of More was displayed, although in a different way. May Day was a traditional day of play for all Englishmen, and for the multitude of London 'prentices it was the great occasion for undisciplined fun and demonstration. In 1517, their mood was ugly. The twisted streets of the capital hummed with the business of many crafts and trades: haberdashers, weavers, cappers, tailors, butchers, grocers, vintners, waterbearers, candlemakers, chandlers, brewers, fellmongers, saddlers, leathersellers, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, armourers, swordmakers, vendors of all kind and description. It was only natural that the rich markets should attract merchants and skilled artificers from abroad. There were nearly five thousand Flemish weavers living in the city, and there was also a flourishing colony of Frenchmen. Italians lent money, carved stone, and made fine furniture. The Hanseatic merchants of the Steelyard, "a walled German community in the very midst of London," brought in and sold timber, tar, rope, iron, and wax. And as the babble of alien tongues increased, so too did the resentment of the Londoners. During Easter week a popular priest spoke against the foreigners: "The aliens and strangers," he cried from the pulpit, "eat the bread from the poor fatherless children, and take the living from all the artificers, and the intercourse from all the merchants, whereby poverty is so much increased that every man bewails the misery of others, for craftsmen be brought to beggary and merchants to neediness."[9]

The talk went fast and hot. A Frenchman had abducted and, it was said, maltreated an Englishman's wife. Furthermore, he boasted of it, and one of his fellow countrymen said loudly that if he had the Mayor's wife of London they would keep her. A sturdy mercer by name of William Bolt gave angry reply: "Well, you whoreson Lombards, you rejoice and laugh, by the Mass we will one day have a day at you, come when it will.''[10] Rumours and tales circulated like fever, becoming all the wilder in passing from mouth to mouth. London was ready for riot and bloodshed.

On the Eve of May Day, the City sent for two officials, More and the City Recorder, Richard Brook, to receive instructions from the Cardinal. They returned to the Guildhall with a peremptory instruction that a curfew be imposed that very night on all citizens, their 'prentices and servants. It was an impracticable and unpopular command, and when one rash alderman attempted to enforce it, a mob sprang into being. The rallying cry of "Clubs and Prentices" quickly brought hordes of excited and resentful recruits from doorways and corners. Mischief grew to violence, a prison was breached, and while terrified foreigners hid, there was sacking and burning. The alarmed Wolsey sent for the Earl of Surrey, who immediately set out for the city with a sizeable force of armed men. Sir Richard Cholmeley, Lieutenant of the Tower, manned and exploded his clumsy cannon, making a great noise but doing little damage.

While Surrey's men were converging, it was More who ventured out into the darkness and faced the rabble, parleying and reasoning, meeting fury with common sense. There was much stone-throwing and shouting of threats, but the Under-Sheriff stood his ground with calmness and courage. Later in the century it was surely Shakespeare who was to exalt this moment in the play, Sir Thomas More.

When the rioters demanded that all aliens be removed from London, the playwright has More answer:

Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise Hath chid down all the majesty of England. Imagine that you see the wretched strangers, Their babies at their backs, and their poor luggage, Plodding to the ports and coasts for transportation, And that you sit as kings in your desires, Authority quite silenced by your brawl, And you in ruff of your opinion clothed What had you got? I'll tell you. You had taught How insolence and strong hand should prevail How order should be quelled; and by this pattern Not one of you should live an aged man; For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought With self same hand, self reasons and self right Would shark on you; and men like ravenous fishes Would feed on one another.[11]

Most of the rioters dispersed during the early morning hours, and soon the City officials, aided by sundry noblemen and their armed retainers, succeeded in restoring complete order. And now Henry, who had been safe at Richmond, gave early demonstration of that cruel tyranny which later was to mark his every act. The street rioting, because of the King's friendship with foreign nations, was considered to be treason, and the punishments to be so measured. Gallows were hastily thrown up around the city. Thirteen unfortunate wretches were summarily hanged, then drawn and quartered. Others were held for the same treatment. Shocked by this harshness, the Mayor and Aldermen met and appointed a deputation to wait on the King and to beg for leniency. More led the group to the Royal presence. Dressed in black they made the appeal, but were coldly told to address their plea to the Lord Chancellor. Wolsey had little liking for blood, but knowing his master, and with his genius for high ceremony and pageant, he proceeded to put on a great spectacle. The King in solemn state, accompanied by his Queen and Court, came to Westminster Hall. The chosen prisoners, four hundred men and boys and eleven women, were mustered before his cold stare, and each one stripped for the gibbet, a halter around each neck. Kneeling before the monarch, they begged for mercy. The King refused to be moved. The Queen fell to her knees and added her voice and tears. The Lords Spiritual and Temporal joined in the appeal. Henry refused again, but finally after another speech from Wolsey he magnanimously granted the pardon. There were wild shouts of rejoicing and gratitude. Standing there witness to it all, indeed a first actor in the scene, dressed in his mourning black, was the author of Utopia. A thunder of voices was raised for the King, but in many hearts the real salute was given to Lawyer More. He, more than anyone, had stayed the riot before it grew to rebellion. And he, as Wolsey was well aware, had played a major part in dissipating the Royal vengeance. Henceforth there could be no alternative. All the hours of this wise man, this respected man, this good man, must be given the King.

More's Humanist friends were sorry to see him enter the Royal service, but at least his wife was happy. She had long considered it foolish for him to reject Wolsey's overtures. And once she had chided him for not being sufficiently ambitious. "Will you sit still by the fire and make goslings in the ashes with a stick as children do? . . . for as my mother was wont to say . . . it is ever better to rule than to be ruled."

"By my truth, wife," answered More, "in this I dare say you say truth, for I never found you willing to be ruled yet."[l2]

There were many duties awaiting the King's new servant. In August, More was commissioned to travel across the Channel again, this time to stay in Calais and negotiate a trading pact with the French merchants. Before he sailed there was another emergency in London. A plague-like disease, the dreaded "Sweating Sickness," swept the city and its environs, bringing horror and death and much confusion. The King moved to a remote place in the country, but not before many close to him, including his pages and one of his secretaries, had died. The disease, probably born of the filth of the congested and ill-kept streets, was enormously potent, killing off its victims within the first twenty-four hours. Nor was it a respecter of rank. The Cardinal was stricken three times and barely survived. The deathcart was as familiar to the doors of the noble household as it was to the darkest corner of some lowly lane. More helped keep order in the city and later was given the task of improving conditions at Oxford, where the plague had also struck. He saw to it that some measures of quarantine were undertaken; infected houses were given markings, and those good people who visited and nursed the victims were instructed to carry white wands.

"Deaths are frequent all around us," he wrote to Erasmus, "almost everybody at Oxford, at Cambridge, and here in London, having been laid up within the last few days, and very many of our best and most honoured friends being lost . . . For in this Sweating Sickness, as they call it, no one dies but on the first day. I, with my wife and children, am as yet untouched; the rest of my family have recovered. I can assure you that there is less danger up on a field of battle than in this town It is now, I hear, beginning to rage at Caiais, when we are being forced thither ourselves to undertake a diplomatic mission-as if it were not enough to have been living in contagion here without following it elsewhere. But what is one to do? What our lot brings us must be borne; and I have composed my mind for every event.''[13]

The stay at Calais with its dull business of bickering and compromise, the long absence from his home, was a sacrifice for the man who was so much the good parent and complete Londoner. Erasmus informed him that he had been offered a commission by the Emperor, but that he should do anything "rather than become entangled in that kind of business; and how glad I should be if you were clear.''[14] More replied: "I approve of your plan in not wishing to be involved in the busy trifles of Princes; and you show your love for me by desiring that I may be disentangled from such matters, in which you can scarcely believe how unwillingly I am engaged. Nothing indeed can be more hateful to me than my present mission. I am sent to stay at a little seaport, with a disagreeable soil and climate; and whereas at home I have naturally the greatest abhorrence of litigation, even when it brings me profit, you may imagine what annoyance it must cause one here, when it comes accompanied with loss."[15]

As a relief to the "litigation" More kept his pen busy. There was certainly much to discuss with his Humanist friends; Erasmus' great triumph with the New Testament; his own success with Utopia; the hope springing from papal efforts to achieve a universal peace amongst the Christian nations. For in the August of 1517, Leo X, fearing the Turk, had promulgated a Bull which sought to impose a five years' truce on the Princes of Europe. Then there were the high maneuverings of Wolsey, whose "balance of power" policy, ostensibly to protect the Papacy but certainly not harmful to England's interest, prompted Henry to subsidize the young scion of the Hapsburgs, Charles of Castile, soon to be Emperor. This youth, already occupant of his father's dukedom of Burgundy, was now ready for his Spanish inheritance. A loan was arranged, and off sailed the grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella to occupy his kingdom. And then there were all the signs of the great storm that was gathering over Germany. Luther did not nail his "Ninety-five Theses" to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral until the November of this year. But Tetzel, the Dominican orator and fund raiser, had, by means of his vigorous money-gathering campaign and improper traffic in Indulgences, made an opportune scandal that was to prove ready and valuable ammunition for those who were to reject the papal supremacy.

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