CHAPTER NINE

IN THE SPRING of 1521, Henry conferred knighthood upon More. At the same time he was appointed Sub-Treasurer of the Exchequer, a post that carried more dignity and a much larger salary. Not long after, another recipient of the King's favour also received further preferment: Sir Thomas Boleyn was made Treasurer of the Royal Household. By now the Boleyns were firmly entrenched at Court, and Mary, the sister of young Anne, was the present target of the King's fancy; for by this time, Henry made no presence of fidelity to his sombre Queen. A succession of dalliances, mixed with the pleasures of the chase and joust lightened and was in constant contrast to the more serious obligations of the crown. Already the King had achieved extra-maritally what had been denied him in matrimony. He had sired a son by one of his wife's maids-in-waiting, Elizabeth Blount. The child was called Henry Fitzroy, and later created the Duke of Richmond.

In May More was knighted, and it was in this same month that Wolsey saw fit to take official notice of the peril that was emanating from Germany. He commanded that the books of Martin Luther be burned in St. Paul's churchyard. A throne was built so that the Cardinal, both as Lord Chancellor and as Legate, could preside over England's gesture towards those who sought to destroy the established order. Flanking him in person and sentiment were the great people of the court and of the Church and the City.

That it would take more than ceremonial flames to quench a far greater conflagration was a thought that did not seem to disturb the Cardinal's busy mind. With all his genius for the wide scan, with all his capacity for analysis and action with all his machinery of agents and information, Cardinal Wolsey did not grasp the full significance of what was happening in Germany. He did not foresee the terrible tearing of the fabric of Christendom. He, whose eyes were fixed on Rome who thought himself to be so much a strength to the papacy, did not realize the speed with which the infection would take hold in England. He could not know, as he sat there watching the flames devour Luther's books, that in a future day a blame would be placed on him for the terrible schism that was to come. As Legate and Lord Chancellor he demonstrated to his King that the authority and rule of Church and State could be vested in one person. Little did this priest who wielded the secular power, this Englishman who had demanded the Legatine authority, realize that his arbitrary rule, his haughty dictatorship, would spawn that terrible legacy of anti-clerical and anti-papal feeling which has persisted in England to this day.

Bishop Fisher of Rochester had been chosen to preach when Luther's books were given to the flames, and the King thought so much of the sermon that he ordered it translated into Latin, and preserved. Henry fancied himself as a theologian. In an effort to display his talents in this science as well as to show his devotion to the Holy See, he embarked upon the composition of his famous Assertion of the Seven Sacraments. It was written in Latin, and the royal author sought the advice and assistance of some of his more eminent scholars, including More and Fisher. More seems to have acted in the capacity of editor, for he later declared that he was only "a sorter out and placer of the principal matters therein contained."

With the clear perception of his legal mind he saw a danger in the King's extravagant prose. The Pope's spiritual authority should be defended, but Leo X also possessed all the troubles and weaknesses of a secular prince. "When I found the Pope's authority highly advanced, and with strong arguments mightily defended," said More, "I said unto his Grace: 'I must put your Highness in remembrance of one thing, and that is this. The Pope, as your Grace knoweth, is a prince as you are, and in league with all other Christian princes It may hereafter so fall out that your Grace and he may vary upon some points of the league, whereupon may grow breach of amity and war between you both. I think it best, therefore that the place be amended and his authority more slenderly touched.'''[1]

But Henry refused to make any changes, answering that: "We are so much bounder to the See of Rome that we cannot do too much honour unto it." More then reminded the King of the statute of Praemunire by which a good part of the Pope's pastoral cure here was pared away. To that answered his Highness: "Whatsoever impediment be to the contrary, we will set forth that authority to the uttermost, for we received from that See our Crown imperial." "Which," added More dryly, "till his Grace with his own mouth told it me, I never heard of before."[2] The book was sent to Rome, and there his Ambassador, Master John Clark, presented it to the Pontiff. The Englishman in a long speech again emphasized his Sovereign's detestation of Luther. Leo expressed suitable gratitude and soon gave form to his thanks by sending to Henry a reward that was not unexpected. Charles of Spain was called "The Catholic King"; the King of France bore the title of "Most Christian." Henry was now informed that "We, the true successor of St. Peter . . . presiding in this Holy See, from whence all dignity and titles have their source, having with our brethren maturely deliberated on these things, and with one consent unanimously decreed to bestow on your Majesty this title, viz: Defender of the Faith. And as we have by this title honoured you, we likewise command all Christians that they may name your Majesty by this title, and in their writings to your Majesty that immediately after the word KING they add, DEFENDER OF THE FAITH . . ."[3]

There was great glee and celebration at the English Court, and only the Court Jester was bold enough to deride the Papal honour. "Oh good Henry," said the buffoon, "let thou and I defend one another, and let the faith alone to defend itself."

Henry's delight with this new title never faded, and when he broke with Rome he legalized it by an Act of Parliament. Furthermore, it was made hereditary, and to this day Henry's successors have proudly carried the dignity that was bestowed by Pope Leo X.

Luther promptly answered his royal antagonist with a pamphlet filled with vigorous vituperation and vulgar insult. The angry King thought it not wise to lower his dignity by giving a personal reply, so the task was delegated to More, who assumed the pen name of William Ross for the purpose. He wrote in a manner that matched Luther's invective, very unlike his usual style. The words of William Ross were a far cry indeed from the prose of Four Last Things which, somehow, More found time to produce around this period. Four Last Things was the first of his great essays contemplative and devotional, a sermon superbly written, illustrating the futility of man's absurd scramble for those things which, with the inevitability of death, he must abandon at the grave.

The vanities and futilities of the Field of the Cloth of Gold provided some of the inspiration for the Four Last Things. And so too did the shock of the trial and execution of Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, which occurred before a year had passed. This nobleman had stood high in the favour of both Henry and his father. He was beloved by the Queen. As Lord Constable of England, he had ridden with Henry on the Field of Gold. He was immensely wealthy and kept a court, complete with a chancellor, of his own. Royal blood was in his veins, a dangerous circumstance when a jealous king, yet without male heir, held the throne. Such a man regarded Wolsey as an upstart and took little pains to conceal a resentment at having to give the precedence and attendance that the Cardinal demanded. On one occasion, at the ceremonial handing of a dish, he had spilled water on the Cardinal's gold slippers and it seemed no accident. He had murmured that Wolsey's extravagance would ruin England, and as a friend of England's Spanish Queen, he had looked with a cold eye on the Cardinal's flirtings with France. He hated the Cardinal with vehemence but with little sense.

A few indiscreet boastings of his royal lineage, a witness who swore that years before he had heard the Duke declare that "if aught but good come to the King, he should be next in blood to the crown" was enough ammunition for his enemy. Jealousy, suspicion, fear, were emotions easy to Henry, and a few words sufficed. The unsuspecting nobleman was sent for and thrown into the Tower. High treason was the charge, the motions of a trial by his peers were made, witnesses were paraded, King and Cardinal waited for the verdict that could not counter their wish. In turn, each of seventeen peers was given the question, and one by one they gave the expected answer. The Duke of Norfolk wept as he told the proud Buckingham that he was to be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, there to be hanged, cut down alive, his members to be cut off and cast in the fire, his bowels burnt before his eyes, his head smitten off, his body to be quartered and divided at the King's will.

Buckingham's doom was yet another and important stage in the doctrine of absolutism that Wolsey was teaching the young King. The most powerful nobleman in the kingdom had been struck down without difficulty and under the cloak of legality. As Henry's ferocities and fears increased with his years, this presence of legal form was a common vehicle for the murders that recurred with pitiless monotony.

The terrible verdict shocked the Queen. Buckingham had been her friend since she had landed in England. His sympathies had been for her interests. And now he was to die! She went to her husband and begged for clemency. Henry, professing to be moved by her tears and supplication, magnanimously said he would show mercy. He commanded that the sentence be voided, save for one thing, the finality of the headsman's axe. Buckingham was taken to Tower Green, and there in the clearness of a late spring morning, he was beheaded.

The execution was unpopular, and in London the mood was sullen. There was much angry talk, and it reached the ears of the King. Ever quick to take alarm, he sent for More and instructed him to convey to the Aldermen a warning of the royal displeasure. Four days later, and still brooding, he again dispatched him to the City. This time More told the Mayor and Aldermen that in order to mollify Henry's anger the harness of the City must be taken to, and exhibited at, certain designated places.

By this time the uncertain peace had ended on the Continent, and the King of France's men had invaded Spain thereby setting off a twisted chain reaction of hostilities in many places.

Wolsey's diplomatic juggling took him to Calais again. The Cardinal had no need to be instructed as to More's value, but he received a message from the King's secretary which stated: "As old men decay greatly, the King wishes young men to be acquainted with his affairs and desires Wolsey to make Sir William Sandys and Sir Thomas More privy to negotiations at Calais."[4]

Shortly before More sailed, his favourite daughter, Margaret, was married to William Roper. At first it was not entirely clear sailing for the young couple. The cause of disagreement was of great concern to More, for it was discovered that his son-in-law was a militant Protestant, Roper having become infected with Luther's theories in meeting with the German merchants of the Steelyard. He made no attempt to hide his leanings, and in fact was so zealous and loud in his arguments that reports of his heresy were finally made to Wolsey. Because of More, the Cardinal took no action, other than to give the young man a warning. More argued many times with his son-in-law but met with no success, so in a spirit of both exasperation and dejection he went to his daughter. "Meg, I have borne a long time with thy husband," he declared. "I have reasoned and argued with him in those points of religion, and still given him my poor fatherly counsel; but I perceive none of all this able to call him home; and therefore, Meg, I will no longer argue nor dispute with him, but will clean give him over, and get me another while to God and pray for him."[5] Prayer succeeded where eloquence had failed. Roper returned to orthodoxy and once again took his place in the peaceful unity of the house at Chelsea.

In December, 1521, the Pope died, and as the Cardinals gathered to elect his successor, Wolsey's hopes soared high. He had the promises of the French and the Imperial parties but he was deceived by both, particularly by Charles who, while loudly saying that he favoured Wolsey, was at the same time secretly pushing the interest of his former tutor, the Hollander, Adrian, Cardinal Archbishop of Tortosa.

Actually the Englishman was never given serious consideration at the conclave. The Medici family pressed hard for their candidate, the Emperor brought every interest at his command for his choice. There was deadlock and eleven scrutinies in all before the name of a new pope was announced. It was the Hollander who, in calling himself Adrian VI, was to break a two-hundred-year-old tradition by not changing his name on achieving the tiara. He was an unpopular choice in Rome. The people of the city greeted him coldly, for he was in every way utterly unlike the great prince prelates to whom they were accustomed. Pomp he detested, flattery too, and those noisy and undisciplined crowds of artists and poets and merchants who had fattened on the generosity of former reigns quickly discovered that papal patronage had ceased to be. No lavish court or costly pageants or feasts and games or chances for easy or dubious riches could be expected during the time of this scrupulous northerner who earnestly desired reform and a united and tranquil Christendom. But the obstacles he had inherited proved insurmountable. He was too late, and perhaps it was this realization that hastened his end. He died less than two years after his election.

The conclave that followed the death of this saintly man was soiled with usual intrigue of the times Once again the Spanish Emperor gave public support to the cause of Wolsey, and once again he betrayed the Englishman. The latter's name, despite his labyrinthine schemes, never received any mention save as a possible candidate in the event of deadlock. After a turbulent fifty days, victory came to the Medici clan. The cousin of Leo X, Guilio de Medici, was proclaimed Pope Clement VII. He was a cultured man, possessing many personal graces, but in no way equipped to deal with the tremendous and awful responsibilities of his office and time.

Wolsey's failure in Rome, his diplomatic and military entanglements abroad, the antagonism aroused by his constant and importunate demands for more revenue, had not yet curbed him m his own country. But the dark clouds that presaged his downfall were gathering. Lord Henry Algernon Percy, the young son of the fifth Earl of Northumberland, had seen fit to fall in love with one of the Queen's maids-in-waiting. The romance was frowned upon and there was evidence of royal displeasure. Other plans had been made for both the girl and the high-born youth. It has been claimed that the maid had attracted the roving eye of the King. This is improbable, although there might have been some conjecture on his part, for her sister was one of his mistresses. In any event, the lovelorn gallant was hauled before Wolsey. He was soundly berated and sternly ordered to avoid the girl's company. With considerable anguish, the young nobleman accepted the Cardinal's command and abandoned his suit. As for the maid, she was sent to the country, there to languish and suffer the bitterness of humiliation and scorn. Thus was born Anne Boleyn's hatred for Cardinal Wolsey.

Another step in More's advancement came when, because of the Cardinal's influence, he was made Speaker of the House of Commons. More was reluctant to accept the honour and requested that the King should order the Commons to choose another. But both Henry and Wolsey were determined that he should occupy the Chair. His Majesty, by long experience of his service, declared the Cardinal was well acquainted with More's "wit, learning, and discretion, and the Commons had chosen the fittest person of them all to be their Speaker."[6]

Parliament was convened in the Spring of 1528 for the express purpose of replenishing the Exchequer. Wielding his legatine power, Wolsey had already taxed the clergy one half of their revenues spiritual, to be paid m five years. Now he demanded that Parliament should vote a subsidy of eight hundred thousand pounds. There was much complaint and grumbling at this extravagant request. Word of the opposition quickly reached the Cardinal, and thinking to intimidate his opponents he sent word to the Commons that he would appear before them in person. There was some debate in the House then as to "whether it were better but with a few of his Lords (as the most opinion of the House was), or with his whole train royally to receive him?" More was of the latter opinion. "Masters," he declared, "for as much as my Lord Cardinal lately, ye wot well, laid to our charge the lightness of our tongues for things uttered out of this House, it shall not m my mind be amiss with all his pomp to receive him, with his maces, his pillars, his pollaxes, his crosses, his hat, and Great Seal too, to the intent if he find the like fault with us hereafter, we may be the bolder from ourselves to lay the blame on those that his Grace bringeth here with him."[7]

More had his way. The Cardinal was received with pomp. He made his harangue and then, contemptuously breaking procedure, he addressed questions to individual members. A heavy silence greeted his queries. Finally he turned to the Speaker who, m the guise of apology, gently hinted that the Cardinal's presence was no help to his cause. The infuriated Cardinal stalked away, aware that his mild-mannered protege was refusing to be his creature. Soon after the incident he angrily admonished More: "Would to God you had been at Rome, Master More, when I made you Speaker." "Your Grace not offended," came the urbane reply "so would I too."[8]

When More had been installed as Speaker, he broke from tradition by boldly making a plea for the freedom of speech in the House. He pointed out that there could be no true debate when minds and tongues were governed by fear. He told the King, "considering that in your high court of parliament is nothing treated but matter of weight and importance concerning your realm and your own royal estate, it could not fail to let and put to silence from the giving of their advice and counsel many of your discreet Commons, to the great hindrance of the common affairs, except that every of your commons were utterly discharged of all doubt and fear, how anything that it should happen them to speak, should happen of your Highness to be taken." To remove all doubt the Speaker pleads that his Majesty "give to all your commons here assembled, your most gracious license and pardon, freely, without doubt of your dreadful displeasure, every man to discharge his conscience, and boldly in everything incident among us to declare his advice; and whatsoever happen any man to say, that it may like your noble Majesty, of your inestimable goodness to take all in good part, interpreting every man's words, how uncunningly soever they be couched, to proceed yet of good zeal towards the profit of your realm and honor of your royal person. . ."[9]

More's brave bid for the privileges of the House of Commons did not incur the wrath of Henry. And apparently Wolsey's anger was of short duration, for soon after the Cardinal recommended that a hundred pounds, then a very considerable sum, should be paid Sir Thomas from the Exchequer as a reward for his parliamentary services.

At one time indeed Wolsey planned to send More as Ambassador to Spain. More's son-in-law was of the opinion that the Cardinal was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the Speaker's independent conduct and therefore wished him out of the country. In justice to the Cardinal, the mission to the Emperor needed a man of great competence and merit. To More the whole idea was repugnant, and he was bitterly opposed to leaving England and his family again. He appealed to the King, saying that he would do his duty but he was sure that the rigours of a long journey and strange climate would bring him to his grave. Henry, with considerable understanding, was sympathetic to the plea. "It is not our meaning, Master More, to do you hurt, but to do you good would we be glad; we will therefore for this purpose devise upon some other, and employ your service otherwise."[10]

A Humanist friend of More, the kindly Cuthbert Tunstall, was elected to take his place, and soon he was giving evidence that More had not been wrong concerning the dangers of the journey. One of the English envoys, Sir Richard Winfield, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, died because of sudden sickness contracted in the unaccustomed heat. The following day, Tunstall reported, Mr. Sampson "fell into a fever and is not yet well recovered. I was, not long before Mr. Winfield's sickness, brought so low by a flux that my legs began to fail me. And my stomach and strength was gone. If the fever had come . . . surely I had not escaped.''[1l]

These were bright and prosperous days for More. Preferment brought gifts of money and grants of land. Already High Steward of the University of Oxford, he was also given the same appointment at Cambridge. He was Collector of Subsidy in Middlesex, and in 1525 he succeeded the unfortunate Winfield as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. It was he, a few years earlier, who had been chosen to make the speech of welcome when the Emperor Charles had come to London. The warmth of the royal favour even extended to his aged father. Judge More was made one of the "Triers of Petitions for Gascony," an office of considerable dignity. The pressure of his many duties forced More eventually to resign the Under-Treasurership, for he was one of the Council which was required to be in a daily attendance upon the King.

These also were happy days for More's own little realm. Shortly following his return from Cambrai More had moved his family from Bucklersbury to Chelsea. His new house was surrounded by a large garden and farm and was fully equipped to meet the needs of his growing children. It was a beautiful place bordering the Thames, close enough to the City, yet with the greenness and seclusion of the country.

Here he was the firm ruler, the loving parent, the scholar, the philosopher, the best of hosts to a constant stream of guests. Even the King, on a sudden whim, would come over to this house at Chelsea, and be merry, dining without previous invitation or notice. On one of these occasions the enthralled family was delighted to see the King stroll with More in the garden for an hour or so, engrossed in happy talk, the royal arm thrown around the commoner's shoulder. When Henry departed, the impressed Roper complimented his father-in-law saying, "how happy he was whom the King had so familiarly entertained, as I never had seen him to do to any except Cardinal Wolsey, whom I saw once walk with arm in arm."

In his reply, More showed well his evaluation of the friendship of princes and, in particular, his own Prince. "I thank our Lord, son," he said, "I find his Grace my very good Lord indeed; and, I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any subject within this realm. Howbeit, son Roper, I may tell thee I have no cause to be proud thereof; for if my head [could] win him a castle in France . . . it should not fail to go."[12]

Once again he was stressing his opinions as to the uncertain permanence of material success. As a young man he had written in his Book of Fortune:

Build not shine house on height up to the sky. None falleth far, but he that climbeth high. Remember, Nature sent thee hither bare The gifts of Fortune-count them borrowed ware.

The happy days at Chelsea were immortalized by the gifted hand of Hans Holbein. He came as a guest, and his stay resulted in the famous painting of More, the equally famous Family Group, and individual portraits of other members of the family. Erasmus had recommended Holbein to their mutual friend, Peter Giles, as "the man who painted me; I will not trouble you with a testimonial, but he is a great man at his craft. . ." Upon Holbein's arrival, More agreed with his friend: "Your painter, dearest Erasmus, is a wonderful man, but I fear he won't find England as fruitful as he had hoped. Yet I will do my best to see that he does not find it absolutely barren."[l3]

At the end of his two years' leave Holbein returned to Basel and purchased for himself a house with his English money. But it was posterity which profited most by his stay in the More household.

The Story of Thomas More, John Farrow

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