Book ■ M ii VJ ^o-^lj- SIR THOMAS MORE HIS LIFE AND TIMES ILLUSTRATED FROM HIS OWN WRITINGS, AND FROM CONTEMPORARY DOCUMENTS. BY W. JOS. WALTER, LATE OF ST. EDMUND's COLLEGE Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, Like rigid Ciricinnatus nobly poor, A dauntless soul, erect, who smil'd on death. Thomson, PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART. NEW-ORLEANS : WILLIAM M'KEAN. AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES. 1839.' ON MORE'S PORTRAIT. From Flolbein's hand, it is the portraiture Of More, the mild, the learned, and the good; Trac'd in that better stage of hiinsan life, When vain imaginations, troublous thoughts. And hopes and fears have had their course, and left The intellect compos'd, the heart at rest; Nor yet decay hath touch'd our mortal frame. Such was the man, whom Henry, of desert Appreciant alway, chose for highest trust; Whom England in that eminence approved, Whom Europe honored, and Erasmus loved. gouTHEY, Poet Lcmreatc. TO SAMUEL, \RCHBISHOP OF BALTIMORE, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED WITH SENTIMENTS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT AND ESTEEM. This work is published under the immediate sanction of the Very Rev- erend, the Archbishop of Baltimore. PREFACE. In one of his latest works, the lamented Sir James Mackintosh challenged the zeal of the Catho- lics as a body. His words are these: — " Being- now restored to their just rank in society, the Roman Catholics have no longer an excuse for not con- tinuing this useful work:" — he is speaking of Dodd's Church History.* It might be asked whether a greater latitude could not have been given to this appeal, so as to have included the lives and writings of the many eminent statesmen and scholars, both lay and ecclesiastic, who at once illustrated the faith of their fathers, and the age in which they flourished, and who are justly entitled to our grate- ful regard 1 The object of the present volume, as it will be of the series by which it is to be followed, is a humble endeavor to respond to the call thus made, and which, coming from such a quarter, is entitled to serious attention. * At the moment of setting up the above, an advertisement in the London Times informs us that Sir James's appeal to Catholic scholarship has not been vv^ithout its effect. The first part of Dodd's Churcli History has issued from the press, under the editorship of the Rev. M. A. Tierney, F. S. A. We commence with the Life and Times of Sir Thomas More, one of the most prominent names in the English Catholic annals. This remarkable man claims attention under all the varied relations of the good father, the enlightened statesman, the elegant historian, and the no contemptible champion in the field of controversy. The sources of our information have been : 1. More's collected English works, edited by his nephew Rastell, in 1557, Black Letter, Folio, pp. 1460. 2. More's Latin works, including the collection of his and Erasmus's letters. Basle, 1563. 3. The Life of More, by his son-in-law William Roper, first printed in Paris, 1626. 4. The two anonymous Lives of More preserved smong the Lambeth MSS. of which one has been published by Dr. Wordsworth in his " Ecclesias- tical Biography." Rastell was known to have writ- ten a life of his uncle, but it was never printed. Now the author of the life given by Wordsworth, speaks of himself as " collecting the works of More for publication." This avowal appears to indentify it as the work of Rastell, and under his name it will be cited in the following pages. 5. The Life of More which has hitherto gone under the name of " Mr- Thomas More," the great grandson of the chancellor. The Rev. Jos. Hunter has, however, satisfactorily proved it to be from the pen of Cresacre More, his grandson. The references to this work in the present volume, will be under the head " Cresacre." PREFACE. V 6. The " State Papers of the reign of Henry VIII.;" an invaluable work, published in London (1830) under his majesty's commission. The more recent accounts of Sir Thomas, are little else than copies from these works, and throw no new light on his history. "It is impossible to speak rightly of an age gone by, without allowing it to speak for itself," is the axiom of a modern German historian. The observa- tion will equally apply to men as to eras; and, guided by this rule, it has been the object of the compiler of the present volume, to allow the hero of the piece, as far as possible, to tell his own story, in his own words. If an author's true autobiography be his own writings, then is it no presumption to say, that entire justice has not yet been done to Sir Thomas's life. It must be confessed that the ap- pearance of the voluminous black letter folio, which contains his works, is not inviting, and it has pos- sibly deterred many from examining its contents, and identifying its varied materials with the history of the writer.* It has been the endeavor of the pre- sent volume to supply that defect; and it is hoped that the writer's researches have enabled him to throw some of the features of More's character into bolder relief. " Some particulars in the life of More," says Sir J. Mackintosh, " 1 am obliged to leave * A copy of this rare volume enriches the Philadelphia Li- brary. In speaking of that excellent institution, rich in most of the departments of learning, the writer cannot allow the opportunity to pass of acknowledging the kind attentions re- ceived from Mr. Smith, the librarian, and irom his intelligent son. 1* to more fortunate inquirers." To the praise of hav- ing- accomplished this the present endeavor can hardly hope to aspire; all the merit to which it can lay claim is that of patient labor and diligent re- search. Desirous of reproducing- a faithful picture of the time, he has taken pleasure in weaving into his nar- rative the many simple traits of domestic manners wdth which the pages of More's family biographers abound. In these faithful records, Sir Thomas is brought before us " in the habit in which he lived," and we are transported to the very hearth-stone of his domestic circle. Good taste will not be offended at these household scenes, and will readily teach us to make the necessary distinction between deli- cacy and fastidiousness. In several recent bio- graphical works, evidence has been given of a dis- position to admire and to adopt the simplicity of an earlier age; and, in place of a display of pompous and elaborate authorship, to allow the graphic and less artificial narration of our forefathers, to find its place. In a word, the truth has been recognised, that, in order faithfully to portray the manners of an age, due attention must be had to the costume of thought by which it was characterized. With respect to the historical portion of the volume — the rise of the reformation, the origin and progress of Henry's divorce, &c., it would have been presumption to go over the same ground with Dr. Lingard. All the writer has done has been to avail himself of the " State Papers" and other docu- ments that have recenil}^ come before the public, in PREFACE. Vll order to carry out some parts of the subject more fully ; as, for instance, the details of Wolsey's embassy to France, the judicial proceedings in the divorce, Cranmer's termination of that affair, the dignified resistance of Queen Catharine to the in- justice of her persecutors, &c. To the youthful reader in particular, it is hoped that these graphic details of manners and character will prove ac- ceptable. The present volume will be immediately followed by a second, containing "The Beauties of Sir Thomas More, or Selections from his writings in prose and verse." Such a collection is a necessary sequel to the volume now before the reader, in order to enable him fully to enter into More's character, and appreciate his genius and acquirements. Sir Thomas's views, moral and political, are allowed to have been in advance of his age. " Those who know only his J/'/ojom," observes Sir James Mackin- tosh, " will acknowledge that he left little of ancient wisdom uncultivated, and that it anticipates more of the moral and political speculation of modern times, than can be credited v/ithout a careful pe- rusal." In conclusion, the writer wishes it were permitted him to address his readers in the language of that great master of his art, whose genius has imparted an additional interest to this portion of English history : Things now That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as teach the eye to flow, Ill PREEACE. We here present. Think that ye see before ye The very persons of our noble story, As they were living . . . . . Then, in a moment, see. How soon this mightiness meets misery ! Skakspeare, Prologue to Henry VIII. Philadelphia, July, 1839. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. 1480—1501.- ffiTAT. 28. MoRE's Youth— Education— Study of the Law- Marriage, -------13 CHAPTER II. 1508—1517. iSTAT. 36, More UNDER-SnERirF of London — Ambassador to Flanders— Knighted and Accepts Office, - 29 CHAPTER in. 1512—1517. iETAT. 36. More in the Bosom of his Family, - - - 51 CHAPTER IV. 1517—1526. iSTAT. 43. More at Court— Q,uells a Popular Tumult — Is made Treasurer of the Exchequer — Defends Henry against Luther — Made Speaker of the House of Commons, - - - - - 77 10 CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. 1525—1529. iETAT. 50. The Divorce — The Mission to France — More as a Controversialist — The Sweating Sickness — Em- bass y TO THE Netherlands, - - - - 115 CHAPTER VI. 1529-1532. ^TAT. 53. Progress of the Divorce — Wolsey's Disgrace — More made Chancellor — Rise of Crumwell — More Resigns the Chancellorship — Lord Aud- ley Chancellor, 147 CHAPTER VII. 1532—1534. ^tat. 54. More in his Retirement — New Domestic Arrange- ments — His Poverty — Offering of the Bishops —Accusation and Apology — Cranmer — Mar- riage of Henry and Anne Boleyn — The Nun op Kent — Bishop Fisher — More Accused of Mis- prison OF Treason — Statutes of Succession and Allegiance — More Refuses the Oath— Commit- ted to the Tower, . . . - - 197 CHAPTER VIII. 1534—1535. ^tat. 55. More in the Tower— Project of his Daughter CONTENTS. 11 Margaret — Correspondence of Mrs. Alington AND Margaret — Private Examinations of More IN THE Tower — His Trial — Defence — Reply to Rich — His Sentence — Interrogatories put to HIM after his Trial — His Execution, - - 268 CHAPTER IX. Opinions respecting More, _ - _ - 352 APPENDIX. GluEEN Catherine and King Henry to Cardinal WOLSEY A joint LETTER— (1574,) - - 373 More's Epitaph, composed by himself, - - 374 SIR THOMAS MORE, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. CHAPTER I. 1480—1508. ^TAT. 28. MORe's youth— education — STUDY OF THE LAW- — MARRIAGE. Ancestry of More— Anecdotes of his infancy— Early Education in London— Received into ihe family of Cardinal Morton — His early talents and wit — Studies at Oxford— Return to London, and amplication to the Law — Incii nation for a Re- ligious Life — Dean Colet — Places liimself under his direction — Marries— Is elected to Parliament— Instances of his early Patriotism— Death of Henry VII. That examples of past ages move us more than those of our own time, may, probably, be in part ascribed to the reverence we feel for antiquity, and to the mysterious veneration which hangs around the memory of the illustrious dead. Objects that are viewed through the medium of a softening distance, lose many of those blemishes and inequalities, which approximation allows us to discover. There are some characters, however, which have borne with them to the tomb so few of the failings of our nature, that they have no need of this illusion of antiquity to invest them with an interest not their own. In this number may be ranked the subject of our Memoir. Thomas, the only son of Sir John More, was born at his father's residence in Milk Street, London, in 14 SIR THOMAS MORE, 1480, in the 20th year of the reig-n of Edward the Fourth, and five years previous to the accession of Henry the Seventh. Of the public life of his father, vi^e have few par- ticulars up to the time of his appearing as one of the judges of the King's Bench. He is thus described by his affectionate son: " A man courteous and pleas- ant in his manners, harmless, gentle, full of compas- sion, just and incorrupt. He was old indeed in years, but young and hale in bodily strength. After living to see his son Chancellor of England, and thinking he had tarried long enough on earth, he passed willingly to heaven."* The maiden name of his mother was Handcombe, daughter of Sir Thomas Handcombe of Holywell, in Bedfordshire. The age of portents was not yet gone by; and Dr. Clement, a famous physician of the time, and afterwards the intimate friend of the subject of our memoir, reports of her, that, on the night after the marriage, she saw, in a dream, engraven on her wedding ring, the number and cha- racters of her children; the face of one shining with superior brightness. Another presage of the child's future eminence, related by his nurse, is, that one day as she was riding with him in her arms over a piece of water, the horse slipped by accident into a deep and dangerous hole. To save her infant charge, she threw him over a hedge into a field, and having afterwards, with much difficulty, extricated herself from her perilous situation, she found him, to her no small surprise, not only unhurt, but sweetly smiling in her face.f * Camden, in his Remains, relates a saying of Sir John, which may not prepossess the fair sex in his favor. He com- pared a man choosing a wife, "to one who dipped his hand into a bag containing twenty snakes and one single eel — it was twenty to one that he caught the eel!" After this our fair read- ers will be surprised to hear, that the worthy old gentleman had the resolution to take three dips himself; and it will be satisfactory to know that he had the good fortune each time to avoid the serpents; winch we are willing to believe existed only in his active imagination. t In the dedication of Hoddeston's " History of Sir Thomas More," (1650) is the following quaint allusion to this circum- HIS LIFE AND TIMKS. 15 More received the first rudiments of his ed ucation, in the school of St. Anthony, in Tlireadneedle St. belonging to a hospital of the same name, which had been in high reputation since the time of Henry VI, and a learned man, named Nicholas Holt, Vv^as his master, under whom, to use More's own expression, lie " rather greedily devoured than leisurely chewed" his grammar rules, and surpassed all his school- fellows in understanding and diligent application. By the interest of his father. More afterward be- came an inmate in the house, and attached to the retinue of Cardinal Morton, one of Henry the Se- venth's most favored and valuable ministers. In those days, when not wealth and power only, but knowledge, elegance and nearly all the refinements of life, were monopolised by a few favored individ- uals, there was but little hope of advancement for the aspiring youth of lowly, or indeed of middle rank, but what arose from the expectation of finding a powerful and generous patron. Nor was it resorted to merely with a view to worldly honors; laymen of taste and learning were compelled to avail them- selves of this species of patronage, if they wished to enjoy the advantage of the best conversation, and acquire the elegant accomplishments of the times. Persons of respectable condition were, therefore, anxious to offer their sons' services as the price of advantages otherwise unattainable. Like the squire attending the knight-errant of an older period, a young gentleman did not think it beneath his dig- nity to serve a kind of regular apprenticeship to some noble master; to wait at his table, to carry his train, and perform a hundred little duties, which in our more refined age would be termed " menial offi- ces." By means of this voluntary humiliation, he became known to the great, he found opportunities for acquiring useful information, and was prepared, stance: " Sir, T have dealt v/ith him as his nurse did — thrown him over the hedge into your arms, lest his memory should perieli in the waters of Lethe." 16 SIR THOMAS MORE, in those miniature courts, for future eminence in the palace and at the council board.* The choice made by More's father of a guardian for his son, was a wise and fortunate one. Cardi- nal Morton was a man of learning, and one of Hen- ry's most able ministers; and his personal virtues secured him a degree of respect and love, which More, in after life, allowed no opportunity to pass without gratefnlly recording. Thus, in his cele- brated "Utopia," we find him dwelling with delight on the Cardinal's excellent qualities; and sketching his picture from grateful recollection. " This reve- rend prelate," says he, " was not less venerable for his wisdom and virtues, than for the high character which he bore. He was of a middle stature, not broken with age. His look inspired reverence rather than fear. He was gentle in communication, and. yet earnest and sage. He would try the force of those that came as suitors to him, by assuming a sharp and inquisitive tone, the better to draw forth their spirit and character, in order to judge of their fitness for affairs. In speech he was firm, eloquent, and pithy. In the law he had profound knowledge; in wit he was incomparable, and in memory prodigious. These qualities, which in him were by nature singu- lar, he had improved by study and experience. The king put much trust in his counsels, and the public weal also, in a manner, leaned upon him. From his youth he had been practised in affairs; and having experienced many reverses of fortune, he had. with great cost acquired a vast stock of wis- * In a paper written, at a somewhat later period, by the Earl of Arundel, entitled " Instructions for you, my son William, how to behave yourself at Norwich," the Earl thus charges him: " You shall in all things reverence, honor, and obey my Lord Bishop of Norvvicn, as you would do any of your parents: esteeming whatever he shall tell or command you, as if your grandmother of Arundel, your mother, or myself should say it. In all things esteem yourself as my Lord's page; a breeding which youths of my house, far superior to you, were accustom- ed unto; for my grandfather of Norfolk, and his brother our good uncle of Northampton, were both bred as pages with iiishops." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 17 dom; which is not soon lost, when it is purchased so dearly." Nor was Morton less attached to his ward. " He much delighted in his wit and towardness," and would point him out to the attention of the noble guests who were dining with him. — " This child here, waiting at table," would he say, " whoever shall live to see it, will prove a marvellous man." We have seen More characterising his father as a " pleasant man;" and he inherited from him the lively and mirthful disposition which distinguished him through life. While in the cardinal's service, we find him signalising himself in the different the- atrical entertainnaents which took place during the holidays; not as an actor, according to our notions of an actor's part, but as a kind of competitor in these contests of extemporary wit and drollery, which formed the delight of that age. Roper thus describes the circumstance: " Though he was young of years, yet would he sometimes at Christ- mas, suddenly step in among the players, and never studying for the matter, make a part of his own there presently, among them, which made the look- <5rs-on more sport than all the players beside." Thus early did he give proof that humor was a na- tural ingredient in his composition. 1497. — His worthy patron seeing " that his ward could not profit so much in his house as he desired, where there were many distractions of public affairs," and wisely judging that so promis- ing a young man ought to enjoy every advantage his country had to offer, sent him to Oxford, where he was entered a member of Christ Church, then known by the name of Canterbury College. He had then just entered on his seventeenth year. He remained two years in the University, and " pro- fited exceedingly," says Roper, " in rhetoric, logic, and philosophy; proving what wonders wit and diligence can accomplish, when united, as they sel- dom are, in one principal student. At this period, the celebrated Erasmus visited Oxford, and from this 18 SIR THOMAS MORE, epoch dates the intimacy between these remarkable men, which lasted for life. It was here also he be- came acquainted with Wolsey, who was at that time bursar of Magdalen College, and with Dean Colet, whose friendship he afterwards so diligently cultivated. The time in which More entered the university, was propitious for the formation of a classical taste; for Oxford had then the advantage of possessing two men, eminent above any of the age for their knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongues. The scholars of whom we speak were Grocyn and Lina- cre; and, in attending their lectures, More found the treasures of ancient learning, thus thrown open to him, a source of new delight. To use his grand- son's phrase, " his whole soul was set upon his books." More applied with diligence to add the Greek language to his other classical stores; for, at that period, it was a rare attainment; and we shall find in the sequel, that he continued to be a warm friend to the cultivation of that noble language. At this age, his father wisely withheld from him all supplies of money, but such as were absolutely necessary for his college wants, exacting from him a most rigorous account of his expenses. More felt this a severe privation; yet he was obliged after- wards honestly to acknowledge, that this restraint was, perhaps, the means of saving him from the dis- sipation and vices he saw around him. Lloyd la- conically remarks, that " the college kept him strict, and his father short."* Such disciphne was severe; but More after u^ards thanked God, " that, at least, it had allowed him neither the leisure nor the means to be vicious." 1499. — This year More quitted the university, and returning to London, took up his residence in New Inn, I to study law. " Here," says Roper, * Lloyd's Worthies, c. 16. t Inn was successively applied, like the French word hotel, first to the lown mansion of a great man, and afterwards to HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 19 *' he very well prospered for his time," and was soon after admitted a member of Lincoln's Inn. Amidst the bustle and distractions of the capital, and surrounded on every side by examples of idle- ness, g-aming-, intemperance, and every vice. More felt the necessity of redoubled watchfulness over himself, wherein, to use his own language, " con- sisteth the true wisdom of a Christian man; striving lest the handmaid Sense should grow too insolent over her mistress Reason," and having learned the true signification of those words of Christ; "He that hateth his life in this world, keepeth it for life everlasting." Under this conviction, he added pe- nance to penance. Temptation assailed him; the conflict was long and severe; he had recourse to much fasting and watching. He seldom allowed himself more than four or five hours for sleep; his bed was a hard bench, or the ground, with a log for his pillow. To these austerities, he also added " a discipline every Friday and high fasting day, think- ing that such cheer was the best he could bestow upon his rebellious body." Not content with this, " he used aftertimes to wear a sharp hair-shirt next his skin, which he never left oif wholly; no, not even when he was Lord Chancellor of England: which my grandmother," continues Roper, " on a time, in the heat of summer espying, laughed at, not being much sensible of such kind of spiritual exercise; having been carried away in her youth by the vani- ties of the world, and not knowing ' of what spirit' such men are, as are led by an especial grace to the practice of such austerities." 1500. In this year, as we find from his grandson, that More took up his residence near the Charter House, living for four years among the Carthusians, and daily frequenting their spiritual exercises, but without any vow. There are writers who have af- fected surprise, that a man of his activity of mind, and a house where all mankind are entertained for money. — Sir J. Mackintosh. 20 Sm THOMAS MORE, natural turn for the humorous, should have been able to endure the solitude of a cloister; as if there were not a time for all things, and as if the above qualities were in any way incompatible with ra- tional piety, and man's duty towards his Maker. " He had an earnest mind also to become a Fran- ciscan friar, that he might serve God in a state of perfection; but finding that, at that time, religious orders in England had somewhat degenerated from their ancient strictness, and fervor of spirit, he al- tered his mind. He had also, after that, together with Lilly, a faithful companion of his, a purpose to become a priest: but God had allotted him for another estate; not to live solitary, but that he might be a pattern to married men, how they should ■carefully bring up their children, how dearly they should love their wives; and how, while they em- ployed their endeavors wholly for the good of their country, they should at the same time faithfully fol- low the virtues of religious men, as piety, charity, humility, obedience, and chastity." 1503. The death of Elizabeth, queen to Henry Vn., and mother of Henry VHI., which happened this year, afforded More an occasion for the exer- cise of his poetical talent. The following lines from the " Rueful Lamentation," are not deficient in vigor. The illustrious deceased is supposed to utter the sentiments. Oh ye! that put your trust and confidence In worldly joy and frail prosperity; That so live here, as ye should never hence, Remember death, and look here upon me; Methinks ensample cannot better be: Yourself well wot, that in this realm was I Your Clueen but late—and, lo, now here I lie! Where are our castles now, where are our towers? Thou, goodly Richmond, soon art gone from me; At Westminster, that costly work of yours, Mine own dear lord, now shall I never see. Almighty God, vouchsafe to grant that ye For you and your sons well may edify! My palace builded is, and, lo, now here I lie! HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 21 1504. About this period, we find him delivering lectures on St. Augustine's great work De Civitate Dei^ in the church of St. Lawrence, Old Jewry. We learn from Erasmus, that these lectures were numerously attended, and that neither the old and experienced, nor the most dignified churchmen of the land, were ashamed to derive sacred wisdom from the young layman. It is pleasing to find that Grocyn, his old Oxford master, was one among the number. In our day, avocations so apparently dif- ferent as law and divinity-lecturing, would scarcely be thought compatible. But it must not be forgot- ten that in the times we are describing, very con- siderable knowledge in divinity was essential to the character of a lawyer. The highest legal offices in the state were generally filled by ecclesiastics; and More, as it will be seen, was afterwards a rare instance of a layman being appointed to fill that of Chancellor. At this period, we find the subject of our me- moir giving a laudable proof of discretion in the midst of his devout exercises. Fearful of follow- ing his own will, even in meritorious actions, he chose for his spiritual director, the famous Colet,* dean of St. Paul's, whose acquaintance, as we have already seen, he had formed at college. "To this ghostly father," to use the words of his grandson, " he was as obedient in all spiritual matters, as he was to his natural father in all dutiful obligation; and from his wholesome lessons he derived the greatest profit." On this point, we have pleasure in quoting Mr. Tytler: " Though educated in the rigid school of Colet, his severities and inflictions centered in himself — to others he was indulgent and humane; while the sweetness of his temper, his ready forgiveness of injuries, his wide and un- * Dean Colet {b. 1466— (Z. 1519) was the solo survivor of a family of 22 children, and enjoyed a handsome inheritance, which he piously employed in the foundation of the celebrated school in St. Paul's ohurchyard, in the year 1510, dedicated TO THE Child Jesus. It is still famous under the name of St. Paul's school, and can boast of a long series of men of eminence. 22 SIR THOMAS MORE, ostentatious charities, and the courage with which he was ever ready to peril his life for the faith, evinced that his was the genuine fasting-, and holy penance of the heart." {Life of Henry VIII. p. 57.) Stapleton has preserved a letter from More to Co- let, which confirms the great respect and regard in which he held this distinguished ecclesiastic; and as it presents a natural and pleasing picture of the state of his mind at this important period of his life, the reader will not be displeased to see it translated. " As 1 was walking lately in Westminster Hall, where a law case had employed me, I chanced to meet your servant lad. I was delighted at the sight of him, for he was always a favorite of mine, and more especially as 1 thought he could not be here without you. Judge, then, of my disappointment, when he informed me you were not returned. For what can be more grievous to me than to be de- prived of your sweet conversation, whose whole- some counsel I was wont to enjoy, whose engaging familiarity was so refreshing to me, by whose im- pressive discourses I have been incited to devotion, by whose life and example I have been edified and instructed; in a word, in M^hose very countenance I have found contentment of heart. Having under such auspices once felt strength and confidence, deprived of them 1 am utterly cast down. What is there in this town to incite any man to a good life? Or rather, what is there that doth not, by a thousand allurements, draw him from the path of virtue, be his dispositions ever so good] on what- ever side we turn, what do we hear but, on the one hand, the voice of pretended love, or of insidious flattery, and, on the other, fierce quarrels, strife, and litigation. Wherever we cast our eyes, what do we see but tavern-keepers, cooks, &c., who admi- nister to the appetite, to the pleasures of the world, and to the Evil one who is the prince thereof. The very houses rob us of a good part of our light, scarcely suffering us to behold the sky; for it is the height of the buildings, and not the circle of the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 23 horizon, that bounds our prospect. It is for this that I can the more readily pardon you for preferring a country life. There you find simple souls, void of our city craft. Wherever you turn your eye, it is cheered by agreeable prospects; the fresh air invigorates, while the aspect of the heaven delights you; you find nothing there but bounteous gifts of nature, and saintly tokens of innocence. Yet would I not have you so wholly taken with these delights, as not to return to us as speedily as may be. If the city displease you, as well it may, yet the coun- try about your parish of Stepney, while it claims your care, will also afford you comforts like those you now enjoy. The country people are harmless in comparison with the inhabitants of the city, whose crowded state is infectious both for body and soul, and demands more skilful physicians. It is true that there sometimes come into your pulpit at St. Paul's, men who promise wonders in curing the spiritual diseases of the people, but when all is said and done, their lives are so little in accordance with their precepts, that they rather increase than alleviate the spiritual complaints of their hearers. Sick men are not to be persuaded to let those at- tempt their cure, who, God wot! are more sick themselves; for a leper to attempt to treat a leper, would only excite contempt and aversion. But if those are accounted the fittest to effect a cure, in whom the sick have the greatest confidence, where can one be found so competent to the task as yourself? How great the trust reposed in your experience of souls, is manifested by the deep anxiety felt for your return. Return, then, at length, my dear Colet, either for your Stepney's sake, which bewails your absence day by day, as doth a child that of its mother, or else for London's sake, which is your native place, and which you should naturally regard as a parent. Meanwhile, I pass my time with Grocyn, Linacre, and Lilly; the first being, as you know, the director of my life in your absence; the second, the master of my studies, and 24 SIR THOMAS MORE, the third, my dearest companion in all I undertake. Farewell, and continue to love me as you have hitherto done." Colet, in his turn, admired his dis- ciple, and was heard to exclaim; " That England had but one true wit, and that was young Thomas More."* 1507. It was by the advice of his spiritual direc- tor, that More, about this time, decided upon set- tling- down in life in the marriage state. In the number of his friends was Mr. John Colte, of New- hall in Essex.f He was a gentleman of good family, who had three daughters, whose personal accomplishments, and " honest conversation" at- tracted the attention of More, who was now in his twenty-seventh year. In the choice which he made, we have a remarkable instance of that peculiarity of character, that spirit of self-renunciation, which distinguished him through life. It appears that inclination directed him to the second of these young ladies,:): "and yet," says Roper, " when he considered within himself, that this would be a grief, and a kind of underrating to the eldest, to see her younger sister preferred before her, he, out of a kind of compassion, settled his fancy upon the el- dest, and soon after married her, with all her friends' good liking." There may be some who will admire the philosophy of More in the instance before us, but it may be doubted if he will find * Henry the 8th was so persuaded of the merit of Dean Colet, that on occasion of some charge attempted to be made against him, he was heard to exclaim: " Let others choose what doctor they please, Colet is the man for me." — Burnet, vol iii. p. 167. t This venerable mansion is still in existence, and is now converted into an establishment of considerable repute for the education of young ladies, under the superintendance of the sisters of the Benedictine order. X It has been surmised that to this lady, More subsequently addressed his beautiful Latin poem " To Eliza." It turns on the pleasing reflection, that his affectionate remembrance re- stored to her the beauty of which five-and twenty years seemed to others to have robbed her. Competent judges have not hesitated to qualify this poem as one of the most beautiful productions of the 16lh century. It will be found in our Fol- ume of Selections, with an attempt at translation. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 2^ many imitators. We learn from Erasmus, that the lady, whose name was Jane, was much younger than her husband, and had never quitted the society of her parents and sisters in the country. This, he adds, was the more agreeable to his friend, as he had a better prospect of moulding her character to his own. In order to be near his father, we find More settling himself in a house in Bucklersbury, where he applied himself to his profession with re- newed diligence and zeal. At the same time, he appears to have spared no means in improving his wife's mind, and rendering her life happy. By him, she was instructed in polite literature, and in music, which had always been his delight, and in which he is represented as having been a tolerable profi- cient. There was every prospect of long years of happiness for the worthy pair; but man proposes and God disposes, and this scene of domestic enjoy- ment was broken up by her death, six years after their union, she having borne her husband several children, of whom a son and three daughters sur- vived her. The year following his marriage. More was elect- ed to a seat in the House of Commons, and found an early opportunity of discharging a difficult duty to his country. Henry the Seventh having resolved to marry his daughter Margaret to James the Fifth, of Scotland, applied to the Commons for a subsidy, rather, as would appear, for the gratification of his ruling passion, avarice, than by way of dower for his daughter. Be it as it may, there was some dis- like evinced as well to the amount, as to the object of the sum applied for. That the continued and insatiable demands of the king had thoroughly tired out the Commons, is evident from the fact, that the Scottish match was a popular one, and had received the warmest approbation of the citizens of London, and of the nation generally: yet More, young as he was, and unknown in the field of poli- tics, boldly ventured to stand forth against the de- mand, and, by his eloquence, and the force of his 3 26 SIR THOMAS MORE, reasoning', strengthened the courage of the Com- mons, and procured its rejection. This was indeed a bold step, surrounded as the young orator was, by the servile minions of power. One of these, of the name of Tyler, hastened to inform the king that a beardless boy had frustrated his purpose, and Henry, incensed by such an opposition to his dar- ling propensity, determined on seeking revenge. But in all the harsh measures to which this mo- narch had recourse, an accession to his purse was the more immediate object, and More was not pos- sessed of wealth: Ae, therefore, was suffered to escape, but his father, the aged judge, proved a more tempting prey. On some groundless charge, Sir John More was arrested, committed to the Tower, and there confined till his liberty had been purchased by the payment of a hundred pounds, a sum equal to nearly a thousand in the present day. In the meantime, it was deemed prudent for the real offender to keep out of the way, and young- More gave up his practice at the bar, and retired from all public offices, but not before an attempt was made to entrap him. Bishop Fox, meeting More shortly after the scene in the Commons, called him aside, and, pretending great kindness, promised that if he would be guided by his advice, he might be soon restored to the king's favor. But it afterwards ap- peared, that the prelate's design was to inveigle him into a confession of his offence, that punish- ment might be inflicted on him under a semblance of justice. More had, however, the prudence, or the good fortune, to escape the snare. Whitford, the bishop's chaplain, was his intimate friend, and when consulted by More, he advised him by no means to follow the counsels of the minister, " who," he added, " would be too cunning a Fox for him." That this advice was wise, appears from a circumstance which occurred some years after. When Dudley and Empson were sacrificed to popu- lar resentment, under Henry the Eighth, and were on their way to execution, the former saw More HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 27 among the crowd, and thus addressed him: " Oh Master More! God was your good friend that you did not ask the king's forgiveness, as many would have had you do; for if you had done so, perhaps you would have been in the like case with us now." It is hardly necessary to add, that More did not return to the bishop. So apprehensive, indeed, was he of the king's resentment, that, not satisfied of the security of his retreat, he is stated to have meditated a voyage abroad, — an intention which was prevented by the death of Henry the Seventh, which took place on the 2-2d of April, 1508. It has been observed that, in the instance before us. More began his professional career with a great- er display of integrity than is ever convenient to courts and ministers. More's conduct throughout life is a proof, that the " conveniency" here spoken of, had no weight with him. On more than one occasion he evinced, his conviction of the truth — " that the service of our country is not a mere chi- merical obligation, but a real and solemn duty, and that a good man will exert all the means in his power to perform it." We learn from More's grandson, that his retreat was not spent inactively — " he studied the French tongue at home, sometimes recreating his wearied spirits on the viol." Here he also perfected himself in most of the liberal sciences, as music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. He moreover grew to be a perfect historian; his chief help in all these labors, being his happy memory, of which he thus modestly speaks; "I would I had as good a wit, and as much learning, as I have memory, for that rarely faileth me." During the leisure which this retirement afforded him. More appears to have composed his '•' Life of John Picus of Mirandola," and to have translated several of his epistles and other works. They are found inscribed as a new-year's gift " Unto his en- tirely beloved sister in Christ, Joyence Leigh." This dedicatory epistle is in More's best manner, 28 SIR THOMAS MORE, a pleasing^ proof of his piety and affection. It will have a place in our Selections. He also composed about this period, a little volume of epigrams, and other poetical pieces, which were much praised in their day, and will still be read by the classical scholar with pleasure. We have also some poeti- cal pieces in Eng-lish from his pen, among which, " A Merry Jest, how a Serjeant would learn to play the Friar," has been much spoken of, and is sup- posed to have suggested to the celebrated Cowper, the idea of his popular tale of John Gilpin. (J'^ide Selections.) HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 29 CHAPTER II. 1508—1517. ^TAT. 36. More under-sheriff of London — ambassador to flanders — knighted and accepts office. Accession of Henry VTII— his youthful character and educa- lion— Marriaj^e with Catharine — More quits his retrtat, and is appointed under-sheriff of London — Is visited by Erasmus and accepts th'' dedication of his " Praise of Folly" — De- fends it against Dorpius— Marries— Second time accompanies Tunstal on an embassy to Flanders— Acquaintance he forms there — Letter to Archbishop Warham — That prelate's cha- racter—The King desires to engage More in his service— He pleads a cause for the Pope — Is at last persuaded to accept office— Is made Master of the Requests — Receives the honor of knighthood, and is made a I'rivy Councillor. The year 1508 witnessed the accession of Henry the Eighth. He was, as is well known, a second son. His elder brother, Arthur, at the age of fifteen had married the Princess Catharine of Spain, daugh- ter of the famous Ferdinand and Isabella. The two young princes were brought up by their father under a system of wise and strict discipline; it being his endeavor to guard them against the perilous temptations of a court, and to encourage them in all useful studies. Henry was destined, it is said, for the church,* and to this end he received the benefit of as learned an education as the age could bestow — the king contemplating his acces- sion to the primacy of England, " in order," says Herbert, " to provide for him without charge to the crown, and leave a passage open to his ambition. ■[" * Men laugh within themselves to see such tricks: Babes in the cradle heirs to Bishopricks! Stoker's Rise and Fall of Wolsey. 1590. t A writer, [Hume] who did not allow his matchless acuteness as a metaphysician, to disturb the sense and prudence which are more valuable qualities in a historian, has deplored the lime 3* 30 SIR TfiOMAS MORE, In the fond care, pious counsels, and exemplary virtues of his good mother, the Countess of Rich-^ mond, Henry also enjoyed a rare advantage, to which his future life unfortunately but ill corres-= ponded. Erasmus has left us so pleasing a picture of the royal schoolroom, that there needs no apolo- gy for introducing it. " Thomas More," says he, *' who had paid me a visit when I was Lord Mont- joy's guest, took me a walk to the next country- seat. It was there the king's children were educa- ted, with the exception of Arthur, who had then attained maturity. On entering the hall, we found the whole family assembled; and were surrounded, not only by the royal household, but by the ser- vants of Montjoy also. In the middle of the circle stood Henry, then only nine years old, but even at that early age bearing in his countenance an ex- pression of royalty, a look of high birth, and at tbe same time full of openness and courtesy. On the right stood the Princess Margaret, a girl of eleven years, afterwards married to James the Foiirth of Scotland. On the left was Mary, a child of four years, engaged in play; while Edmund, an infant in arms, completed the group. More, with Arnold our companion, after paying his compliments to lit- tle Henry, presented to him some piece of his own writing. 1 forget what it was. As for me, I had not anticipated such a meeting, and having nothing of the kind with me, I could only promise that I would shortly show my respect to the prince by some similar offering." In some further remarks which Erasmus makes on this charming family-pic- ture, we find Henry requesting this celebrated scho- lar to correspond with him — a trait of character in which may be traced a germ of that learned vanity wasted bv the royal youth on the writings of St. Thomas of Ac- qninas: rightly, if the acquirement of applicable knowledge be the sole purpose of education; but not so. certainly, if itl-esis on the supposition that any other study could have more strengthened and sharpened his reasoning powers.— Sir J. Mackintosh.— //is«. of Eng. vol. ii. 97. ms LIFE AND TIMETS. 31 which, at a later period, animated the Defender of the Faith, and the antag-onist of Luther. Henry's accession was hailed by all with unaf- fected joy; for Henry VII, his father, as we have already had occasion to remark, had never been a popular prince. In this new and dang-erous pre-eminence, Henry was at once surrounded by a host of those sycophants who are always found basking- in the sunshine of a court, and ihe youthful monarch was assaulted with adulation sufficient to endang-er the strongest virtue.* Till this period, however, as we learn from the best authority, Hen- ry continued to give hopes of future excellence; " he possessed,'^ says Cardinal Pole, " a disposi- tion from which every thing- excellent might be expected." One of the first acts after his accession, was to bring before his council, the already agitated ques- tion of his marriage with Catharine, to whom he continued to express an undiminished attachment. The objections that had been raised on the question of her having been the wife of his deceased bro- ther, yielded to the force of a papal dispensation, and to the solemn assertion of Catharine, which she was ready to confirm by oath, and by the attes- tation of several matrons, that her former nuptials with Arthur had never been consummated. The marriage accordingly took place with g-reat pomp and rejoicings, Catharine being married with the ceremonies appropriated to the nuptials of a maid- en; she was dressed in white, and wore her hair loose. The graces of her person derived additional lustre from the amiable qualities of her heart.]" * Mr. Sharon Turner, the great panegyrist of Henry, has quoted some of the fulsome addresses to the young monarch on his accession, and, with more credulity than judgment, construes them into proofs of his favorite's powers of mind, and excellence of disposition; the more observing reader will turn with disgust from their perusal, and feel disposed to won- der that the grossness of the flattery did not sooner achieve the work of ruin. t Doubts have been entertained as to Catharine's personal 32 SIR THOMAS MORE, For several years the king boasted of his happiness in possessing- so accomplished and virtuous a con- sort, but his situation exposed him to temptations v/hich he wanted the grace and the courage to re- sist, and he became implicated in several dishonest amours. Still he was compelled to admire the meek- ness and unpretending virtues of his royal consort, and her prudence continued for a long time to act as a salutary check upon the violence and brutality of his nature. Without sacrificing any of those qualities that embellish a court, Catharine, amidst all its gaieties, practised all the severe virtues of a recluse. Saun- ders informs us, that she arose at midnight to prayer, and yet at five in the morning left her pil- low and dressed for the day. Under her royal garments she wore the habit of St. Francis, into whose third order she had been admitted. She kept the fasts with great rigor, and on the vigils of the festivals of the Blessed Virgin took only bread and water. She confessed twice a week, heard mass every day, and spent some hours in her chapel, re- citing the office of our Blessed Lady. During an hour or two after dinner, she read the Lives of the Saints, while her maids of honor were standing round her. Before the hour of supper, she spent part of another hour in the chapel, and partook very sparingly at that meal. She studied personal mor- tification, for, during all her protracted prayers, she knelt on tlie stone pavement without a cushion. attractions. Hall expressly says, "in person beautiful," and More has thus described her: Ignea vis oculis, Venus insidet ore, genisque hst color, in geminis qui solet esse rrtsis — Immo etiam vultu virtus pellucet ab ipso: Est facies animi nuiicia aperta boni. On that fair brow has Venus fix'd her throne, Those eyes dart forth a lustre all their own, Thy cheeks, twin roses blushiug on one stem: But, oh! thy virtue is a priceless gem, Which shines reflected with a double grace, In the pure faithful mirror of thy face. w. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 33 Nor was Catharine more distinguished by her piety, than by her love of literature. " The queen," says Erasmus, " is a friend to letters, which she happily learned from her infancy." He describes her to the Duke of Saxony, as " elegantly learned," and adds; " I so love the piety and erudition of this illustrious woman, which are a reproach to our sloth and corruption of manners, that I seem to re- ceive a benefit to myself, if I can do any thing plea- sing to her. How rare is it to see a woman, born and brought up amidst the delights of a court, which corrupt even the best minds, repose all her delight in prayer, and in reading the divine volume." More, now in his thirty-fifth year, reappeared in the general reanimation at the commencement of a reign, which he was destined to illustrate by his greatness and his misfortunes. He appeared as the inaugural poet of the new epoch, and exercised his classical pen in a Latin poem on the coronation, which was celebrated with all the pomp and circumstance of which that age was so fond. He draws a contrast by no means favor- able to the late monarch, of whose avarice and in- justice he had so recently been the victim. The dedication concludes with a neatly turned compli- ment to Henry, at the expense, however, of his fa- ther; Vale, pi'inceps illustrissime, et — qui novus ac varus re gum titulus est, amatissime, (most illustrious, and — what is a new and rare title for a king, most beloved prince. Farewell.) 1510. — It was known that, shortly after Henry's succession. More filled the situation of under-sheriff of London, but his biographers were at variance as to the precise year. By a reference to the city records. Sir James Mackintosh has ascertained that the date of his first appointment to this office was March 3, 1510. "It is apparent," says Sir James, " that either as a considerable source of his income, or as an honorable token of public confidence, this office was valued by More; since, in 1516, he informs Erasmus that he had declined a' handsome 34 SIR THOMAS MORE, pension offered to him by the King, and that he believed he should always decline it; because, either it would oblig-e him, to resign his office in the city, which he preferred to a better, or if he retained it, in case of a controversy of the city with the King for their privileges, he might be deemed by his fellow citizens, to be disabled by dependence on the crown from sincerely and faithfully maintaining their rights. Erasmus tells us, that this office though not labo- rious, for the court sits only on the forenoon of every Thursday, is accounted very honorable. No one who ever filled this situation, went through more causes than More; no one decided them more uprightly; often remitting the fees to which he was entitled from the suitors. His deportment in this capacity, endeared him extremely to his fellow citizens. Nor in the dis- charge of this office, were opportunities wanting for the exercise of his characteristic humor. His wife had been presented with a small dog, which at once became a favorite, and was kept with great care. It turned out, however, to be the property of a beg- gar who had lost it, and who came to More to com- plain that his property was forcibly withheld from him. More sent for his lady and the dog, and stationing her at the upper end of the hall, as the worthier person, and the beggar at the lower end, he said he sat there to deal justice impartially to all; and he desired each of them to call the dog. The little favorite immediataly forsook his new mistress, and ran to the beggar: so that Lady More was compelled to indulge her partiality by purchasings the animal. The fame of an accomplished scholar, whose name we have before had occasion to mention — Erasmus^ had now begun to spread. More had long been sensible to his meri!;s, though not inattentive to- some of the weak parts of his character, which now began to display themselves. The acquaintance they had formed at Oxford, cherished by the similar- tiy of their studies, had ripened into a strong attach- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 35 iTsent, and we find them maintaining a correspon- dence. This year he wrote to More expressing- a desire to revisit Eng-land. To facilitate his journey, More sent him a bill of exchange, for a sum of which one- half was advanced by himself, and the other by Archbishop Warham. On arriving in London, he took up his residence for a time with More, and un- der his hospitable roof produced, it is said in the course of a single week, his well-known Murisc Encomium (Praise of Folly). This, however, is evidently an exaggeration; nearly two years before he had written to More relative to the work, which he states in his preface to have been composed on horseback to beguile the tedious hours of his journey from Italy. The fact, therefore, which has so much puzzled the biographers both of More and Erasmus, appears to be, that Erasmus brought with him the rough sketch of his work, to which he gave the finishing hand on the present occasion. The late lamented Mr. Charles Butler thus char- acterises this work. " It is an ingenious satire on the follies of persons in every condition of life. It would be difficult to mention a work which discovers more discernment or wit. Its success was prodi- gious; popes, kings, cardinals, bishops, princes, ba- rons, all the great and all the gay read and admired it. Leo the X. on perusing it, observed: " Erasmus too has his place in the region of folly." The most honorable testimony in its favor was that of the illustrious person, to whom it was dedicated. Martin Dorpius, a Louvaine divine, published some remarks upon it, in which he blamed its general spirit, and some particular passages and expressions. Erasmus answered it by an apologetical reply, which is a perfect model of polemic politeness. He acknowledges that his work had exposed him to censure; he almost laments that it was written, and solemnly declares, that, if he had foreseen the troubles, by which the church was, at no distant period, to be afflicted, he would not have composed a 36 SIR THOMAS MORE, work so g-ay, on subjects which unexpectedly proved so serious. More came to the aid of his friend. In an elegant and conciliating- letter addressed to Dor- pius, he justified the intention of Erasmus in com- posing the work; defended many passages and expressions to which Dorpius had objected, and extenuated the apparent culpability of others. Dor- pius was appeased: the friendship between him and Erasmus was renewed, and when his old anta- gonist died, Erasmus celebrated his memory in an elegant and affectionate epitaph." It is somewhat remarkable that, at a later period. More, as we shall have occasion to see, felt himself called upon to employ the same kind of apology in defence of his Utopia, that had been used by his friend in defence of his Praise of Folly. More accepted the dedication of the work, regard- ing it as a mere playful sally of that wit, which was congenial to his nature, and little imagining that the work was of a character to promote, even distantly, any views hostile to the faith which he loved and the precepts which he practised; and later, we shall hear him deprecating an appeal to his writings and those of his friend, which, he says, were innocently intended by them, but abused by incendiaries to inflame the fury of the ignorant multitude. Modern critics, however, have spoken unfavora- bly of this satire. " Nothing," observes Le Clerc, " can excuse Erasmus for having put into the mouth of Folly things which confound religious truth with idiotism, and honest men with knaves and madmen. No one can be a greater fool than he who sets up for fool-doctor in ordinary." " Af- ter the publication of this work," says Knight, " Erasmus was never after looked upon as a true friend of the church. In his Adages, he has made an apology to the public for the scandal given them in this satire." Another of this scholar's valuable friends and patrons was Lord Mountjoy. Erasmus had com- posed two declamations on matrimony, one in its HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 37 praise, the other against it. His patron Lord Mountjoy, said to him; " I like the first of your treatises so well, that I am determined to marry without loss of time." — " But (said Erasmus) you have not read the second." " No (replied his lord- ship), I am content to leave that to you." But while More found leisure for these literary prolusions, he continued to pursue his legal stu- dies with unremittinoc ardor, and rose to great emi- nence at the bar. His conduct was such as to en- title him to be held up as a model of scrupulous adherence to justice, amidst all the temptations of legal sophistry, and the more solid inducements of interest, and of that bribery, which, disguised un- der a more decent name, was so prevalent in those days. When any cause was offered to him, his first care was to ascertain whether justice was on the side on which he was retained. If he found it otherwise, he rejected the cause, whatever pecuniary inducement might be held out to him, and whatever opportunity it might afford for the display of his talents; assuring his client that he would notunder- take v/hat he knew to be wrong, for all the wealth in the world. With gratuitous kindness, he advo- cated the cause of the widow and orphan; while, re- gardless of interest, he always endeavored, if pos- sible, to bring contending parties to a private accom- modation. 1512. More's first wife, as we have already stated, survived their union onl}?^ about six years; and two years after her death, which brings us to our pre- sent period, he married Alice Middleton, a widow with one daughter. She was seven years older than himself, and neither handsome nor young — nee hella nee puella^ as he says in a Latin jingle to his friend Erasmus. His object in making this choice, and the curious manner in which it was brought about, are thus stated by his great grandson. "He entered into this second wedlock, that his wife might have care of his children, who were very young, and from whom he must of necessity be very often ab- 4 38 SIR THOMAS MORE, sent. She was of good years, of no great favor nor complexion, nor very rich; by disposition very near and worldly. T have heard it reported, that he wooed her for a friend of his, not once thinking to have her himself. But she wisely answering him, that ' he might speed, if he would speak in his own behalf,' he told his friend what she had said to him, and with his good liking married her, doing that which otherwise he would, perhaps, have never thought to do. And indeed, as I think, her favor would not have bewitched, or scarce even moved any man to love her. But yet she proved a kind and careful mother-in-law to his children, as he was always a most loving father unto them; and not only to his own, but to her daughter also; who afterwards married Mr. Alington, and was mother to Sir Giles Alington. He also brought up together with his own children, and as one of them, Margaret Giggs, afterwards wife to Dr. Clement, a famous physician. She also proved very famous for her many excellent endowments in learning, virtue, and wisdom." Speaking of this marriage, Erasmus says; " The woman More has married, is a keen and watchful manager, and he lives with her on terms of as much respect and kindness, as if she had been young and fair." Such is the happy power of a loving disposition, which overflows on all within the range of its influence, be their deserts or attrac- tions ever so slender. "No husband," continues Erasmus, " ever obtained so much obedience from a wife by authority and severe measures, as More Vv^on by gentleness and pleasantry. Though now of a certain age, and by no means of a yielding temper, he prevailed on her to take lessons on the lute and viol, which she daily practised over to him." Roper adds, in the simplicity of his heart, "• that his father- in-law induced her to learn music, both of the voice and viol, in order to draw off her mind from worldly things, to which she was too much addicted." In all probability, it was with a view to engage her to seek an agreeable distraction from that fretful anx- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 39 iety about her domestic concerns, which was her ruling- foible, and which would have proved a sad annoyance to a husband not possessed of More's philosophy. The truth is — though, forsooth, the truth should not at all times be spoken, that Alice was unfortunately a scold. "The greatest fault she had," says, her nephew Rastell "was that she would now and then show herself to be her mother's daughter, kit after kind: it is but their nature, you know, to be a little talkative." Indeed, in her gene- ral conduct she showed herself altogether incapable of entering into the magnanimity of her husband's character. It is amusing to observe how adroitly More could parry off her reproaches, arresting the outbreaks of her ill temper by a joke, and smoothing; down the roughness of her manner by a pun — for More was an inveterate punster; to that sin he must plead guilty, and he may well be pardoned, for it was his only one. The good dame was not however, altogether unaware of her failing, and would sometimes make an effort to overcome herself. " Why so merry, Alice^' in- qnired the knight, on meeting her one day in a more than usually happy mood. " One may surely be merry," said his wife, " for I have been to shrift, and left my old shrewdness behind me in the con- fessional." — "Ah!" rejoined the knight shaking his head doubtingly, " but I fear it is only to open a new score." 1513. More's application to his legal duties was unremitting, and yet such was his activity of mind, that he found leisure at this period, for historical composition, the fruit of which was afterwards given to the world in his History of King Richard the III. More's grandson speaks warmly in praise of this work: " It is so well penned, that if our chronicles of England were half so well set out, they would entice all Englishmen often to read them over." This elogium is confirmed by the fact, that the work has been four times reprinted within the last century. For a more detailed account, the reader is referred to the Volume of Selections. 40 SIR THOMAS MORE, 1515. The public life of More may be said to have commenced in the summer of this year, with a mission to Bruges, in which Tunstall, then Mas- ter of the Rolls, and afterwards bishop of Durham, was his colleague. The biographers of More have assigned 1516 as the year of this embassy, but here again a reference to the city records has enabled Sir James M'lntosh to ascertain the precise date. The following is the entry: "' Monday 8th of May, 1515. It is agreed that Thomas More gent, one of the under sheriffs of London, who shall go over as the King's ambassador into Flanders, shall employ his room and office by his sufficient deputy, until his coming home again.'* The object of this mis- sion was to adjust certain questions relating to the commercial intercourse of England with the Ne- therlands. We have now, for the first time, to mention the name of More in conjunction Math that of one of the most remarkable men of this period. Wolsey, then lately invested with the purple, filled the first place in the royal favor. Nothing was done at court but by his advice and through his mediation. The reputation of More had already attracted Henry's attention, and he signified to the cardinal his desire to see that remarkable man at- tached to the court. On this occasion, at least, we find that the minister acted honestly, and endeavored to accomplish the wishes of his master. He paid a visit to More, represented to him the importance of his services, and assured him that the royal bounty would recompense them liberally. More was not, however, to be prevailed upon, for the present at least, to exchange the independent station which his ability as a lawyer gave him, for the more precarious life of a courtier; and the excuses he made were, for this time, admitted. " No man ever strove harder, says Erasmus, to gain admittance at court, than More endeavored to keep out of it." As a preliminary step to further concessions, he was, however, prevailed upon by Wolsey to accept the mission in question. The affair appears to have HIS LIFE AND TIME!?. 41 been protracted longer than was quite agreeable to More, though it produced him, on his return, the offer of a pension. To this offer, the king's desire to retain More in his service doubtless materially contributed. In a letter written to Erasmus, shortly after his return, we have a very agreeable account of this expedition. " Our embassy," he writes, " for in this, as well as in every thing else that con- cerns me, you are kind enough to interest yourself, has proceeded favorably enough, save that the affair was protracted beyond the time I had looked for. On my leaving home, I had expected an absence of hardly two months, v/hereas above six have been consumed in the business. Yet, a result by no means disagreeable arose from this long delay. But seeing the affair on which I went, concluded, and observing that other matters, arising one out of the other, appeared the initials of still greater delay — a circumstance never wanting in diplomatic affairs, 1 wrote to the cardinal for leave to return, and used, among other friends, the kind offices of Pace [the cardinal's secretary.] On my way home, I met him unexpectedly at Gravelines, and in such a hurry that he could hardly stop to greet me. " This office of ambassador never pleased me. Indeed, it is not likely to suit us laymen, however it may you ecclesiastics, who have no wives and chil- dren to leave at home behind you. We, when we have been ever so little a time absent, long to be home again on their account. When an eccle- siastic sets out, he and all belonging to him are maintained abroad at the expense of kings, so that he has no establishment to keep up at home. But such is not the case with me; when absent, I have a double family to support, one at home and one abroad. The provision made by the king for those I took with me was liberal enough; but no account was taken of those I had to leave at home; and yet, you well know, I was not the man to allow of any stint during my absence: as a husband, a father, and a master, I hope I know my duty better. Lastly, 4* 42 SIR THOMAS MORE, princes have ways of requiting such as you, without any cost to themselves; but, with regard to us, it is quite another matter; there is no such cheap way of compensating our services. True itis, how- ever, that, on my return, a pension would have been settled on me by the king — an offer in point of honor and profit, not to be slighted — but I have hitherto declined it, and think I shall continue so to do. The fact is, that if I accept it, my present situation in the city, which I prefer to a higher one, must either be relinquished, or, which I should be ver}'' much against, be held not without some dissatisfaction to our citizens. Thus it is: should any question arise between them and their prince, as to privileges, as is sometimes the case, they could not help looking upon me as less true to their cause, if indebted to the king for my pension. As for the rest, there vv'ere some things occurred on this embassy, which afforded me particular pleasure. In the first place, my long and constant intercourse with Tunstall, than whom no man is better versed in every elegant acquirement, no man more correct in his conduct, or agreeable in his conversation. And then 1 formed an acquaintance with Busleiden, whose handsome means enabled him to treat me not only courteous- ly, but magnificently. The elegance of his house, his admirable domestic arrangements, the monu- ments of antiquity which he possesses, (and in which, you know, I take particular delight,) and lastly, his exquisite library, and that fund of learn- ing and eloquence which he possesses in himself, completely astonished me. Nor in the whole of my peregrinations, was any tiling more agreeable to me, than the company of your good and valuable friend ^Egidius, of Antwerp; a man so truly learned, modest, good-humored, and friendly withal, that may I be hanged if I vi^ould not freely give half I am worth in the world to have the good fortune con- stantly to enjoy his society." The former of the persons here so warmly spoken of, was Jerome Busleiden, an ecclesiastic of the Low Countries, HIS LIFE AND TIAIES. 43 who died soon after the period in question, and be- queathed his property to the University of Louvain, in order to establish professorships of the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages; the latter is the per- son to whom More dedicated his celebrated Utopia, which was written at this period, during the leisure hours of his diplomatic avocations; for his mind was too expansive to be confined to the dull routine of professional duty. This v/ork, the most popular of all More's productions, evinces great playfulness of fancy, joined to an originality of thinkmg, which was in advance of his age. It will demand a more detailed account in another place. (See Volume of Selections. ) That able minister and exemplary ecclesiastic, the good Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, had often solicited permission to retire from the chan- cery, in order to be able to devote his whole atten- tion to the exercise of his episcopal functions. At length the king accepted his resignation, and ten- dered the seals to VVolsey. Stapleton has preserved a letter written to the prelate by More, on this oc- casion, and accompanied by a copy of the Utopia, which had just made its appearance. The letter is more particularly interesting as anticipating senti- ments which were afterwards to be More's own, under the circumstances of a similar resignation. A translation of this letter, which is in Latin, is here offered to the reader: Most Reverend Father: — I have ever reckoned yours a happy lot — happy, while you discharged with so much honor to yourself and advantage to the nation, the office of chancellor; happier still when, having now resigned that office, you have sought repose, as a sanctuary in which you may live to God and to yourself— a repose, not only more agreeable than the employment you filled, but more dignified than all the honorsyou enjoyed: for many, and sometimes the worst of men, may be in office. You filled the highest in the state, one investing with ample authority him who executes, and ren- a SIR THOMAS MORE, dering- obnoxious to abundant calumny him who re- signs it. To lay it down then, as you did, of your own accord — the permission for which cost you much trouble, none but a modest man would have wished, none but an innocent one have dared. There are not wanting men to appreciate your conduct, and to admire it as it deserves; and, at a moment like the present, ] hope not to be found the last among the admirers of the step you have had the courage to take. Indeed, I know not which to ap- plaud the most, your modesty in voluntarily re- linquishing so high and splendid an office, your magnanimity in despising dignities which others so dearly prize, or the innocency of your adminis- tration in remaining fearless of consequences. Your conduct was certainly wise and praiseworthy; nor have I words to express the feeling with which I would congratulate the rare felicity that is yours, or to tell you, most Reverend Father, how sincerely I rejoice to see you aloof from secular employment and forensic tumult, enjoying the honorable glory and well-earned fame of an office nobly adminis- tered by you, and still more nobly resigned; and, conscious of a life well-spent, calmly devoting the evening of your days to letters and philosophy. I arn led to reflect daily more and more upon the hap- piness of your lot, as contrasted with the misery of mine. For, though I have no occupations worth the naming, yet as trifles become things of magni- tude to the little, 1 am so busy, that I have no lei- sure to pay my respects to you in person, and scarcely time to apologise by letter for my omis- sion. Thus I have barely time to write you this, for the purpose of recommending to your indulgence the enclosed ill-digested little work, which a too partial friend of mine in Antwerp, hasty and un- polished as the performance is, thought worthy of the press, and printed without my knowledge. Though fully aware how unworthy it is of your dignity, learning, and experience, yet, knowing your candor and indulgence to every endeavor of HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 45 mine, which I have so often experienced, I have summoned up courage enough to send it to you: and should the writing be deemed of little worth, the writer is solicitous to find favor. Most worthy prelate, fare yon well. As we are upon the suhject of the good Warham, it should not be forgotten that Erasmus has paid a just and most eloquent tribute to his memory. He died in 1533, as a bishop should die— poor, though he had filled two of the highest and most wealthy dignities in the church and state. At his death he left no more than was sufficient to defray his debts and the expenses of his funeral. When near his end, he told his steward to bestow a certain sum in charity. " My lord," said the steward, "there is but thirty pounds left us in the world." " Well, well," hecheerfully replied; ^'' satis viati- ci ad ccelum — that is enough to last me out to hea- ven." A short time before his death, says Wood, he announced to those around him, in something like a prophetic spirit, that he should have for his successor, a Thomas [Cranmer], who would as much by his vicious living and wicked heresies, dishonor, waste and destroy the see of Canterbury, and the whole Church of England, as the former bishop and martyr of that name did before benefit, bless, adorn, and honor the same." When Wolsey, in his journey to France, com- manded the superior clergy who attended him to appear only in silk, a rare article of luxury at that period, Warham alone had the spirit to disobey; he would use so rich an ornament only in the vest- ments employed in the church service. We learn this from Erasmus. 1516. — The able manner in which our negotiator had managed the business entrusted to him, and which, as we learn from his own words, was an affair of no small importance, would not tend to di- minish the anxiety of the king to engage him in a closer attendance upon his person. Henry loved wit and learning, and therefore could not be indif- 46 SIR THOMAS MORE, ferent to the accomplishments of a man whose ta- lents he had a'ready put to the test. But he found it almost as difficult to win him over to his service now, as he afterwards did to bind him to his will in a matter of conscience. Indeed, there is no trait in the character of this extraordinary man more de- cidedly marked, than a degree of independence amounting to little less than obstinacy. Original in his views and habits, he disliked all influence and restraint, and mingled with the great without imbibing in the smallest degree the spirit of a cour- tier. These feelings are embodied in his Utopia, many passages of which might be adduced as in- tended in a pleasant, but not very courtier-like way, to insinuate his opinion of the service to which he was solicited to devote himself. The hero of the piece is made to say: " Now, I live after my own mind and pleasure, which I think very few of these great statesmen and peers of the realm can say . . In losing my ovi^n quiet, I should in no way further the common good: for, in the first place, mostprinces have mure delight in warlike mailers^ and feats of chivalry^ {the knowleds:;e of which I neither possess^ nor desire to possess,) than in the good arts of peace: and employ more pains about enlarging their domin- ions, whether by good or evil means, than about ruling well and peaceably those they already pos- sess. . . Should I boldly rise up in the council, and declare that the community oiightto choose their king for their own sake, and not for his, to the intent that, through bis labor and study, they might all live w^ealthy and happy, safe from wrong and in- jury: that, therefore, the king should take more care for the well-being of his people, than for his own; even as the duty and office of a shepherd is, in his very quality of shepherd, to feed his sheep rather than himself: — 1 say, were I to declare all this, should I not, think ye, have deaf hearers]"* Con- sidering the bold views, religious and political, * Utopia, Ralph Robinson's translation. (1590) HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 47 promulgated in this work, whether regarding them as Morels own opinions, or as merely assumed by way of coloring- to his romance, Henry must be al- lowed to have shown some liberality and fearless- ness, in his increased desire to retain him in his counsels, and draw him nearer to his person. Happi- ly for the king, but unfortunately for More, an inci- dent occurred which forced him into the distinction he had so studiously avoided. A valuable ship belonging to the Pope, coming into Southampton, had been seized as a prize by the English cruisers. The legate appealed to the king, that His Holiness might have counsel assigned him, learned in the laws of the land, to defend his cause; and, as His Majesty was himself a great civilian, it was re- quested that the cause might be tried publicly, and in his presence. More had the honor of being cho- sen as the ablest lawyer of his time, to be counsel for the Pope, and to report proceedings in Latin to the legate. A hearing of the cause was appointed before Wolsey, as liord Chancellor, and the judges in the star-chamber. Our advocate pleaded the cause with so much learning and success, that not only was the vessel restored to the Pope, but, to use the words of Roper, "himself, for his upright and commendable demeanor in the cause, was so greatly applauded by all the hearers, that, for no entreaty, would the king from henceforth be in- duced any longer to forbear his service." 1517. — There being at this time no better place vacant, Henry created More Master of the Re- quests, and a month after conferred on him the honor of knighthood, and m^ade him a privy-coun- cillor. Weston, treasurer of the exchequer, dying some time afterwards, the king, without any solici- tation, gave that place also to the man whose good will he was so anxious to conciliate. We are now, therefore, to behold Sir Thomas More in a very different situation from that in which we have here- tofore viewed him. We find him taken from his practice as a lawyer, 48 SIR THOMAS MORE, and from the condition of a private gentleman, to become an officer of state, and to be recognised as a favorite of the king — taken it may be truly said, for he certainly acted in the present instance, rather in obedience to the king than to gratify any passion of his own for power and grandeur. His simplicity of heart would naturally incline him to disrelish the courts of princes and their intrigues, and it is pos- sible that he may have already surmised from Hen- ry's character, the probable inconstancy of his favor. Under every advancement we shall find that he still preserved the plainness and integrity which distin- guished him in private life. A superior station served but to call forth superior talents; and in the end it displayed his superiority of character under the severest of human trials. But, previously to accompanying him to the new scene of his glory and of his trials, we may be per- mitted to cast " one lingering look behind" upon the busy school-room, and the other domestic economies of his residence in Chelsea: for they still look fresh in the descriptions left us by his contemporaries. We have no hesitation jn considering the five or six years that -have just elapsed as the happiest period of More's life. While rising rapidly in his profession and filling an honorable and lucrative situation, he still found leisure for his literary pur- suits, and produced works on which, independently of their value in a moral point of view, has been con- ferred the distinctive honor, of having advanced and polished his mother tongue. The warmth of his affections, the kindness of his heart, and the play- fulness of his manner, continued to ensure the happiness of his home, even when his son with a ■wife, three daughters with their husbands, and a proportionable number of grandchildren, dwelt under his patriarchal roof. It appears that, somewhere about this period, Sir Thomas was sent to investigate the cause of a great local inconvenience, the growth of the Good- win Sands on the coast of Kent and the conse- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 49 quent stoppage of Sandwich Haven. An amusing anecdote connected with this visit shall be given in the quaint but graphic language of old Latimer. " Master More was once sent in commission into Kent, to help to pry out, if it might be, what was the cause of the Goodwin Sands, and the shelves that stopped up Sandwich Haven. Thither cometh Mas- ter More, and calleth the county about him, such as were thought to be men of experience, and men that could of likelihood best certify him of that mat- ter, concerning the stopping of Sandwich Haven. Among others, came in before him, an old man with a white head, and one that was thought to be little less than an hundred years old. When Master More saw this aged man, he thought it expedient to hear him say bis mind in this matter; for, being so old a man, it was likely that he knew most of any man, in that presence and company. So Mas- ter More called this aged man unto him, and said: ' Father' quoth he, ' tell me, if ye can, what is the cause of this great arising here of the sands and shelves about this haven, the which stop it up, that no ships can arrive here"? Ye are the oldest man that 1 can espy in all this company; so that if any man can tell the cause of it, ye of likelihood can say most of it; or at leastwise more than any man here assembled.' — ' Yes, forsooth, good master,' quoth this old man, ' for I am well nigh an hundred years old, and no man here in this company is any thing near unto my age. I have marked this matter as well as some others.' — ' Well, then,' quoth Master More, 'how say you of thisT' — 'Forsooth, Sir,' quoth he, ' I am an old man; the oldest in all the company, and I wot how this haven waxed naught. For I knew it good; I knew it when it was a fair fish-pool.' ' Well, then, tell me,' continued Mas- ter More, ' what hath so hurt it, my good father]' — ' Well,' said he, ' I remember the time right well, when great ships passed up yonder without difficul- ty, and now, marry ! right small vessels have much work to come up at diverse tides.' — ' Well,' still 5 50 SIR THOMAS MORE, continued Master More, 'and what is the reason, father, that the haven is so sore decayed!' Then some of the other old men present laid the fault to the Goodwin Sands. 'And what, said the old father, starting- up, 'what was the cause of the Goodwin Sands'? I am an old man, and I can tell you. Tenterden Steeple is the cause of the Good- win Sands.' ' How so, father?' cried Master More, and all present. ' Nay, by'r Lady, masters,' quoth, he, ' I cannot well tell you why. Bat I remember when there was no steeple at all there; and before the steeple was built, there was no manner of speak- ing- of any flats or sands that stopped up the haven; and I knew it a good haven till that steeple was built; and therefore Tenterden Steeple is the cause of the Goodwin sands, and of the decaying of Sand- wich Haven.' " HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 51 CHAPTER III. 1512—1517. ^TAT. 36. MORE IN THE BOSOM OF HIS FAMILY. SJore's residence at Chelsea— The improvement made by him there— Domestic economy of liis esiablisiiment— His chari- ties — His devotional exercises — The education of his children —Letters to his daughters— His son John— Hisdauahter Mar- garet— His correspondence abroad— Holbein's painting of More and his family — His family fool. After surveying' men in their public stations, it is pleasing to contemplate them in the more private relations of life; to follow them to their closets, and into the bosom of their families; and to discover how those who influence the destinies of their fel- low men, conduct themselves amidst the cares and duties which are common to the humble and to the exalted. Several pictures are left us of More in the midst of his household, and never was there a man who appeared there to greater advantage. We have seen that More's professional practice, together with the legal appointment which he held in the city of London, produced him an income equivalent, according to Sir James Mackintosh, to about 5,000/. in the present day. This enabled him to purchase a mansion and grounds at Chelsea, in a pleasant situation, near the borders of the Thames, and at a convenient distance from the scene of his daily duties; " three small miles from London," as William Rastell, his nephew, and editor of his works, is careful to inform his readers. Erasmus, who often shared the hospitality of this mansion, describes it as *' neither mean, nor calcu- lated to raise envy, and yet magnificent enough."* * The old mansion stood at the north end of Beaufort Row, 52 SIR THOMAS MORE, In some things, he kept up a degree of style; thus we learn incidentally, that when he resigned the chancellorship, he gave to his successor, my Lord Audley, " his barge and eight watermen." His hospitable door stood open to all. To him might have been applied what was said of another great and good man — " methinks I see you sitting at your gate, like one of the good patriarchs of old, inviting all the weary and the way-faring to come in and be refreshed." He added to the conve- niences of his house by building at the end of his garden, a chapel, a library, and a gallery, known at the time as the New-building, where he passed in study and devotion whatever time he could steal from his public and private duties, and " where he would as much as possible, sequester himself from the world, and shake off the dust of earthy business, which so easily dejfiles the soul." He also built a chapel, or chancel, in Chelsea Church,* and furnished it with a handsome service of altar plate, observing in that half-jocose, half- prophetic manner of his — " Good men give these things, and bad men take them away." He also provided a house at no great distance from his own, for the reception of the aged and decayed persons of his parish, to whose maintenance he consecrated a portion of his income, delegating to his favorite daughter, Margaret, the office of seeing their com- forts attended to. "There was nothing in the world," says Ras- tell, " that pleased and comforted him so much as when he could do some good deed or other to his extending westward, at the distance of about one hundred yards from the water side. Dr. King, Rector of Chelsea, writ- ing in the year 1717, says, that no less than four houses have contended for the honor of j^ir Thomas's residence. * It is the south chancel in which still remains in a perfect state, the monumental inscription which he composed for him.self, and in the east window were his arms, in painted glass. These unfortunately disappeared some seventy or eighty years ago, when the church was repaired. The taste of a ftiilner, or a Britain was wanting to ensure their preser- vation. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 53 neig-hbor, either by relieving him by his counsel, his good word, or by his money. Never was there any man that sought relief and help at his hands, that went not away cheerful and satisfied; and his great delight was to pacify those that were in de- bate, and to reconcile those at variance." He would ramble about the obscure lanes and bye-places, giv- ing an alms liberally according to the person's ne- cessity. " If a man," he would say, " knew for a certainty that he was to be banished into a strange country, never to return to his own again, and yet were to refuse to have his goods transported thither, fearful of wanting them for the few days he had to stay, should we not account him a madman] And yet equally are they out of their wits, who hold on to their purse, and refuse an alms for fear of want- ing during their short sojournment here. Send your goods on before you to heaven, where you shall shortly be, and shall enjoy them with interest." He would also frequently invite his poor neighbors to his table, and there would be merry and pleasant with them. More's house was the constant resort of the most accomplished men of his time. His friendships were many and faithful. " By no one," says Eras- mus, "are friendships more readily formed, more diligently cultivated, more steadfastly retained. If he discovers any one with whom he has formed an intimacy, to be irreclaimably vicious, he gradually discontinues the intimacy; but never breaks it off in an abrupt or mortifying manner. An utter enemy to all gaming, and to all those unmeaning amuse- ments by which the idlers of society endeavor to escape from the insupportable languor of exist- ence, his leisure hours are spent in the conversa- tion of a circle, throughout which his own polite- ness, ease, and vivacity, diffuse universal good- humor and gaiety. To sum up his character in one word — if the pattern of a perfect friend be required, let it be sought in More." The domestic virtues and the family circle of his 5* 54 SIR THOMAS MORE, illustrious friend, are subjects on which Erasmus evidently dwells with delight; it calls forth from his pen that eloquence which flows warm and spon- taneous from the heart. " With what gentleness," he exclaims, " does my friend regulate all his house- hold, where misunderstandings and quarrels are altogether unknown. Corporal chastisement of his servants was never resorted to under his roof, nor did he use to them words of contumely or reproach. If there was occasion for chiding them, it was in so mild and conciliatory a manner, that his very chiding made him the more beloved. " Indeed, More is looked up to as a general compo- ser of differences, and was never known to part with any one on terms of unkindness. His house is de- stined to enjoy the peculiar felicity, that all who dwell under its roof, go forth into the world bet- tered in their morals, as well as improved in their condition: no spot was ever known to fall on the good name of its happy inhabitants. Here you might imagine yourself in the academy of Plato. But I should do injustice to his house by comparing it to the school of that philosopher, where nothing but abstract questions and sometimes moral virtues were the subjects of discussion: it would be more just to call it a school of religion, and a palestra for the exercise of the Christian virtues. All its in- mates, male or female, apply their leisure to liberal studies and profitable reading, although piety is their first care. No wrangling, no angry word is heard within its walls. No one is idle; every one does his duty with alacrity, and regularity and good order are prescribed by the mere force of kindness and courtesy. Every one performs his allotted task, and yet all are as cheerful, as if mirth were their only employment: — surely such a house is entitled to be called a practical school of the Christian re- ligion."* * In giving the above quotation, Sir James Mackintosh in- dulges iu the following reflections. "Erasmus had not the t^eutiibility of his friend: he was more prone to smile than to HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 55 With respect to More himself, such was the sweetness of his temper, that his son-in-law. Roper, who lived in his house for sixteen years, and, to use his own words, " knew his doings, and mind no man living so well," assures us that never, during all that time, did he see his countenance clouded, or hear his voice raised, in anger. Marga- ret Giggs, his protegee, was heard to declare, that she would sometimes commit, or pretend to commit a fault, for the purpose of hearing him chide her, he did it in so soft and affectionate a manner. Any- trifling disagreement that happened to arise in the family, principally from Mrs. More's quickness of temper, was speedily adjusted in his pleasant and good-humored way. In this manner, even her less tractable disposition was so far won upon, that she performed her part towards his children in a way to gain both their love and respect. The best proof of this is, their remaining after their marriage so many years under their father's roof. It is also record- ed, that so thoroughly did the taste for learning and liberal accomplishments pervade More's whole es- tablishment, that, if even a servant discovered an ear for music, or a talent for any particular art or accomplishment, it was sure to be encouraged. By this means, the large train of followers which every man of consequence was obliged, in those days, to retain in his service, was kept in a state of regular discipline, and of moral and mental improvement, almost unknown in the country. The provisions for maintaining this order, and keeping his house- hold pure from corrupt communications were admi- sigh at the concerns of men; but he was touched by the remem- brance of these domestic solemnities in the household of his friend. He manifests an agreeable emotion at the recollec- tion of these scenes in daily life which tended to hallow the natural authority of parents; to bestow a sort of dignity on humble occupations; to raise menial offices to the rank of virtues; to spread peace and cultivate kindness among those who had shared, and were soon again to share, the same mo- dest rites, in gently breathing around them a spirit of meek equality, which rather humbled the pride of the great, than disquieted the spirits of the lowly." Sf) SIR THOMAS MORE, rable. In his ample establishment at Chelsea, we find that there was a library, well furnished for the period, a room stored with objects of natural history, and instruments for the study of astronomy, and particularly of music, of which rational amusement he was extremely fond. Added to this, he had an extensive garden well laid out for pleasure and uti- lity; and as a preventive of idleness, and to afford his servants a little resource of their own, he allotted to every man his plot of g-round, which he was to cultivate and make the best of. When people would come to him with tales of things done or spoken against themselves or him, he would always make the best of the matter lie could: and when the thing could not be defended, he would excuse it on the ground of the intention. Another regulation was admirable, and from which a useful hint might be taken in our own days. During meals, in order to prevent that sort of tri- fling or improper conversation before children and servants, against which there is always reason to guard, he ordered such books to be read aloud as might prove instructive, and afterwards furnish matter for entertaining and rational conversation.* When the reading was ended, he would ask some one how he understood such and such a passage; * Thus in his Utopia.—" They begin every dinner and sup- per by reading something that periaineth to good manners and virtue, but it is sliort, that no man may be wearied by it; ■and thereupon the elders take occasion for honest discourse, but neither tedious nor unpleasing. . . They also gladly hear the young men venture their opinions, and purposely provoke tliem to talk, that they may have a proof of every man's wit and understanding." rnscription for a Refectory. Hovv ■)(^^iri Qsaa-Qai. PLATO. Look first to the mind. The Mind be thy first anxious care: Next let the Body claim its share. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 57 this at once excited them to exert their attention, and led to friendly communications, generally sea- soned with some jest or other. Many of his pleas- ant sayings are written, but who, says Cresacre, could record the witty things and mirthful phrases which daily fell from him in his peculiar discourse? If he heard any one at his table beginning to detract his neighbor, he would break off the conver- sation in some such way as this — " You say you don't like the fashion of my dining room! well now, by your leave, sir, I think it well contrived, and fairly built enough." It is remarked of him, that though singularly inattentive to his own person and individual con- cerns, he was ever solicitous about those of others, and ever ready with a well-timed hint, and a piece of useful advice thrown in, as it were, accidentally.* Nor while attending to the moral wants of his household, was More inattentive to a still loftier and more important object — their duty to their Maker. It was his custom to rise very early himself, and to require his household to be up by times: he would then call them together to prayers, which he himself recited, together with certain psalms which he had selected and caused to be transcribed neatly in a volume. During the Holy week, he would have the passion from one of the Evangelists read each day, in presence of all his famil}"", and he would here and there explain the text in the way of com- ment and exhortation. " Sleep is so like death," says a father of the church, "that I dare not venture on it without prayer." Impressed with this truth. More repaired with his whole household to the chapel at a fixed hour every evening, and himself said the prayers in which they all joined. He never entered upon any business of impor- tance, says Roper, as for instance, when he was * Good words thatcompof course, far less do please, Than those that fall by sweet contingencies. Herrick. (1640.) 58 SIR THOMAS MORE, first chosen to the privy-council, when he was sent ambassador, appointed Speaker of the house, or called to be Lord Chancellor, without first prepar- ing himself by confession, and receiving the blessed sacrament devoutly, " trusting more to the grace of God derived through these holy sacraments, than he did to his own wit, judgment, and experience." Roper adds, that being on one occasion sent for by the king upon urgent business, while he was hearing mass. More refused to stir till it was over. He was heard to say, as he left the chapel; " Let us first serve God: the king's turn will come soon enough after." It is satisfactory to learn, that Henry had the merit to be pleased with the piety and independence of his minister. Another thing worth noticing is the reverence he bore to holy and sanctified places so solemn was this feeling that nothing could induce him to converse on any temporal matter there, of however great weight and despatch it might be. We also learn that "he would often go on pil- grimages to holy places, but always on foot; a rare thing at that time, for even the common people go on horseback. Also in the procession on the Ro- gation week, he would be present; and once when, according to custom, the procession was 1o go to the confines of the parish, he was requested, for his state and dignity, to ride. His answer was: " God forbid I should follow my master on horseback, when he went on foot!" " And the more to do honor to God's service," says Roper, " he would, even when he was Lord Chancellor, sit and sing in the choir, with a sur- plice on. It once happened, that the Duke of Nor- folk, coming on a holiday todine with himat Chelsea, found him engaged in this way. After service, in going home with him arm in arm, he exclaimed; "Good God, my Lord Chancellor, what! turned parish clerk, parish clerk, eh! why you dishonor the king and his office." — " Nay, nay," quoth Sir Thomas, smiling upon the duke, " the king, your HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 59 master and mine, will not surely be oifended for my thus serving his master and mine! There can be no dishonor to his office in that." And he then re- minded him of the story of King- Robert of France.* " So much," says the author of the anonymous life, " did he love the bounty and glory of the house of God, that vi^henever he savs^ a man of comely person and good presence, he would say: "It is a pity yonder man were not a priest, he would become the altar so well." Nor was he less solicitous for the spiritual welfare of his children, of which the following, as related by his grandson, will serve among other examples. When William Roper was a young man, he ad- dicted himself to more austerity than discretion warranted; the consequence was, as unfortunately sometimes happens in such cases, that when this ardor had worn itself out, and was succeeded by a stage of languor, he grew weary of the church fasts, and religious discipline. This too was the age of new opinions, and of doctrines more soothing to the depravity of our nature. The smooth and easy way to heaven promised to their followers by the promulgators of the " new learning," as they af- fected to call it, was specious and flattering. He began to read the books which issued in numbers from the presses in Holland, and were industriously * It is thus told in the " Mirror of our Ladj',"' which had been recently published, (1533.) King Robert of France was so devout towards God's service, that he would be in each feast at the Divine service in some monastery. And not only would he sing among the monks, but also he would put on a cope, and stand and sing as achantor in the midst of the choir. It happen- ed on a time when he was besieging a castle that had rebelled against him, that he was at Orleans on the feast of St. Angan. So he left his horse at the siege and went thither, and took a cope, and sung in the midst of the choir, as he was wont to do. And when he came to the Jignus Dei, and had begun it the third time with a high voice, kneeling down at each time on his knees, the walls of the castle that was besieged fell sud- denly to the ground; and so the castle was destroyed and the enemy overcome. And thus ye may see, that there is no better armor of defence against all enemies, than devout attentiors to the Lord's service." 60 SIR THOMAS MORE, disseminated through the land by the partisans of the refugees there. The new spirit was infectious, nor was he long in imbibing its influence. And with it entered " another spirit worse than the first," the zeal for proselytism. " He grew vehement," says Cresacre, " in his new opinions, and zealous in breaking them to others; so that he would be always saying, what a ready way to heaven was now found out, so that no body need to sue saints' or men's prayers, but that God's ear was open to hear, and his mercy ready to forgive any sinner whatever who should call on him by faith. That faith alone was necessary to salvation, and having that only, he need not to doubt that he was an elect and saved soul, so that it was impossible for him to sin or fall away from God's favor. So deeply had he drank of this dangerous poison, that he came on a time to Sir Thomas to request him, that, as he was high in the king's favor, he would get him a license to preach what the Spirit had taught him; for he was assured that God had sent him to instruct the world; not knowing, God wot! any reason for this mission of his, but only his private spirit."* Sir Thomas with a smile, and " a look more in pity than in anger," thus addressed him; " Is it not sufficient, my good son Roper, that we, who are your friends, should know that you are a fool, but that you would have your folly proclaimed to the world?" After this, he often disputed with him on the subject of religion, but apparently without effect. At length he saw with pain that the new light had so dazzled his eyes, that he could not look on sound argument, but seemed daily to grow more captious, and more ob- stinately wedded to his opinions, and feeling, to use the language of an early writer, that " there are sturdy doubts and boisterous objections, that are to be conquered not in a martial posture, but on * Rastell thus expresses it: " He had an itching publicly to preach, thinking that he should be better able to edify the peo- ple, than the best doctor that comes to ^jt. Paul's cross." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 61 our knees," More said to him in an earnest tone; " In sober sadness, I see, son Roper, that disputa- tion will do thee no good. From henceforth I have done; I will dispute with thee no more: but this will I do, — I will pray for thee, and who knows but God may be favorable to thee, and touch thy hearth' Sir Thomas shortly after meeting with Mrs. Roper, said to her rather sadly, "Meg, I have borne along time with thy husband; I have reasoned and argued with him, and given him my poor fatherly counsel: but I perceive nothing of all this can call him home again. And therefore, Meg, as I have told him himself, I will no longer dispute with him; but yet will I not give him over; no, I will go another way to work, I will get me to God, and pray for him." And so committing him to heaven, he parted from him,but ceased not earnestly topour out his devotions before the throne of the divine mercy to that intent. "And behold," continues Cresacre, "my uncle not long after, being inspired with the light of grace, began to detest his heresies, and, like another St. Austin wrought upon by the prayers of a Monica, was entirely converted; so that, ever after, he was not only a perfect Catholic, but lived and died a stout and valiant champion of the faith. His alms, and the sums he devoted to charitable uses, were so great, as to appear to exceed his annual income. In his latter years, he enjoyed an office of great gain, so that he was enabled to bestow in charitable purposes upwards of five hundred pounds a year." A less believing age will smile at the remainder of the history. " After my uncle's death," adds this confiding nephew, " I have heard it reported by them that were servants in his house, that during the three or four days that his body lay unburied, there was heard once a day, for the space of a quarter of an hour, the sweetest music that could be imagined; not of any voices of men, but an angelic harmony, as a token how gracious that soul was to Almighty God." In educating his children. More seems to have 6 63 SIR THOMAS MORE, combined the most winning- manner of imparting" instruction, with very hig-h ideas of the value of learning. In nothing is he more remarkable, than in his eagerness to render his daughters, in par- ticular, rich in mental resources, and fit companions for men of eminence in literature and talent. His view of the advantages of study, as respects the for- mation of the female character, affords a more de- cisive proof of his elevation above the notions of his time, than any other fact. The fashions of the court, one of the gayest ever known, were most un- favorable to the cultivation of solid learning in the softer sex: and More, perhaps, had the singular merit of first making a stand against the influence of example, and of rendering the women of his family learned, studious, and sedate. Certain it is, that, from this period, a higher idea of the capaci- ties of the female character seems to have been in- troduced into England. The princesses Mary and Elizabeth were carefully educated. Both of them read the Greek poets and the most difficult Latin authors, besides speaking and writing the latter lan- guage with fluency. Two other ladies of the same age, Ann Askew and the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey, are also cited as still more eminently accomplished. In some instances, these studies were even exten- ded to an acquaintance with the writings of the Greek and Latin fathers. At all events, it was a great step, at such a period, to make the admis- sion, that woman was worthy of being raised above the mere plaything, or domestic drudge. A most delightful account of Sir Thomas More's School, as his domestic academy was commonly called, has been given us in the letters of his learned and faithful friend, Erasmus;* and we have yet more valuable testimony in the letters of More himself to his children and their preceptors, at such * It will give us no mean idea of the estimation in which Erasmus held this domestic academy, when we find him dedi- cating some of his Commentaries " To Sir Thomas More's School." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 63 times as he was absent from them. The school consisted of his own five children, a step-daughter by his second wife, afterwards Mrs. Alice Alingham, an orphan girl, subsequently married to his friend Dr. Clement, whom he generously educated with his daughters, and who appears to have partaken equally with them of his love and care. Afterwards, when his sons and daughters married. More seeing that a family so attached could not endure the idea of separation, contrived to accommodate them all in his house at Chelsea, as well as, in the sequel, eleven grand-children, who were the fruit of these mar- riages. Two or three of his letters to his children, during his temporary absence on his duties at court, have fortunately been preserved, and will prove a treat to all who esteem and admire More in the character of a good father, as well as that of a great states- man. Thomas More to his whole school sendeth greeting- — You see how I have found out a compendious way of saluting you all, and making spare of time and paper, which I must needs have wasted, in saluting every one of you by name; which would have been very superfluous, because you are all so dear to me, some in one respect, some in another, that I can leave no one among you unsaluted. Yet is there no better motive why I should love you, than because you are scholars; learning seeming to bind me more strictly to you than nearness of blood. I am glad, therefore, that Mr. Drue is returned safe, for whom you know I was anxious. Did I not love you ex- ceedingly, I should envy you the rare happiness of having so many great scholars for your masters. I learn that Mr. Nicholas is also with you, and that you have learned of him much astronomy; I hear you have proceeded with him so far in this science, that you now know not only the pole star, the dog, and such common constellations, but also, which argues you to be absolute and cunning astronomers, €4 SIR THOMAS MORE, to be able to discern the sun from the moon!* Go forward, then, with this your new and admirable skill, by which you thus climb up to the stars, and while you daily consider them with your eyes, let your minds also be in heaven, and more especially in this holy season of Lent. Let that excellent and pious song of Boethius sound in your ears, whereby you are taught also with your minds to penetrate heaven, lest when the eye is lifted to the skies, the soul should grovel among the brute beasts. t My dearest children, farewell. From the Court this 23d March, 1516. Another. Thomas More to his best and beloved children, and to Margaret Giggs, whom he numbereth am,ong his own, sendeth greeting: — The merchant of Bristol brought me your letters, the next day after he had received them of you; with the which I was exceedingly delighted. For there can come nothing, yea though never so rude, and * More cannot resist the temptation of a dash of waggery even in writing to his school. On another occasion, he exhorts them to get ideas of their own, and not be content " to deck them- selves with plumes of other birds, lest the jackdaws should gather round them, and pluck their tails for very shame." t The following is a feeble imitation of the vigorous verses of Boethius to which More refers:— How fallen our nature, we may see, Ah, wretched man! the proof in thee. Ere sin its energies confin'd. How firm and vigorous was thy mind. Still ranging, with unwearied view, Creation's ample circuit through; The sun, unfailing fount of day. You trac'd through all his radiant way; The moon array'd in borrow'd light. And every star that gilds the ni;:ht; The planets, too, that wandering go. And seem no settled course to know. Through all their mazes you pursued, Pleas'd to confess that " all was good." But now, sad change! that soaring mind Is fall'n, uunerv'd, disorder'd, blind; Of earth-born cares the wretched prey: For all the man is sunk away. And, sad reverse! now fix'd those eyes To earth, that erst could scan the skies. W. His LIFE AND TIMES. 65 never so meanly polished from this workshop of yours, but it procureth me more delight than other men's doings, be they ever so eloquent; no much does your writing stir up my affection towards you. But exclusive of this, your letters may also very Well please me for their own worth, being full of fine wit, and of pure Latin phrase. There were none of them all but pleased me exceedingly; yet to tell you ingenuously what I think, my son John's letter pleaseth me best, both because it was longer than the others, as also that he seems to me to have taken more pains than the rest. For he not only pointeth out the matter becomingly, and speaketh elegantly, but he playeth also pleasantly with me, and return- eth my jests upon me again very wittily; and this he doth, not only pleasantly, but temperately withal, showing that he is mindful with whom he jesteth, to to wit, his father, whom he endeavoreth so to de- light, that he is also afraid to offend. Hereafter, I expect every day letters from each one of you; neither will I accept of such excuses, as you com- plain of, that you had no leisure, or that the carrier went away suddenly, or that you have no matter to write. John is notv/ont to allege any such things, and nothing can hinder you from writing, but many things encourage you thereto. Wh^ should you lay any fault upon the carrier, seeing yon may prevent his coming, and have them ready made up and sealed, two days before any offer themselves to carry them. And how can you want matter of writing unto me, who am delighted to hear either of your studies or of your play: whom you may then please exceedingly, when having nothing to write of, you write as largely as you can of that nothing, than which nothing is more easy for you to do, especially being women, and therefore prattlers by nature, and amongst whom daily a great story riseth of nothing. This, however, I admonish you to do, that, whether you write of serious matters, or of tri- fles, you write with diligence and attention, preme- ditating it before. Neither will it be amiss, if 6* €6 SIR THOMAS MORE, you first indite it in English, for then it may be more easily translated into Latin, while the mind, freed from inventing, is attentive to find apt and eloquent words. And though I point this to your choice, whether you will do so, or not, yet I enjoin you, by all means that you diligently examine what you have written, before you write it out fair again; first considering attentively the whole sentence, and after examining every part thereof, by which means you may easily find if any solecisms have escaped you; which being corrected, and your letter written fair, do not find it irksome to examine it over again; for sometimes the same faults will creep in at the second writing, that you had before blotted out. By this diligence of yours, your very trifles will be- come serious matters; for as nothing is so pleasing but may be spoiled by prating garrulity, so nothing is by nature so unpleasant, as may not by industry by made full of grace and pleasantness. Farewell, my sweetest children. From the Court this 3d of September, 1516. Another. Thomas More to his dearest daughters Margaret^ Elizabeth^ and Cecily^ and to Margaret Giggs, as dear to him as if she were his own, sendcth greeting: — I can sufficiently express, my best beloved wench- es, how exceedingly your elegant letters have pleas- ed me. Nor am 1 the less delighted to hear, that in all your journeying, though you change places often, you omit none of your accustomed exercises, either in making declamations, composing of verses, or in your logical exercises. By this I persuade myself that you dearly love me, because you are so very careful to please me by your diligence in my ab- sence, to perform those things which you know are so grateful to me when present. And as I find this your mind and affection so much to delight me, so will I procure that my return shall be profitable to you all. And persuade yourselves, that there is no- thing in the midst of these my troublesome cares and fatigues of business, that recreateth me so much HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 67 as when I read some of your labors, by which I find those things to be true which your loving master writes so affectionately of you; for had not your own letters evidently shown me how earnest your desire is towards learning, I should have judged that he had rather written out of affection than ac- cording to the truth; but what you write makes him be believed, and myself to imagine those things to be true of your witty and acute disputations, of which he so much boasts as almost to exceed be- lief. I am, therefore, marvellously desirous to re- turn home, that I may hear you, and set my scholar to dispute v/ith you, who is slow to believe yet out of all hope or conceit to find you able to correspond to the praises given you by your master. But I hope, knowing how steady you are in your pursuits, that you will shortly surpass your master, if not in dis- puting, at least, like every woman, in not giving up the point in dispute. My dear wenches, farewell. Roper says that he would sometimes come into their studyroom in the midst of their exercises, and exhort them to diligence; " My children," woukl he say, "remember that virtue and learning are the meat, and play but the sauce." While Erasmus admired the proficiency of the young ladies, and shared in the pleasure it diffused, he could not help remarking one day to his friend, how severe a calamity it would be, if, by any of those fatalities to which man is liable, such accom- plished beings, whom he had so painfully and so successfully labored to improve, should happen to be snatched away! " If they are to die," replied More, without hesitation, " I would rather have them die well-informed than ignorant." " This reply," continues Erasmus, "reminded me of a say- ing of Phocion, whose wife, as he was about to drink the poison, according to his sentence, ex- claimed: " Ah! my husband, you die innocent!" " And would you, my wife," he rejoined, " rather have me die guilty]" It is said that Sir Thomas's first wife, having ^8 sm THOMAS MOREj had three daughters, put up many earnest vows for a son. Her prayer was heard, and the knight used to say, " That she had prayed so long for a boy, that she brought forth one at last, who would be a boy as long as he lived." This expression, by which probably nothing more was intended than an illusion to the levity of the youth's temper, has been too li- terally interpreted by Mr. Cayley and others to sig- nify a weakness of intellect, and poor John has been unceremoniously classed among the heroum Jilii.* In the splendid collection of portraits from origi- nal drawings by Holbein, in the King of England's collection, published by Mr. Chamberlaine, is a beautiful engraving of More's son. The editor ob- serves, that the received opinion of this youth's mental weakness is contradicted by this very intel- lectual head, and by the attitude in which the faith- ful artist has painted him— with a book in his hand, in the attitude of deep study. He justly observes, that due allowance must be made for More's anti- thetical phrase; and that, if the father could not withhold his joke, it should not be construed to the prejudice of the son. Besides, we have the evi- dence of Erasmus to oppose to this, who, in one of his letters, describes him as "a youth of the best hopes." He has also, a letter addressed to him, full of expressions of respect and esteem, and in 1531, he dedicated to him a translation of Aristotle, as did Grynoeus that of Plato, some years later. He was married to the sole heiress of an ancient and respectable family of Barnborough, in York- shire. The Rev. Joseph Hunter has satisfactorily proved, th^t the Life of Sir Thomas More, usually known under the name of his great grandson, Tho- mas More, is the work of John Cresacre More, se- cond son of the above. His youngest daughter, Gertrude, also composed a work entitled " Spiritual * Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, had but a single son, who, in point of intelligence, proved the very converse of his father. Kivarol, the wit of that day, observed— "That he ivas the very worst chapter in all his father's Natural History." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 69 Exercises," which is favorably spoken of. It was printed in Paris, 1658, with a portrait of the autho- ress, and is a work of great rarity. The following is a little specimen of badinage, in an epistle addressed by More to his Margaret only. My dearest Margaret: — You ask for money of your father, without the slightest fearor shame, and what is worse, the letter in which you ask it is of such a kind, that I cannot refuse your request, do what I will. Indeed, I could find in my heart to re- compense your letter, not as Alexander did by Cho- ritus, giving him for every line a Phillipine of gold; but, if my pocket were as large as my will, 1 would bestow two crowns of the purest gold for every syllable of the same. Herein, 1 send you as much as you requested; I should have been willing to send you more, but I like to have my penny-worth for my penny. As I bestow with pleasure, so am I desirous to be asked, and to be fawned on by my daughters; and more especially by you, Meg, whom virtue and learning have made so dear to me. Therefore, the sooner you have spent this money well, as you are ever wont to do, and the sooner you ask for more in as handsome a way as you did for the last, know, that the sooner you will do your father a singular pleasure. My beloved daughter, farewell. Several letters from More to this his favorite daughter, will be found among our Selections, In pe- rusing them, the reader will be struck by the import- ance attached by More to her learning. The enco- miums bestowed on her progress are such as no common acquirements could deserve; and yet their novelty may have been a strong temptation in those days to overrate them. The taste of the times seems tc have inclined much to light reading, if to any at all; the press of Caxton had, in the two preceding reigns, furnished the nation with a tolerable store of romance-reading, and with some translations from the Italian. The works of Chaucer had also been rendered more accessible, and we find Margaret 70 SIR THOMAS MORE, quoting him in her letters. On this love of romance- reading', More's opponent, Tindall, has the following reflections: " That this forbidding- the laity to read the Scriptures, is not for the love of your souls is evident, inasmuch as they permit you to read Robin Hood, Bevys of Hampton, Hercules, Hector, and Troilus, with a thousand histories and fables of love, and wantonness, and ribaldry, to corrupt the minds of youth!" From the absence of all allusion to these popular books, in More's letters and other writings, it is, perhaps, not unfair to infer, that, inde- pendently of his own early-acquired taste for these studies, one of his reasons for insisting so much on the study of the learned languages, was that they might serve as a substitute for this species of litera- ture." In a letter to Gunnel, one of the preceptors to his family, he offers some excellent practical reflec- tions, worthy the attention of every father of a family. It will be found in our Volume of SekdionsAogeiher with all the letters that passed between More and his family, which are too precious to be omitted. In More's volume of Latin poems there is also an epistle in verse addressed by him to his chil- dren, probably in one of his journeys to the court at Woodstock. As it has never been alluded to by any of More's biographers, I shall present the reader with a copy, accompanied by an attempt at translation. (See the Selections.) Such was More's establishment at Chelsea. • In hours of subsequent trial, and amidst the bitterness of separation, which must have fallen with tenfold weight on a family who had never quitted their patriarchal roof, Margaret found a melancholy plea- sure in recurring to the happier hours spent in this family circle: " What," she afterwards wrote, "do you think my most dear father, doth comfort us at Chelsea in your absence^ surely, the remembrance of your manner of life passed here amongst us, your holy conversation, your wholesome counsels, your examples of virtue." Who can suspect an eulogy like this? HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 71 More maintained an active correspondence with several friends on the continent, in the Latin lan- guage, which was then the exclusive medium of communication. But with no one did he corres- pond more regularly, and unbosom his mind more freely than to Erasmus; and this scholar's letters in reply are filled with epithets indicative of the over- flowing of a heart fully impressed v* ith the benig- nity and kindliness of the man he is addressing — ■ " Suavissime Moro" — Charissime Moro" — " Mel- litissime Moro." On his friend's return to the continent. More receiv- ed as a present from him, his portrait painted by the celebrated Holbein, which was sent by the painter's own hand, accompanied by a letter of introduction. More took the first opportunity of making the king acquainted with the painter's merits, and he did it in his usual odd way of contriving things. He caused Holbein to bring the choicest of his works, and dis- pose them in his great hall to the best advantage, and in order to take the king by surprise, he invited him to an entertainment. The plan succeeded; Henry, struck with the beauty of the pictures, eagerly inquired if the artist were still living, and, if so, whether his services were to be obtained for love or money. Holbein was within hearing, and was led by the hand to the royal presence. The consequence was not only the patronage of the king, but the fullest employment from all the nobility and men of wealth and eminence, as the various galle- ries in England still testify. Among other works, he signalised his skill in a painting of More and his family, a copy of which Sir Thomas sent to Erasmus, in return for the compliment he had paid him. In a letter to Margaret Roper, this great scho- lar acknowledges in the most enthusiastic terms the reception of this picture. "I want words," says he, "to express to you my delight on contemplating the picture of your family which Holbein has so happily executed. If I were present with the originals, I could not have 73 SIR THOMAS MORE, a more accurate idea of them. I see you all before me, but no one more strikingly than yourself, in whose features shine those mental accomplishments, those domestic virtues, which have rendered you the ornament of your country, and of your age!" As this picture is considered to be a faithful repre- sentation of a domestic scene in More's family, the reader will not be displeased to have a more parti- cular description of it. It is divided into two groups. In the foreground of the first are More's daughters, Margaret and Cecily, kneeling, with their mother-in-law, Alice, in the same position. In the centre of the second group, sit More and his father. John More, the son, and Harris, his favor- ite servant, are standing the last in the group. Be- hind More and his father stands Ann Cresacre, in her 15th year, to whom young More is supposed to be newly espoused. Elizabeth, More's second daughter, and Margaret Giggs, pointing to an open book, stand foremost in the second group. A violin hung against the wainscot, near Sir Thomas, would seem to indicate his taste for music. This painting is still preserved with religious care at Nostel Priory, in Yorkshire^ the seat of Charles Winn, Esq, who is in direct descent from Cresacre More. The Reverend Frognall Dib- den, in his amusing Bibliographical Tour, (1838,) thus speaks of this ancient mansion and painting. " Nostel Priory, is a large arjd noble stone man- sion, with a grand flight of steps. We entered the lower apartments. Two large wooden seats or sofas, of the age of Elizabeth or James, showed the owner to have an eye of taste in matters of ancient furniture. Mr. Winn made his appearance, and in a trice I was introduced to my dear old acquaint- ance, Sir Thomas More. I might be said, for a lit- tle moment, to have silently worshipped the pic- ture. Its entirety and freshness surpassed all expectation. The owner seemed to be secretly en- joying my abstraction. He well might: for a more surprising and interesting production I had never HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 73 before gazed upon. England has nothing more pre- cious than this picture, as she has no character more perfect than he who occupies the principal place in it. I wondered as I beheld; and even yet, after all the pictorial glories seen by me at Hamilton Palace, I revert in fancy to this picture, as the most valua- ble of its kind in the kingdom. What characters, what anecdotes belong to this matchless perform- ance. Five thousand guineas have, I understand, been refused for it." The copy which More sent to Erasmus, is in the Townhall at Basle, where it is preserved with great care. It will not surprise the reader, vrho is acquainted with the usages of those times, to find in Sir Tho- mas's establishment, a person who was called The Fool. King Henry kept such a personage about him to amuse his leisure, who ranks as no un- important personage in the gossipping history of that period. Will Somers figured on many a me- morable occasion, and in Ellis's " Letters" may be seen a portrait of him in the same painting with his royal master. It was not even thought to detract from the gravity of a prelate of the church to keep such a character about him; and the following an- ecdote of Wolsey in his disgrace, will show what importance he attached to his Fool, who in the midst of his destitution and distress, was still found attending upon his person, and exhibiting proofs of attachment that might have shamed the Minions of splendor shrinking from distress. After rendering up all his immense vrealth and estates to the king, Wolsey quitted London for his country house at Esher. As he rode along in deep dejection, a horseman w^as seen galloping after his party, who proved to be Sir John Norris, one of the king's chamberlains. On coming up, the knight presented him with a ring, which he declared the king had taken from his own finger, bidding him deliver it to his Grace, as a token that he should 7 74 SIR THOMAS MORE, be of good cheer, for that he was even now as much as ever in his Majesty's favor. This sudden news entirely overcame the Cardinal, and leaping from his mule with almost youthful speed, he fell upon his knees, pulled off his cap, and returned thanks to heaven for such joyful intelligence. When vSir John was about to take leave, he again thanked him, declaring, that if he were lord of a kingdom, the half of it could scarce be reward enough for his happy tidings. " But good Master Norris," added he, " consider that I have nothing left but the clothes on my back; therefore I entreat thee accept this small reward at my hands," presenting him with a gold chain, at which hung a cross of the same metal, containing a piece of the Holy Cross. "As for my sovereign," he continued, " I love him belter than myself, and have faithfully served him according to the best of my poor wits; and now, sorry I am that I have no worthy token to send him; but stay, here is Patch, my Fool, that rides beside me; I beseech thee, take him to court, and give him to his majesty — I assure you, for any nobleman's pleasure, he's worth a thousand pounds."* The fool, however, of whom this was spoken, was seized with a paroxysm of affection on being or- dered to leave his old master, and loudly declared that he would not stir from the spot; but he was conveyed away by six stout yeomen, and delivered to the king, who received him gladly. The name of More's fool was Harry Patterson, and he seems to have been a simple-hearted inoffen- sive creature. Margaret Roper relates of him, that, meeting her one day, he asked where Sir Thomas was, and hearing he was still in the Tower, on ac- count of his refusal to take the oath, he waxed even angry with his master, and said; " Why] what ail- * His remark to Henry, the first time he visited the Cardinal after receiving the title of Defender of the Faith, is upon re- cord: " Prithee, good Hal, is it not enough for you and me to defend ourselves, and leave the Faitn to defend itself?" HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 75 eth him that he will not swear"? Wherefore should he stick to swear — I have sworn the oath myself!" Sometimes these characters were permitted to indulge in liberties, which another state of society would consider insupportable. Witness the follow- ing^ instance: King- Henry dined at Windsor, at Cardinal Wolsey's, in the chapel yard, at the time when he was building that admirable work, his tomb. At the gate stood a number of poor people, to be served with alms, when dinner was done; and, as Will Somers, the Jester, passed by, they saluted him, taking him for a worthy personage, which pleased him. In he comes; and finding the king at dinner, and the Cardinal by, attending; to disgrace him that he never loved — " Harry." says he, " lend me ten pounds." — " What to do?" says the king. " To pay three or four of the Cardinal's creditors," ^uoth he, " to whom my word is passed, and they are come now for the money." — "That thou shalt, Will," quoth he. " Creditors of mine!" says the Cardinal, "I'll give your grace my head, if any man can justly ask me of a penny." — "No!" says Will, " lend me ten pounds. If I pay it not where thou owest it, I'll give thee twenty for it." — " Do so," says the king. " That I will, my liege," says the Cardinal, " though I know I owe no man." With that, he lends Will ten pounds. Will goes to the gate, and distributes it to the poor, and re- turns with the empty bag." "There is thy bag again," says he, " thy creditors are satisfied, and my word out of danger." — " Who received it," says the king, " the brewer or the baker]" " Neither, Harry," says Will: " but Cardinal, answer me one thing: — to whom dost thou owe thy soulT" " To God," quoth he.—" To whom thy wealth]" " To the poor," says he. " Take thy forfeit, Harry," says the fool, "open confession, open penance! his head is thine: for to the poor at the gate I paid his debt, which he yields is due. Or if thy stony heart will not yield it, Lord Cardinal, save thy head by 76 SIR THOMAS MORE, denying thy word, and lend it me, and, by my troth, hang- me when! pay thee!" The kin^ laughed at the jest, and so did the Cardinal; but it grieved him to jest away ten pounds so lightly. Those who feel curious to know more of this singular trait in the domestic manners of our fore- fathers, may consult Mr. Deuce's " Illustrations of Shakspeare," where considerable light is thrown upon this subject. His LIFE AND TIMES. 77 CHAPTER IV. 1517—1525. MTAT. 43. MORE AT COURT — QUELLS A POPULAR TUMULT — IS MADE TREASURER OF THE EXCHEQUER — DEFENDS HENRY AGAINST LUTHER— MADE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. More enters on his official duties—Exerts his influence in the ci- ty in quelling; a popular conmiotion — Addresses a letter to the University of Oxford on the cultivation of the Greek languai;e — Is made treasurer of the Exchequer — His intimacy with the king— Rise and progress of the Refonnalion— King Henry writes a Defence of the eleven Sacraments, and is rewarded by the title of Defender of the Faith— Luther attacks the king's work, and viore undertakes itsdefetice — More is chosen Speaker of the House of Commons- His political opposition to \\ olsey — Their personal friendship — Sketch of the life and cliaracter of Wolsey. We now return from More in the bosom of his happy family, to Sir Thomas installed in his new honors at court. From the time he was persecuted into the acceptance of a place in the privy council, may be dated the surrender, in a great measure at least, of his taste for domestic life and his predilection for studious leisure. " He had re- solved," says Erasmus, " to be content with his pri- vate station; but having- been successful on more than one mission abroad, Henry, not discouraged by so unusual a thing as the refusal of a pension, did not rest till he had drawn More into the palace: for why should I not say drawn, since no man ever labored with more industry for admission to a court, than More to keep out of if?" But let us hear the new courtier's own account of his feelings at this time, as described in a letter to Bishop Fisher, which Stapleton has preserved. 7* 78 SIR THOMAS MORE, " I came most unwillingly to court, as every one knoweth, and as the king- in joke sometimes tells me. And to this day, I seem to sit as awkwardly there, as one who never rode before sitteth in a saddle. But our prince, though I am far from being in his special favor, is so affable and kind to all, that every one, let him be ever so diffident, findeth some reason or other for imagining he loveth him; just as our London dames persuade themselves that our Lady's image smileth upon them, as they pray before it. I am neither so fortunate as to de- serve such favorable tokens, nor so sanguine as to flatter myself that I do; yet such are his ma- jesty's virtues and learning, and such his daily in- creasing industry, that seeing him the more and more advance in good and truly royal accomplish- ments, I feel this court life begin to hang somewhat less heavily upon me." Nor was More singular in this his favorable opinion of Henry's earlier court, although the no- velty of his position, and these early evidences of royal favor cannot but be supposed to have had their influence even upon the judgment of More. Speaking of this court, Erasmus says, "the fragrance of her honorable fame is widely diffused; for she has a king who possesses every princely attribute, and a queen in no way inferior to him; and besides this a number of worthy, learned, and discreet sub- jects. Li a letter from London to the preceptor of the Archduke Ferdinand, he observed; " Like your- self, I often wish that our court might imitate that of Britain, which is full of scholars, and men pro- ficient in all the arts. They stand round the royal table, where literary and philosophic subjects are discussed, such as the education of a prince, the best methods of study, or some question of morals. In a word, the company at the palace is such that, there is no academy you would undervalue in com- parison with it." It must not, however, be forgotten, that much of this praise reflects back upon Henry's father and exemplary mother. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 79 More's active services were very speedily put in requisition, in consequence of a disturbance in the city of London, the immediate occasion of which was as follows. The citizens had, for several years past, been jealous of the encroachments of foreign artificers by whom a large part of the mer- cantile and mechanical business of the city and country was engrossed. The discontent had now reached its height. A number of the citizens, headed by one Lincoln, a broker, applied to Dr. Bell, a celebrated preacher of the time, to read a summary of their grievances from the pulpit, and to preach in behalf of the people against the foreign artificers. Allured by the hope of popularity, the divine unfortunately complied. From the text, " The heaven is the Lord's, but the earth hath he given to the children of men," he undertook to show that the land they inhabited was given to Englishmen; and as birds defend their nest, so ought Englishmen to cherish and maintain them- selves, and, out of love for their native land, should not hesitate in aggrieving aliens and driving them forth. Convinced by this logic of what they were interested to believe, the apprentices and common people grew bolder in their animosity against the foreigners, and insulted them in the streets. The festival of May day, when every substantial citizen turned his back on business, and went forth a May- ing into the woods and meadows, was chosen for carrying into effect a plot formed for putting all the aliens in the city to death. It was arrested by the vigilance of Sir Thomas, who, in concert with the aldermen of the city, issued a mandate that no person, after 9 o'clock on May-day eve should stir out, but keep his doors shut and his servants within. The indiscretion of one of the aldermen, some days after, blew the discontent into a flame. Several thousands of the people collected, and broke open the Compter prison and also that of Newgate, in which were several prisoners committed for vio- lence done to foreigners. Their numbers were 80 SIR THOMAS MORE, hourly augmenting, and the aspect of things be- came alarming. Sir Thomas, as we have already seen, was a favorite in the city, and relying upon the influence of his character, he met this enraged body at St. Martin's gate, and had nearly succeeded in persuading them to return peaceably to their homes, when some wanton individuals having thrown stones at one of More's com.panions, the confusion became general. It was now found necessary to call in military force, and this array of tattered men, and squalid women and children, was soon dispersed. Thirteen hundred were taken prisoners, four hundred condemned, and thirteen ordered out to immediate execution; but only the ringleader, Lincoln, actually suffered death; the rest being released at the earnest importunity of the queen, and the king's sisters, Mary of France and Marga- ret of Scotland, On this occasion, the king's closet presented the singular spectacle of three queens soliciting on their knees the king's pardon for an infuriated mob; it is probable that this was owing to the additional influence of More and Wol- sey, to whom Henry could, at this time, refuse nothing. To this period, also Wood, the Oxford annalist, refers the proof which More gave of his zeal for learning, by his Letter to the University of Oxford, on the study of Greek. A kind of civil war had sprung up betvi^een the partisans of that language, who were considered as innovators in education, and the larger body, comprehending the aged and those whose reputations were established, and who were content to be no wiser than their forefathers. There existed another cause of this excitement: the public mind was in a ferment on account of the nascent opinions of the reformation; every thing new was looked upon with suspicion, as possibly con- nected with these opinions. A faction of the stu- dents denominated themselves Trojans, and had their Priam, Hector, Paris, &c., to denote their hos- tility of the Greeks. This pedantry had the good HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 81 effect of awakening- the zeal of More for his Gre- cian masters, and of inducing- him to withstand the barbarism which would exclude the noblest produc- tions of the human mind from the education of En- glish youth. As this letter was well-timed and important in its results, we will give an outline of its contents, and the more willingly, as previous biographers have barely alluded to it, though Fiddes in his Life of Wolsey calls attention thereto, as " containing much deserving of notice." It is headed as follows: "Thomas More to the Rev. Fathers, Procurators, and other members of the Senate of Oxford." After starting with an apology that one with so little pretensions to learning, {ho- muncio doctrind minus quam mediocri,) should pre- sume to address the venerable fathers of the national education; he thus continues with much good taste and feeling: " Though the idea of addressing your reverend body at first overawed me, I was encour- aged to make an effort, however humble, in the cause of learning, by the reflection that nothing but ignorance could discourage an honest endeavor. I could not persuade myself to be silent upon a point, where the interests of truth required me to speak. When in London, an account was brought me of the kind of conspiracy, formed in the bosom of my old Alma Mater against a favorite pursuit of mine and my friends." He then goes on to describe the struggle between the two parties, the adherents to the old scholastic forms, and those who favored the revival of Greek letters. After a good deal of pri- vate skirmishing, at length the parties broke out into open war. The opponents of the new learning assumed the appellation of Trojans, and by way of derision called their adversaries, Greeks. The lat- ter gloried in the name, and, fired with the love of the language of Homer and Plato, arrayed them- selves for the defence of their favorites. The lead- ers of each party took the names of the adverse heroes of the Iliad; nor was it a war of words only; blows were dealt in good earnest, and things were 82 SIR THOMAS MORE, carried to such a pass as to threaten the well-being' of this seat of the muses. " At first," says More, " I was disposed to treat this contest as a mere ebullition of youthful folly, but lately, while accom- panying- the icing to Abingdon, news was brought me that things had proceeded to extremities. I was informed that one man had rendered himself parti- cularly conspicuous; a person, wise in his own con- ceit, a jocular and gifted fellow in the conceit of his own party, but a very madman in the opinion of all good and orderly people. So far did this man forget himself, so far forget his duty, the place, and the sacred season which was Lent, as to attack the Greeks from the University pulpit; and not the Greek learning only, but all the liberal arts came in for their share of the abuse. What will be thought of our University abroad] What will be said when it is heard that the chair of truth was converted into a scene of Bacchanalian raving; that instead of the pious being edified by the maxims of the Gospel, the profane were diverted by the apish tricks of an insane babbler; one who could hardly smatter Latin, who in the liberal arts was a mere dolt, and whoas to Greek knew not a panicle — nh y^v. But the zeal of our declaimer did not stop here; he cried aloud that all who sought this Greek learning were heretics, that the readers thereof were devils incarnate, and the willing hearers, were on the highway to eternal perdition. Surely it were well for this man of such heated m.ind and excitable temperament, to be kept safely locked up for a sea- son, and cooled down by a wholesome course of prayer and fasting." More then launches into an eloquent eulogium of the Greek learning, as exempli- fied not only in the famous poets, historians, and orators of Greece, but also in the celebrated Chris- tian orators and expounders of the sacred oracles in the Greek church. " Would they restrict," he ex- claims, " that august Queen of the skies. Theolo- gy, to the precincts of one narrow track of learning, and not allow her freely to expatiate on the ample HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 83 fields of knowledge; to visit the cells not only of a Cy- prian, a Jerome, an Augustine, an Ambrose, a Bede, but also theretreats of aNazianzen, aBasil,a Chry- sostom]" He endeavors to awaken his parent uni- versity to a sense of wliat she owes to the cause of Greek learning, by touching on a tender point— the progress already making in these studies in the rival University of Cambridge. He calls upon the good Warham, upon the Cardinal of York, " litera- rum pro motor , et ipse liter atissimus^'''' — a promoter of learning, and himself devoted to letters,* and last- ly upon the king, than whom no prince living has shown more erudition and a more cultivated mind. He concludes by earnestly exhorting the authorities of the university to exert their influence for the putting down of a faction so detrimental to the in- terests of learning, and so calculated to excite con- tempt and derision from without. " You are well aware," he adds, "how beneficial this exercise of your zeal will prove to the cause of letters, and how- grateful to our illustrious prince, and to the Right Reverend Fathers 1 have already named. And if, * The compliment here paid to the Cardinal is entirely me- rited. Independently of the colleges which he founded, there are other more convincing proofs of the active interest he took in the cause of education. An admirable letter of his, ad- dressed " To the masters of Ipswich School," contains a sylla- bus of a course of studies drawn up with great skill and pro- fessional minuteness. We give an extract, remarking that the air of royalty in its tone is characteristic. " We imagine no- body can be ignorant of the care, study and industry, with which we have directed our labors, not for our own private in- terest, but fortiiatof our country, and of all our citizens, whom we have very much at heart; and in which particular we shall deem ourselves to have been most amply repaid, if, by any divine blessing, we shall improve the minds of the people. But as it would be imperfect to erect a school, however magni- ficent, unless attended by learned masters, we have chosen approved teachers, under who-e tuition British youth may imbibe both morals and letters; well knowing, that the hopes of the country arise from their minds being formed aright." Wolsey personally superintended the instruciion of hisgodson, the Earl of Richmond. Henry's natural son; as also the domes- tic education of the Princess Mary. Well had it been for his fame, and for his future peace of mind, had he continued thus lo employ his talents, instead of wasting them on those mad schemes of ambition, which proved his ruin in the end! 48 SIR THOMAS MORE, last and least, it might be permitted me to name myself, who have thus been induced to address you from the deep and heart-felt love that I bear to your- selves and to the cause of letters, I can only say, that you would bind me to you by a tenfold obliga- tion, and that, in return, to all and each of you I proffer my good oflices, in any manner that you can render them available. That God may prosper this your renowned university, and render it daily more flourishing in every virtue and every polite accom- plishment of arts and letters, is the prayer of THOMAS MORE, Knight. Abingdon, 4th April. To judge from the following circumstance, this letter was a favorite of More's; Stapleton informs, us that he gave it as an exercise to be translated into English by his class, and afterwards into Latin again: — a valuable exercise by the way. With respect to the dispute in question, we learn from Erasmus, that the king was induced to interpose in this aifair, and, to use his phrase, which is not flat- tering to the combatants, " silence was imposed on the rabble." 1520. — Our knight continued daily to advance in the royal favor. He this year obtained a further promotion, being raised to the dignity of Treasurer of the exchequer, a station in some respects the same with that of our Chancellor of the exchequer, who, at present, is on his appointment to be desig- nated by the additional name of under-treasurer of the exchequer. During this year, Francis I. solicited an inter- view with Henry, and the neighborhood of the town of Ardres was selected for the place of meeting. Splendid preparations for the reception of the royal guests, were made on both sides, and on the 7th of June, the two monarchs met. They alighted from their horses, embraced each other, and walked arm and arm into the rich pavilion that had been pre- pared for their reception. More was the orator HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 85 on this occasion, and addressed the brother mo- narchs in a speech, congratulating them on the happy meeting, and on their future prospects, of which he hailed it as the joyful omen. Erasmus writing to his friend Hutten, at this pe- riod, observes; "our friend More has been drawn into the palace, and the king will scarcely ever suf- fer the philosopher to quit him. For, if serious af- fairs are to be considered, who can give more pru- dent counsel? or, if the king's mind is to be relaxed by cheerful conversation, where could there be a more facetious companionr' Roper, who was an eye-witness of the circum- stances, relates them with an agreeable simplicity. " So from time to time was he by the king ad- vanced, continuing in his singular favor and trusty service for twenty years. A good part thereof used the king, upon holidays, when he had done his own devotion, to send for him; and there, sometimes in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity, and such other faculties, and sometimes on his wordly af- fairs, to converse with him. And other whiles in the night would he have him up upon the leads, there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions, and operations of the stars and planets. And because he was of a pleasant disposition, it pleased the king and queen, after the council had supped^ at the time of their own (z. e. the royal) sup- per, to call for him to be merry with them." What Roper adds could not have been discovered by a less near observer, and would scarcely be credited upon less authority: " When, then, he perceived so much in his talk to delight, that he could not once in a month get leave to go home to his wife and children (whose company he most desired,) he, much misliking this restraint on his liberty, began thereupon somewhat to dissemble his nature, and so by little and little from his former mirth to dis- use himself, that he was of them from thenceforth, at such seasons, no more so ordinarily sent for." To his retirement at Chelsea, however, the king 86 SIR THOMAS MORE, followed him. " He used, of a particular ^ove, to come of a sudden to Chelsea, and leaning on his shoulder, to talk with him of secret counsel in his garden, yea, and to dine with him upon no invit- ing." The taste for More's conversation, and the eagerness for his company thus displayed, would be creditable to the king, if his behavior in after time had not converted them into the strongest proofs of utter depravity. Even in Henry's favor there was somewhat tyrannical, and his very friendship was dictatorial and self-willed. It was reserved for Henry afterwards to exhibit the singular, and perhaps solitary, example of a man who was softened by no recollection of a commu- nion of counsels, of studies, of amusements, of so- cial pleasures, and who did not consider that the remembrance of intimate friendship with such a man as More bound him to the observance of com- mon humanity, or even of bare justice. In the mo- ments of Henry's partiality, the sagacity of More was not so utterly blinded by his good-nature, that he did not in some degree penetrate into the true character of caresses from a beast of prey. " When I saw the king walking with him for an hour, hold- ing his arm about his neck, I rejoiced, and said to Sir Thomas, how happy he was whom the king had so familiarly entertained, as 1 had never seen him do to any one before, except Cardinal Wolsey. 'I thank our Lord, son,' said he, ' I find his Grace my very good lord indeed, and I believe he doth as sin- gularly favor me as any other subject within this realm: howbeit, son Roper, I may tell thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof; for if my head would win him a castle in France, when there was war between us, it should not fail to go.' " In a letter of this period, he thus speaks of him- self; " I am so occupied the greater part of the day, that I have no time for myself, or, which is the same thing, for my studies. For when I come home, I must chat with my wife, prattle with my chil- dren, and speak with my servants, for I am sure I HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 87 have a right to reckon these things among my af- fairs; and needful affairs they are, unless one would be a stranger in one's own house. It is a part of the business of life to be affable and pleasing to those, w-hom either nature, chance, or choice has made our companions; and yet there must be a mean in this, as in every thing else, so that we do not spoil them with over-kindness, and by too p^reat indulgence convert our servants into masters. Well, whole days, months, and years, pass in this manner; and, now, pray when am 1 to find any time to write]" His conversation had become so entertaining to the king and queen, that he could rarely obtain permis- sion to spend an evening with his family; nor could he be absent from the court two days in succession without being called for. As yet, however, he had not so much of the courtier about hira, as to consi- der the claims of his family in this particular, as inferior to those of his sovereign. Restraining, therefore, the natural vivacity of his disposition, he contrived that his conversation in the royal presence, should become less and less attractive, and by this address he, in part, regained his liberty. Between the years 1517 and 1522, we find that More was employed at various times at Bruges, in missions like his first to the Flemish goternment, or at Calais in watching and conciliating Francis I., with whom Henry and Wolsey found it conve- nient to keep op friendly appearances. To trace the date of More's reluctant journeys in the course of the uninteresting attempts of politicians on both sides to gain or dupe each other, would be vain, without some outline of the negotiations in which he was employed, and repulsive to most readers if the inquiry promised a better chance of a successful result. Wolsey appears to have occasionally ap- pointed commissioners to conduct his own affairs as well as those of his master at Calais, w^herethey received instructions from London with the greatest rapidity, and whence it was easy to manage nego- tiations, and to shift them, speedily, with Brussels 88 SIR THOMAS MORE, and Paris; with the additional advantage, that it might be somewhat easier to conceal from one of those jealous courts the secret dealings of that of England with the other, than if the despatches had been sent directly from London to the place of their destination. Of this commission More was once, at least, an unwilling member. Erasmus, in a letter to Peter Giles on the 15th of November, 1518, says, " More is still at Calais, of which he is heartily tired. He lives with great expense, and is engaged in business most odious to him. Such are the re- wards reserved by kings for their favorites."* Two years after. More writes more bitterly to Erasmus, of his own residence and occupations. " I approve your determination never to be involved in the busy trifling of princes; from which, as you love me, you must wish that 1 were extricated. You cannot ima- gine how painfully I feel myself plunged in them, for nothing can be more odious to me than this legation. I am here banished to a petty seaport, of which the air and the earth are equally disagreeable to me. Abhorrent as I am by nature from strife, even when it is profitable, as at home, you may judge how wearisome it is here, where it is attended by loss."f On More's journey in summer 1519, he had harbored hopes of being consoled by seeing Erasmus at Calais, for all the tiresome pageantry, selfish scuffles, and paltry frauds, which he was to witness at the congress of kings,:];: where More could find little to abate those splenetic views of courts, which his disappointed benevolence breathed in Utopia. In 1521, Woisey twice visited Calais during the residence of More, who appears to have then had a weight in council, and a place in the royal favor, second only to those of the cardinal. In 1522, the Emperor, Charles V. paid a visit to * Erasm. 0pp. iii. 357. ■\ i;rasm. Opp. iii. 589. X Opp iii. 450, Moms Erasmo, e Cantuaria, 11 Jun. 1519. From ih(» dates of the foUowini; letters of Erasmus, it appears thai the hopes of More were disappointed. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 89 England, and was received by Henry with great magnificence. At about a mile from St. George's bar was erected a tent of cloth of gold, where, dur- ing the time the royal personages reposed them- selves. More delivered an oration, eloquently con- gratulating the two princes upon the love and amity that subsisted between them. Splendid pa- geants were prepared for the occasion; " nor must we forget," says the chronicler of the day, "how the citizens, well apparelled, stood within the rails on the left side of the streets, and the clergy on the right, in rich copes, swinging their censors beside the princes as they passed; nor how all the streets were richly hung with cloth of gold, silver, velvet, and arras; nor how in every house almost there was minstrelsy, and over every street these two verses in letters of gold: Carolus, Henricus, vivant defensor uterque, Henricus FiDEi, Carolus EccLESii?^:. In the meantime, the public mind was in a fer- ment. A new, and as yet unheard of revolution had broken out in the north of Germany, and had already begun to extend its influence in England. Men began to array themselves in the hostile ranks of Catholics and Lutherans; and, at length, a term was invented, which was destined to be the watch- word of party, the slogan for the gathering of dis- contented clans, the signal-fire, that, like the bea- con of Agamemnon,* was to speed its fiery course from hill to hill, but, unlike that transmitted flame, should announce not the termination of a ten years' war, but the outburst of a conflict, whose consum- mation, what prophet can foretell] Protestant is a nnm de guerre of more extended influence than any that human ingenuity had before devised. f * Seethe animated opening of the j3o-amem?iort of the Shaks- peare of Greece— iEschylus. t Bi hop Andrews was asked by King James T., whether the famous Italian convert, Antonio de Duinmis, were a Protestant 8* 90 SIR THOMAS MORE, Luther's motive for protesting originated in a mere matter of feeling about dollars and cents. Pope Leo X, with a view to raise money to complete that splen- did monument of art, St. Peter's, which his predeces- sor Julius IL, had begun, published an Indulgence,* or not? " Truly, your majesty," replied the Bishop, " I am un- able to say; but this I know, that he is a Detestant of certain opinions of Rome.'" To how many will not this definition apply, whose Prv)test- antism has " this extent, no more." * " It is reasonable, and even it is salutary to us, that God, whilst he remits both sin, and the temporal punishment, whii h sin had merited, should yet, byway of check, to restrain us within the boundaries ot duty, demand from us some kind of temporal chastisement; lest, emancipated too soon from the bo ids of justice we nourish a presumptuous confidence, and abuse the facility of obtaining pardon. " It is, consequently, in order to fulfil this obligation that we are subjected to a certain series of painful duties— duties, which, also, we are bound to comply with, in a spirit of deep humility, and contrition. It was the necessity of these labors of satisfaction that compelled the church, during the early ages, to impose upon sinners those heavy mortifications, which we call fJie Canonical penances. " l'» hen, therefore, now, the church imposes upon sinners any painful and laborious duties, the act of performing these, is what wo denominate Satisfaction. And when, in consequence of the extraordinary fervor, or piety, of the penitent, the church thinks proper to mitigate the severity of her discipline, this act of relaxation is the thing, which we term an Indulg- ence.'" — Bossuet's Exposition. 1 Corinthians v. .1, 4, 5. In this passage, St. Paul excommu- nicates the man, who had been guilty of incest. But, in the second chapter of his second Epistle— having been now in- formed of the sorrow and repentance of the criminal — he tells the Corinthians, that he remits the punishment, which, lately, bis wisdom had deemed so salutary. Wherefore, he says, ] he- seech you, thatyou would confirm your charity towards him. Jind to whom you have forgiven any thing, I also For what I forgive, if I have forgive.'), any thing for your sakes, I have done it in the person of Christ. This mitigation by Saint Paa! is precisely what we mean by an indulgence. In like manner, during the e.irly ages of the church, it was the frequent practice among the bishops to grant, at the re- quest of the martyrs, a remission of the canonical penances to those individuals, whose repentance was marked by peculiar fervor. Tertullian, in the second century, &t. Cyprian in the third, and many Fathers, and Councils, in the fourth and fifth a^es, attest the frequency of this custom: whilst also they in- form us, that, sometimes, without any solicitation from the martyrs, it was observed in favor of the sick, and the infirm. This relaxation, again, was exactly our indulgence. The catholic is very far from denying, that indulgences have HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 91 which included the northern provinces of Germany. The collecting- of the contributions was given to a Dominican friar, which excited tlie jealousy of the Augustine order, to which Luther belonged. He was a young man of ardent mind and strong- preju- dices, and he beheld with resentment the lucrative office bestowed upon the rival order — hinc illse la- cri/mas! hence, all the heart-burnings, generated by the esprit de corps, which alone was active at that moment in the young and enthusiastic friar. He published a thesis, seasoned with bold declamation against the rapacity of the court of Rome, but the main object of which was personal invective against the Dominican collectors, their avarice and their extortion. So far there appeared little for the church to apprehend. When the dispute was reported to Leo X., he treated it lightly, saying it was merely a squabble among friars. Even Luther, apprehensive of the offence he had given by his invectives against the court of Rome, thought it prudent to address a submissive letter to the pontiff, concluding in these words: " Wherefore, most holy father, I throw myself prostrate at your feet, with all that I have been abused. They have been abused very often, and very grossly: and we lament the evil more feelingly, than the pro- lesiaut derides it. But, after all, where is the, great room for wonder? For, what do not men abuse? 'i'hey abuse every thinaiaiid frequently, the best things the most. There is nothing here below, that is completely screened from the intrusion of the human passions. The mischiefs, however, that have re- sulted from indulgences, did not arise from the nature itself of the institution, but from the perversity and wickedness of the individuals, who misapplied, and the ignorance and supersti- tion of the men who misconceived them. An indulgence is not — as the protestani, imagines— an encouragement to sin. On the contrary, it implies, and presupposes, a sincere cunversion from sin; a real detestation of vice; and a fixed determination to avoid it, for the time to come It is not a dispensation from ])enance:— it demands penance. i\ot an exemption from acts of piety:— it requires prayer, mortification, humility, &c. In short, just like the act of >->t. Paul to the incestuous Corinthian; or like that of the early pastors in favor of the sick, and the peculiarly penitent, an indulgence is simply a remission, or mitigation, of those temporal punishments, which the sinner still owes to the eternal justice, even after the forgiveness of the guilt of his offences. 92 SIR THOMAS MORE, or own. My life and death are in your hands. Call or recall me, approve or condemn me as you please. I shall acknowledge your voice as the voice of Christ, who presides and speaks in your person." All eyes were now turned towards Luther; his posi- tion was conspicuous; he was recognised as the champion of a cause: he had poised his weapons, felt his strength, and was impelled to further ef- forts. It is hard for the com.batant to lay down the sword of power he has once taken up; the field of polemical warfare has rarely, if ever, exhibited its Washington. A zeal, in which vanity was no inactive ingredient, now seized on the young refor- mer, and from attacking the outworks of the church, he boldly ventured on the very sanctuary itself. He had been mildly admonished, but in vain; and, at length, in 1520, Pope Leo X published a bull in which he condemned as heretical certain opinions published in the writings of Luther; allowed him a reasonable time to retract his errors, and pronounced him excommunicated, if he continued obstinate after the expiration of that term. But success and impunity had taught the reformer to deride that au- thority, before which he had formerly trembled. He boldly appealed from the head of the church, whom he stigmatised as " the apostate, the antichrist, the blasphemer of the divine word," to a general coun- cil; and erecting a funeral pile without the walls of Wittemberg, and calling together the inhabitants, he, with much solemnity, cast into the flames the books of the canon law, the writings of his antago- nists, and the bull of Pope Leo against himself, exclaiming in a tone, which some have considered as the result of a diseased mind; — " Because ye have troubled the holy of the Lord, be ye burnt with everlasting fire!" But to return to More: if he had not the faculty of a seer, he had the eye of a philosophical observer, and in those " coming events that cast their shadows before," he saw the new con- vulsion that threatened the land. In announcing his presentiments, there is something very grand HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 93 and solemn in the imagery he employs. " I per- ceive the signs of the coming evil, like as before a great storm the sea svi^elleth, and hath unwonted motions, vt^ithout any M^ind stirring." Taking one day his favorite walk upon the banks of the Thames, with his son-in-law Roper, they fell into conversation upon a topic dear to every pa- triot's heart— their country. Roper took occasion from a recent festivity, which had called forth a dis- play of public feeling, " to commend to his father- in-law, the happy estate of this realm, which had so Catholic and zealous a prince, that no heretic durst show his face; so learned and virtuous a clergy, so grave and sound a nobility, such loving and obedi- ent subjects, all agreeing together in one faith and dutifulness, as though they had been but one heart and one soul." When he paused, he found that More had fallen into one of his usual musings. After some mo- ments' silence, he turned to Roper, and pressing him by the arm, observed. — " My son. Roper, you speak the truth; true, indeed, is all that you say:" — ■ and passing in review the different estates of the realm, he far outdid his son-in-law in his commend- ations of the same; " and yet, son," continued he, " I pray God that some of us, as high as we seem to sit upon the mountains, treading under our feet like ants the enemies of the faith, live not to see the day when we would gladly wish to be in league with them, and to suifer them to have their churches quietly to themselves, so that they would be con- tent to let us have ours as peaceably." Roper urged many reasons to show why he thought his father-in-law had no cause for such gloomy forebodings. " Well, well," said More, shaking his head, " I pray God, Roper, that some of us do not live to see that day." But, says Cresacre, who relates the conversation, as he showed no reason for all these his speeches, my uncle said somewhat in a choler; " By my troth, sir, but all this is very desperately spoken!" " I cry 94 SIR THOMAS MORE, God mercy," said my uncle to me afterwards, but that was the very word I used." Sir Thomas perceiving him to be somewhat angry, resumed his usual cheerful tone, and patting him on the shoulder, said to him in his merry way: " Well, well, son Roper, it shall not be so, it shall not be so!" But yet, adds Cresacre, my uncle Roper was himself destined to be a witness of the truth of the prediction. He was still living in the fifteenth year of Elizabeth's reign, when he saw religion turned topsy turvy, and no hope of any amendment. Tiie pious grandson, in the plenitude of his zeal, and from the depth of his reverence for More's charac- ter, goes on to declare, that "he has no doubt, but that God, in his love to his faithful servant, had been pleased to make him a partaker of some por- tion of his secrets." In the meantime, details of all that was passing in Germany were officially transmitted to England. Wolsey, who by his office of Legate of the Holy See, was bound to oppose these new doctrines, attended by the other prelates, and by the papal and impe- rial ambasadors, went in procession to St. Paul's; the venerable Bishop Fisher preached from the Cross in front of the church, and the works of Luther, condemned by the pontiff, were burned in presence of the assembled multitude. Henry, whose education, as we have seen, had given him a taste for school divinity, determined with that chi- valrous spirit which ennobled the earlier and better years of his life, to enter in person the controversial lists. This was in the month of May, and the fol- lowing October was completed " The Defence of the Seven Sacraments against Martin Luther, pub- lished by Henry, the eighth of that name, the most unconquered King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland," — a title that bears the impress of the chivalric age. It was published in London, 1521, Antwerp, 1522, and Rome 154.3. That it was Henry's own composition is asserted by him- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 95 self: that it was retouched and improved by the cardinal and the bishop of Rochester was the opin- ion of the piiblic. More was also believed to have had a hand in the work, but we have his own assur- ance that he " was a mere sorter-out and placer of the principal contents of the book."* Clarke, dean of Windsor, carried the royal pro- duction to Rome, and, in a full consistory, submit- ted it to the inspection and approbation of the pon- tiff, with an assurance, that, as his master had refuted the errors of Luther with his pen, so was he ready to oppose the disciples of the heresiarch with his sword, should the interests of the church require it. Leo, in a formal bull, rewarded the champion of orthodoxy by conferring on him the title of Defender of the Faith — an appellation that Henry's successors still claim, though the title that guaranteed it has been abandoned. In July of the following year, Luther replied to the king " with an intemperance of declamation, which scandalised his friends, while it gave joy to his enemies;" so says the elegant Lingard: but which, in the vigorous but more homely language of Roper, becomes " a mass of ridicule, invective and scorn, compounded with a due admixture of filth, and hurled at the royal head." Henry complained to his patron, the Elector; the German princes consid- ered the work as an insult to crowned heads: and, at the earnest entreaty of Christian, King of Den- mark, Luther condescended to write an apology. Let us hear the impartial Mr. Hallam relate this * Old Fuller says in his quaint manner; " none susppct the king's lack of learning for such a design, but many his lack of leisure from his pleasures. It is probable that some other gar- deurr gathered the flowers, though King Henry had the honor to wear the posy." Luther made the same objection to the work, and yet the kings own words are; " although you fain yourself to think my book not my own. but to my rebuke (as it liketh you to affirm) put on by subtle sophisters: yet it is well known for mine, and for mine I avouch it." Collier, remarking on the king's work, observes, that "he leans too much on his character as monarch, argues in his gar- ter robes, and writes as it were with his seeptre." 96 SIR THOMAS MORE, Story. " Luther, intoxicated with arrog'ance, and deeming himself a more prominent individual among the human species than any monarch, treated Hen- ry, in replying to his book, with the rudeness that characterized his temper. A few years afterwards, in- deed, he thought proper to write a letter of apology for the language he had held towards the king; but this letter, a strange medley of abjectness and imperti- nence, excited only contempt in Henry, and was published by him with a severe commentary. Lu- ther's letter bears date at Wittemberg, September I, 1525. After saying that he had written against the king 'foolishly and precipitately,' which was true, he adds ' at the instigation of those who were but little disposed towards your majesty,' which was surely a pretence, since who at Wittemberg, in 1521, could have any motive to wish that Henry should be so scurrilously treated] He then bursts forth into the most absurd attack on Wolsey, ' that monster, the public odium of God and of men, the Cardinal of York, the very pest of your kingdom.' This was a singular style to adopt in writing to a king, whom he affected to propitiate; Wolsey being nearer than any man to Henry's heart. Thence, relapsing into his tone of abasement, he says, " so that being now utterly ashamed that I should have suffered myself to have been betrayed into such lev- ity against such and so great a king, by malignant instruments like these, I dread to raise up my eyes before your majesty; I especially, who am but filth and the merest worm, fit for nothing but to be con- demned and despised by all, &c.' Among the many things which Luther said and wrote, I know not one more extravagant than this letter, which almost jus- tifies the supposition that there was a vein of insanity in his very remarkable character." (Constit. Hist. 1. 64.) But though More had no hand in the book of the King his master, it was not likely that a mind of such activity as his, and so zealous for the faith of his fathers, would allow its powers to lie dormant HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 97 on SO tempting an occasion for their display. We accordingly find that, early in the following- year, he published a reply to Luther's attack upon the King, under the title; Vindicatio Henrici VIII. a calumniis Lutheri. Cresacre's account of the af- fair is in his usual pithy manner. " As Luther had used nothing in his book but the figure of rhetoric called Sauce-malapert^ playing the very varlet with the King, More beat him with his own weapons. But as it seemed not correspondent to his gravity, the book appeared under the name of Gulielmus Rosseus.^^ In this nom de guerre, could More have had in his eye the popular French verb rosser, which Boisle interprets " battre quelqu* un violemment.^^ In this work. More, not content with refuting the arguments, has caught the reprehensible tone ofhis adversary; justifying the reproach of Bishop Atter- bury, that these two combatants had the best knack of any men in Europe at calling bad names in good Latin. There are men who can look on with pleasure at these spiritual gladiators, and enjoy the excitement of a controversial " set-to," and of this description appears to have been More's great-grand- son. Roper exclaims, with all the zest of the arena, " To see how he handleth Luther would do any man good!'''' (p. 110.); and to prove how the illustrious chancellor " punished" his adversary when he had. "got him into chancery," he^treatshis learned readers to a long Latin quotation of one of the most highly seasoned morceaux of the said Rejoinder.* * It M'ere well would the polfmic cliampion bear the follow- incr, inscribed as mottoes upon his shield. II faut inieux taiie une verite, que de la dire de mauvaise grace. Le silence judicieux est toiijours meilleur qu'une verite non charitable— Sa. Francis of Sales. If wedispute with the enemies of the faith, let us silence tbem without anger, and without harshness P'^or if wedispute wiih anger, we seem no longer to have confidence in our cause, but to be led by passion; but if we do so with gentleness, we manifest a true confidence. Where passion is, the Holy t?pirit dwelleth not.— St. Chrysostom, Hvm. in Ada. xvii. 9 98 SIR THOMAS MORE, To this year also Rastell refers More's " Treatise upon those words of Scripture Remember thy last end.) and thou shalt never sin.^'' It is a work of consider- able merit, and composed in More's most vigorous manner. For some considerable extracts the reader is referred to our volume of Selections. 1523. — This year, by the King's especial direc- tion. Sir Thomas was chosen Speaker of the House of Commons. He excused himself, as usual, on the ground of alleged disability. His excuse was justly pronounced to be madmissible. The journals of parliament are lost, or at least have not been printed. The rolls of parliament exhibit only a short account of what occurred, which is necessarily an unsatisfactory substitute for the deficient journals. But as the matter personally concerns Sir Thomas More, and as the account of it given by his son-in- law, then an inmate in his house, agrees with the abridgment of the rolls, as far as the latter goes, it has been thought proper in this place to insert the very words of Roper's narrative. It may be reason- ably conjectured that the speeches of More were copied from his manuscript by his pious son-in- law. — " Since I perceive, most redoubted sovereign, that it standeth not with your pleasure to reform this election, and cause it to be changed, but have, by the mouth of the most reverend father in God, the legate, your highness's chancellor, thereunto given your most royal assent, and have of your benignity determined, far above that 1 may bear, to enable me, and for this office to repute me meet; rather than that you should seem to impute unto your Com- mons that they had unmeetly chosen, I am ready obediently to conform myself to the accomplish- ment of your Highness's pleasure and command- ment. — In most humble wise I beseech your Majesty that I may make to you two lowly An old writer says in his quaint manner: "Tfthe zeal for God's house eat up the man, it should not eat up the gentleman.'' HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 99 petitions: the one privately concerning- myself, the other for the whole assembly of your Commons' house. For myself, most gracious sovereign, that if it mishap me in anything hereafter that is, on the behalf of your Commons, in your high pre- sence, to be declared, to mistake my message, and, in lack of good utterance, by my mishearsal to per- vert or impair their prudent instructions, that it may then like your most noble Majesty to give me leave to repair again unto the Commons' house, and to confer with them and take their advice what things I shall, on their behalf, utter and speak before your royal Grace. " Mine other humble request, most excellent Prince, is this: forasmuch as there be of your Com- mons here by your high commandment assembled for your parliament, a great number which are after the accustomed manner appointed in the Commons' house to treat and advise of the common affairs among themselves apart; and albeit, most dear liege lord, that according to your most prudent advice^ by your honorable writs every where declared, there hath been as due diligence used in sending up to your highness's court of parliament the most dis- creet persons out of every quarter that men could esteem meet thereunto; thereby it is not to be doubted but that there is a very substantial assem- bly of right wise, meet, and politique persons. Yet, victorious prince, since among so many wise men, neither is every man wise alike, nor among so many alike well-witted, nor yet well spoken; and as it often happeth that as much folly is uttered with painted polished speech, so many boisterous and rude in language give right substantial counsel; and since also in matters of great importance, the mind is often so occupied in the matter, that a man rather studieth what to say than how; by reason whereof the wisest man and best spoken in a whole country fortuneth, when his mind is fervent in the matter, somewhat to speak in such wise as he would afterwards wish to have been uttered otherwise, and 100 SIR THOMAS MORE, yet no worse will had when he spake it, than he had when he would so gladly change it. Therefore, most gracious sovereign, considering that in your high court of parliament is nothing treated but mat- ter of weight and importance, concerning your realm and your own royal estate, it could not fail to put to silence from the giving of their advice and counsel many of your discreet Commons, to the great hind- rance of your common affairs, unless every one of your Commons were utterly discharged from all doubt and fear how any thing that it should happen them to speak, should happen of your highness to be taken. And in this point, though your well- known and proved benignity putteth every man in good hope; yet such is the weight of the matter, such is the reverend dread that the timorous hearts of your natural subjects conceive towards your highness, our most redoubted king and undoubted sovereign, that they cannot in this point find them- selves satisfied, except your gracious bounty there- in declared put away the scruple of their timorous minds, and put them out of doubt. It may, there- fore, like your most abundant Grace to give to all your Commons here assembled, your most gracious license and pardon freely, without doubt of your dreadful disp'leasare, every man to discharge his conscience, and boldly in every thing incident among us to declare his advice, and whatsoever happeneth any man to say, that it may like your noble majes- ty, of your inestimable goodness, to take all in good part, interpreting every man's words, how uncun- ningly soever they may be couched, to proceed yet of good zeal towards the profit of your realm, and honor of your royal person; the prosperous state and pre- servation whereof, most excellent sovereign, is the thing which we all, your majesty's humble loving subjects, according to the most bounden duty of our natural allegiance, most highly desire and pray for." According to the Parliamentary history, he intro- duced into his speech a story by way of illustration, which is certainly in his manner. He told of Phormio HIS LIFE AND TIMES. lOl the philosopher, who invited the great Hannibal to attend one of his lectures. That great commander accepted the invitation, and Phormio commenced reading a treatise De Re Militare — on the art of war. Hannibal upon hearing this, called the philosopher an arragant fool, to presume to teach one, whom experience had made skilful in all the arts of war. Even so, said More, if I should presume to speak before his majesty of learning, of the well ordering of the government, and such like matters, the king who is so deepl}?- learned, such a master of prudence and experience, might well address me in the same language as Hannibal did Phormio. Wherefore, he humbly besought his majesty to choose another speaker. To this speech the cardinal, in quality of chancellor, replied:— That his majesty, by long expe- rience of his services, was well acquainted with his wit, learning, and discretion; and therefore he thought the Commons had chosen the fittest person to be their Speaker. It is probable that the design of the knight in this speech was to remonstrate against the known haughtiness with which Henry treated his parlia- ments; and, under color of the profoundest awe and veneration, to give the sovereign a reproof, the more keen because the less ostensible, for his arbitrary restraint on the freedom of debate. If the speech be considered in this point of view, the speaker will be found to manifest great dexterity and a tact pe- culiarly his own. A seeming compliance with Henry's haughty humor was, indeed, the only man- ner in which the king could be reproved with a hope of success. In Parliament, not only was his conduct upright, and manly, but his views more profound than those of his contemporaries, anticipating some of the principles of political economy developed in our day. On one occasion, a subsidy having been de- manded by government, for carrying on a war against the emperor, Charles V., the Commons allowed its expediency, but hesitated to grant it, on the ground 9* 103 SIR THOMAS MORE, that, as it must be paid in money, and not in goods, all the specie in their hands would be drained away, and, for want of money, the nation would soon re- lapse into barbarism. More, in reply, ridiculed this idea, and said that the money ought not to be con- sidered as lost or taken away, but only as passed into other hands of their kindred and nation. " You have no reason," added he, " to fear this penury or scarceness of money, the intercourse of things be- ing now so established throughout the world, that there must be a perpetual circulation of all that can be necessary for mankind. Thus your commodities will ever find out money: and not to go far, I will instance your own merchants only; who, let me as- sure you, will always be as glad of your corn and cattle, as you can be of any thing they can bring."* The following particulars, afforded us by Roper, are singular, and, according to Sir James Mackin- tosh, " not easily reconcilable with the intimate connection then subsisting between the speaker and the government." " At this parliament cardinal Wolsey found him- self much aggrieved with the burgesses thereof; for that nothing was so soon done or spoken therein, but that it was immediately blown abroad in every alehouse. It fortuned at that parliament that a very great subsidy was demanded, which the cardinal, fearing it would not pass the commons' house, deter- mined, for the furtherance thereof, to be there pre- sent himself. Before where coming, after long de- bating there, whether it was 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; " Masters," quoth Sir Thomas More, " forasmuch as my lord cardinal lately, ye wot well, laid to our charge the lightness of our tongues for things utter- ed out of this house, it shall not in my mind be amiss to receive him with all his pomp, with his maces, his pillars, his pole-axes, his hat, and great * Herbert's Henry the FJ^hlh, p. 112- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 103 seal too; to the intent, that if he finds the like fault with us hereafter, we may the bolder frame ourselves to lay the blame on those whom his grace bringeth here with him."* Whereunto the house wholly ag-reeing-, he was received accordingly. Where, after he had by a solemn oration, by many reasons proved how necessary it was the demand then moved should be granted; and farther showed that less would not serve to maintain the prince's purpose; he seeing the company sitting still silent, and there- unto nothing answering, and, contrary to his expec- tation, showing in themselves towards his request no towardness of inclination, said to them, " Mas- ters, you have many wise and learned men amongst you, and since I am from the king's own person sent hither unto you, to the preservation of yourselves and of all the realm; I think it meet in you to give me some reasonable answer. Whereat every man holding his peace, then began he to speak to one Mas- ter Marney, afterwards lord Marney; "How say you,'' quoth he, " Master Marney]" who making him no answer neither, he severally asked the same ques- tion of divers others, accounted the wisest of the company, to whom, when none of them all would give so much as one word, having agreed before, as tiie custom was, to give answer by their speaker; "Masters," quoth the cardinal, "unless it be the manner of your house, as of likelihood it is, by the mouth of your speaker, whom you have chosen for trusty and wise (as indeed he is), in such cases to utter your minds, here is, without doubt, a marvel- lously obstinate silence:" and thereupon he required answer of Mr. Speaker; who first reverently, on his knees, excusing the silence of the house, abashed * We read the same indication of the public feeling in the Car- dinal's address to Dr. Barnes, who liad preached a sermon at Cambridge, reflecting upon his love of pomp and luxury. " What," said he, " ftlaster Doctor! had you not a sufficient scope in the scriptures to teach the people, but that my golden shoes, my pole-axes, my pillars, my golden cushions, my crosses, did so sore nifend you, that you must make us a ridiculum caput before the people?" 104 SIR THOMAS MORE, at the presence of so noble a personage, able to amaze the wisest and best learned in the realma; nd then, by many probable arg;uments, proving- that for them to make answer was neither expedient nor agreeable with the ancient liberty of the house; in conclusion for himself, showed, that though they had all with their voices trusted him, yet except every one of them could put into his own head their several wits, he alone in so weighty a matter was unmeet to make his grace answer. Whereupon the cardinal, displeased with Sir Thomas More, that had not in this parliament in all things satisfied his desire, suddenly rose and departed."* This passage, observes Sir J. Mackintosh, de- serves attention as a specimen of the mild inde- pendence and quiet steadiness of More's character, and also as a proof how he perceived the strength which the commons had gained by the power of the purse, which was daily and silently growing, and which could be disturbed only by such an unseason- able show of an immature authority as might too soon have roused the crown to resistance. It is one among many instances of the progress of the influ- ence of parliaments in the midst of their apparently indiscriminate submission, and it affords a pregnant proof that we must not estimate the spirit of our forefathers by the humility of their demeanor. The reader will observe how nearly this example was followed by a succeeding speaker, compara- tively of no distinction, but in circumstances far more memorable, in the answer of Lenthall to Charles I,, when that unfortunate prince came to the house of commons to arrest five leading mem- bers of that assembly, who had incurred his displea- sure. When the short session of parliament was closed, Wolsey, in his gallery of Whitehall, said to More, " I wish to God you had been at Rome, Mr. More, when I made you speaker." — " Your grace not of- *Roper, p. 13— 21. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 105 fended, so would I too, my lord," replied sir Tho- mas; "for then should I have seen the place I long have desired to visit," More turned the conversa- tion, by saying- that he liked this gallery better than the cardinal's at Hampton Court. This perhaps broke off a quarrel for the time, but the fact was, as Erasmns remarks in one of his let- ters, that the cardinal was jealous of the knight's abilities, and feared him more than he loved him. Of this he shortly after gave a proof by his en- deavor to persuade the king to send Sir Thomas as ambassador to Spain. He tried to effect his pur- pose by magnifying the learning and wisdom of his rival, and his peculiar fitness for a conciliatory ad- justment of the difficult matters then at issue be- tween the king and his kinsman the emperor. Henry approved of the cardinal's suggestion, and made the proposal to More, who, considering the unsuitableness of the Spanish climate to his consti- tution, and perhaps suspecting Wolsey of sinister purposes, earnestly besought Henry not to send his faithful servant to his grave. The king who also suspected Wolsey of being actuated by jealousy, answered, " It is not our meaning, Mr. More, to do you any hurt; but to do you good we should be glad. We shall therefore employ you otherwise."* Sir Thomas More could boast that be had never asked the king the value of a penny for himself; and with- out any solicitation on his part, on the 25lh of De- cember, 1525, j" the king appointed him chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, as successor of sir An- * Morft, p. 53, with a slight variation. t Sucli is the infornialioti which I have received from the Records in the Tower. The accurate writer of the article on More in the Biographia Britannica, is perplexed by finding Sir Thomas More, chancellor of the duchy, as one of the negotiators of a treaty iii August JSQG which seems to the writer in the Bio- graphia to bring down the death of Wingfied to near that time: he being on all sides acknowledsred to be More's immediate pre- decessor. But there is no difficulty, unless wente;llessly assume lliat the negotiation with which Wiiiglield was concerned relat- ed to the same treaty which More concludeij. On the contrary, the first appears to have been a treaty with Spain; the last a treaty with France —Sir J. Mcintosh. 106 SIR THOMAS MORE, thony Wing-field; an office of dignity and profit which More continued to hold for nearly three years. That there was an unfriendly feeling- on the part of Wolsey towards More, is apparent from several little anecdotes, and among the rest from the fol- lowing, as related by Roper. On a time the cardinal had drawn a draft of cer- tain conditions of peace between England and France, and he asked Sir Thomas's advice therein, beseeching him earnestly that he would tell him, if there were any thing therein to be misliked; and " he spoke this so heartily," said Sir Thomas, that he verily believed the cardinal in earnest in v^'ishing to hear his advice therein. But when More gave his honest opinion, and showed that the draught might have been amended, he suddenly rose in a rage, and said; " By the Mass! thou art the veriest fool of all the council." Sir Thomas smiled, and drily rejoined; " God be thanked! that the king our master hath but one fool in all his council." This incident, perhaps, led to an allusion in More's book " On comfort in tribulation," where he relates a very amusing story of a certain prelate, who, when he had made an oration before a large assem- bly, would bluntly ask those who sat at table with him, " how they all liked if? and as he sat upon thorns for a commendation of his eloquence, the man who did not speak of it as favourably as he could wish, got, you may be sure, bat little thanks for his labor."* More had the courage, on more than one occasion, to oppose the haughty cardinal at the Council board, as he had formerly done in Parliament. To one of these occasions we may no doubt refer the story which Sir Thomas tells in one of his letters, relative to the cardinal's project that England should sup- port the Emperor in his war with France. "aSottic," he writes, "thought it wise, that we should sit still * This story is told in full in More's works, p. 1221, and as a fair specimen of his humor, will be given entire in the volume o{ Selections. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 107 and leave them alone. But, evermore, my lord used the fable of the wise men; who, because they would not sit out and get drenched in the rain that was to make every one a fool, hid themselves in caves. But when the rain had washed away the others' wisdom, and those came out of their caves, and would make a display of theirs, the fools agree- ing together against them, proved too strong for them, and forced them to come into their terms. And so, said his grace, if we w^ere to be so wise as to sit in peace, while the fools fought it out, they would afterwards make common cause and subdue us. This fable, adds More, helped the king and the realm to spend many a fair penny." And yet, in spite of this occasional " sparring," it is satisfactory to be able to produce evidence that there existed neither that rancor on the part of More, nor that " secret brooding over his revenge," which Sir J. Maskintosh thought he discovered in the conduct of those great men. {Brit. States, ^p. 39.) Thistestimony is afforded us by that invaluable publication, " The State Papers," which we shall often have occasion to quote. Wolsey to King Henry VIII. Sire: — After my most humble recommenda- tions, it may like your Grace to understand, that I have shown unto the bearer of this. Sir Thomas More, diverse matters to be by him, on my behalf, declared unto your Highness, beseeching the same that, at convenient time, it may be your pleasure to hear him make report thereof accordingly. And, Sire, whereas it hath been customed that the Speak- ers of the Parliament, in consideration of their dili- gence and pains taken, have had, though the Par- liament hath been right soon finished, above the dElOO ordinary, a reward of £100, for the better maintenance of their household, and other charges sustained in the same; I suppose. Sire, that the faithful diligence of the said Sir Thomas More, in all your causes treated in this your late Parliament, as 108 SIR THOMAS MORE, well for your subsidy, right honorably passed, as otherwise, considered, no man could better deserve the same than he hath done. Wherefore, your pleasure known therein, I shall cause the same to be advanced to him accordingly; ascertaining your Grace, that I was the rather moved to put your Highness in remembrance thereof, because he is not the most ready to speak and solicit his own cause. At your manor of Hampton Court, the 24th day of August, by your most humble chaplain {Superscribed) T. CAR^i* EBOR. To the King^s most noble Grace, Defender of the Faith, In a reply from More to the cardinal, of the 26th, we have the following pleasing acknowledgment of the same. " Furthermore, it may like your good Grace to un- derstand, that, at the contemplation of your Grace's letters, the king's Highness is graciously content, that, besides the hundred pounds for my fee for the office of speaker of his Parliament, to be taken at the receipt of his Exchequer, I shall have one other hundred pounds out of his coffers, by the hands of the treasurer of his chamber. Wherefore, in most humble wise, I beseech your good Grace, that, as your gracious favor hath obtained it for me, so it may like the same to write to Mr. Wyatt, that he may deliver it to such as I shall send for it: whereby, I and all men, as the manifold goodness of your Grace hath already bound us, shall be daily more and more bounden to pray for your Grace, whom Our Lord long preserve in honor and health. At Easthamstead, the 26th day of August." {State Papers, vol. i. 127.) As our subject has now brought More in contact with one of the most remarkable men of his age, the reader will naturally look for some particulars respecting him. The portrait of Cardinal Wolsey, as sketched by the rapid and graphic pencil of Lloyd, is so true to the life, that we cannot better terminate the present chapter than by presenting it to the reader. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 109 " Wolsey made the first essay of his powers in commanding over noblemen, in the Earl of Dorset's family, as a school-master. The first step to great- ness in a scholar, is relation to a nobleman; the best education for the court, is in the palace. Na- ture had made him capable, the school and univer- sity made him a scholar, but his noble employment made him a man. At Oxford, he read books; at my lord's he read men, and observed things. The two parsonages bestowed upon him by his patron, were not so valuable to him as the excellent prin- ciples instilled into him; he being not more careful to instruct the young men, than their noble father to tutor him: his bounty made him rich, and his recommendation potent. Bishop Fox was secretary to King Henry VII., and Wolsey to Bishop Fox; the one was not a greater favorite of the king than the other, as one brought him a head capacious of all observations, and a spirit above all difficulties. Others managed the affairs of England, Wolsey understood its interests. His correspondence was active abroad; his observations close, deep, and un- remitting at home. He improved what he knew, and bought what he knew not. He could make any thing he read or heard his own, and could im- prove anything that was his own to the uttermost. "No sooner was he in with the Bishop of Win- chester, than the Bishop was out with the Earl of Surrey; to whom he must have stooped, as he did to nature and art, had he not raised his servant equal to himself in the king's favor, and above Howard. By the canons he was forbid heirs of his body; by his prudence he was enjoined to make an heir of his favor, equally to support and comfort his old age, and maintain his interest. Children in point of policy, as in point of nature, are a blessing, and as arrows in the hand of the mighty; and happy is that old courtier, who hath his quiver full of them: he shall not be ashamed when he speaks with his enemies in the gate. The old man commends Wolsey to Henry VIL, as one fit to serve a king, 10 no SIR THOMAS MORE, and command others. Foreign employment is the statesman's first school; to France, therefore, is he sent, to poise his English gravity with the French debonnaire: a well-poised quickness is tiie excel- lent temper. From foreign employments under an old king, he came home to some domestic ser- vices under the young one: as quickly as he found the length of his foot, did he fit him with an easy shoe. The king followed his pleasures, and the minister enjoyed his power. The one pursued his sports, while youth, the other his business, while time served him. ' Give me to-day, and take thou to-morrow,' is the language as well of the courtier, as the Christian. The favorite took in the debates of the council and other state affairs in the bulk, by day; and the king had the quintessence of them extracted, and presented to him at night. All state business was disposed of by him, and most church preferments bestowed upon him: the Bishoprics of Durham, Winchester, and York, were in his pos- session, and all other promotions in his gift. He was installed in the kingdom, during King Henry's youth, and had the church in commendam. His great services, indeed, could not be managed, nor his greater power supported, without a great re- venue; but his interest went far, and his money farther, and he could buy off expedients as readily as his greatness could command them. He had two rivals, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Duke of Suffolk: the former he despised as rather beside, than against him; he being the king's companion in pleasure, and Wolsey his counsellor in policy; the duke great with young Henry, the bishop with, the king. Buckingham he feared, as popular, and undermined, as proud: that tower must fall, whose foundation is hollow. Buckingham was high in birth, honor, and estate; Vv^olsey higher in prudence. The minister's malice did the brave duke much mischief, and his own folly more: vain glory ever lieth at an open guard, and gives much advantage of play to her enemy. A king is jealous, and a HIS LIFE AND TIMES. Ill weak nobleman ambitious. In fine, he is attainted of treason (though rival to the king- in his clothes, rather than his crown, in his vanities than his au- thority): but a cunning upstart will quickly blow off a young nobleman's cap and feather, and his head too, when it stands in the way. His power against Buckingham, was his shield against all others. One defence well managed, one adversary thoroughly suppressed, is a security at court, where two men seldom fall the same way. " Many envied the archbishop, the cardinal, the legate de latere, the Lord Chancellor: but all feared the favorite. Most were discontented, but none durst shake their heads, lest they should fall off as Buckingham's had done. He was too proud to be bribed, and too powerful to be overborne. " But England was too narrow a theatre for this great spirit, and he aspires to Rome: and having been these many years Pope of this other world, would have been of that beyond the waters. This leap was great from York to Rome, and his rise for the leap as good; Charles V. was his client, and his master's servant; the cardinals were his pen- sioners: and when they failed (as he is no fox, whose den hath but one hole, and he no statesman, who, when one way is stopped, cuts not out an- other,) he falls off from the German Emperor to the French king, with whom, if he would not carry his own design, he would hinder the emperor's — and revenge is an advancement. So great was he, that his influence balanced Europe, overawed em- perors, threatened kings, and was fatal to queens: if he cannot be Pope of Rome, he will show he is as good as King of England. Finding that the king wanted a meet yoke-fellow, and a lawful heir male to his crown; and observing Queen Catherine's age above her husband's, and her gravity above her age, being more pious than pleasant, a better woman than wife, and a better wife for any prince, than for King Henry; upon some scruple, intimated by the Spaniard some years before, which others had 112 SIR THOMAS MORE, forgot, but the cardinal kept laid up, he promotes a divorce between the king and queen. Nor was this all; knowing that King Henry would not have the woman to his mind, till he had a Pope of his own choosing, he would help him to a young wife, but he must raise him to a new power; Wolsey must be Pope, or King Henry could not be divorced. And to make all sure, no sooner was he parted from a daughter of Spain, than he was to be joined to a Princess of France, whose nuptial ring was to wed King Henry to her, and King Francis to himself. " Missing of power, he meditates honor; and in- stead of lavishing his infinite treasure upon airy expectations, he bestoweth it in real monuments, which make his memory as renowned, as was his life. That statesman lives to little purpose, whose actions are as short as his life, and whose exploits are of no longer duration than the age in which he lives. " While the king bore the sword of state, the cardinal wielded it over all the land, in his quality of legate; by virtue whereof he visited all churches and religious houses, even the Friars' observants themselves, notwithstanding the stoutness and stub- bornness with which they first opposed him. Papal and royal power met in him, being Chancellor of the land, and keeping so many bishoprics in com- mendam^ that his yearly income is said to have equalled that of the crown. He gave the first blow to religious houses, by making one great college out of forty small monasteries. Besides sending him on many splendid embassies, the king gave him many estates and magnificent palaces; fitting his humor with pleasant habitations and soothing his ambition with power and authority. " But his sovereign broke with him at last, about the divorce, being vexed with so many de- lays and prorogations between two popes, Clement that was, and Wolsey that would be. Yet he rather eased him of his burthens, than deprived him of his preferments; continuing him Bishop of York HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 113 and Durham, after dismissing him from the Chan- cellorship. Here he lived rather like a prince than a priest, providing as magnificently for his installation, as a king should for his coronation. This unreasonable ambition was improved by his enemy's malice, and the king's jealousy to his ruin. In the midst of his solemnities he is arrested by the king's order, whose wrath was the messenger of death; and on his way to London, being distracted between hope and fear, he died at Leicester, breath- ing out his soul in words to this purpose: ' Had I served the God of heaven, as faithfully as I have my master on earth, he would not thus have forsaken me in m.y old age.' Too sudden prosperity in the beginning, undoeth us in the end; while we expect the same flow of fortune, we remit our care, and perish by our neglect. Ambition reaches too high, and loses its proper support — humility; for the broader the base, the higher and stronger the pyramid. Ego et rex mens was good grammar for Wolsey the school-master, but not for the cardinal and the statesman. Wolsey is famous for two things — that he never spoke a word too much, and but one too little." — Lloyd^s Worthies^ p. 46, 1650. At the period of More's history to which we have arrived, Wolsey had reached the highest pinnacle of power and glory to which a subject could aspire, and infinitely beyond that to which any subject in England had before attained. He was Archbishop of York, Bishop of Durham, Abbot of St. Alban's, Cardinal Legate a latere for life. Lord Chancellor of England, Prime Minister, Lord Keeper of the privy purse to the king, and Grand Almoner to the queen. And yet there was a still higher honor to which he had long aspired, and which would have placed him on a level with the potentates of the earth. But this very year witnessed his dis- appointment; on the 19th of November, 1524, his rival, Julio de Medici, was elected to the Popedom, by the unanimous voices of the conclave, under the title of Clement the Seventh. Desirous to secure 10* 114 SIR THOMAS MORE, the faith and affection of the English king, he early despatched an ambassador to London, who was the bearer of a magnificent present, which the chroni- clers vie with one another in describing. It was a consecrated rose, sent as a token to the king, and delivered to him after a solemn mass sung by the cardinal, on the festival of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin. It is described as a tree of fair gold, v/rought with branches, leaves, and flowers, in imitation of roses. It grew in a pot of gold, having gold dust instead of earth, and was sup- ported on an antique tripod of classic workmanship. The top rose was encircled by a sparkling sapphire loop, and the tree itself was about half a yard in height, and a foot in breadth. Fond as Henry was of magnificence, he was greatly flattered by this present — a feeling which was increased by the pope's sending him a confirmation of his title of Defender of the Faith. To Wolsey was sent a valuable ring, which the pontiff" took from his own hand, regretting that he could not himself have the satisfaction of placing it on the finger of his emi- nence. When we consider these demonstrations of ex- treme cordiality and afifection, and also take into account the jealousy with which the cardinal and his royal master regarded the progress of Luther's opinions, which, about this time had begun to in- fect the universities, and make an impression upon the people, nothing could appear more improbable, as far as human calculation is concerned, than that sudden and extraordinary revolution, which was so soon to change the destinies of England. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 115 CHAPTER V. 1525—1529. iSTAT. 50. THE DIVORCE — THE MISSION TO FRANCE- — MORE AS A CONTROVERSIALIST — THE SWEATING SICKNESS — EMBASSY TO THE NETHERLANDS. Origin and progress of the Divorce— More appointed Chancel- lor of the Duchy of Lancaster — Wolsey's mission to France, the secret object of which is the promotion of tlie divorce- More accompanies Wolseyin his journey — Description of the cavalcade and the cardinal's magnificence— His interview with Archbishop Warham and Bishop Fisher— His reception at Canterbury — His instructions to his attendants on reachifig Calais— His reception at Ami6ais by Francis the First— More and the rest of the suite introduced to the royal party — More returns with Wolsey to London — Devotes himself to contro- versy — His motives for so doing — Refutation of Tindall — Anecdotes— England visited by the Sweating Sickness— Its salutary effect upon the mind of the king — Anne Boleyn is sent from the court— The cardinal makes his will— Henry follows his example — The sickness attacks the family of More— His daughter Margaret in danger, and restored by the prayers of her father — The sickness ceases — Anne recalled to court — More proceeds on an embassy to the Netherlands — Anecdote— Family disaster on More's return— His letter to his wife on the occasion. As More's future hi&tory is closely connected with that disgraceful page in the English annals, the divorce of Henry the Eighth, it will, in passing, be necessary to glance at its progress. VVith the full and masterly exposure of this revolting affair in the pages of Dr. Lingard, the reader is no doubt familiar; it is a subject on which he has displayed even more than his ordinary keenness of research. We shall content ourselves with a simple reference to documents, and particularly to the new and in- teresting materials afforded by the publication of the " State Papers." 116 SIR THOMAS MORE, "Henry's licentious passions", we quote Sir J. Mackintosh, " by a sing^ular operation, recalled his mind to his theological studies, and especially to the question relating to the papal power of dispen- sing with the Levitical law, which must have been the subject of conversation at the time of his unusual, if not unprecedented, espousal of his bro- ther's widow. Scruples, at which he had once cursorily glanced as themes of discussion, now borrowed life and warmth from his passions. In the course of examining the question, his assent was likely at last to be allured into the service of desire. The question was, in itself, easily dispu- table:, it was one on which honest and skilful men differed; and it presented, to say the least, ample scope for self-delusion. His nature was more de- praved than lawless (if that word may be so used;) and it is possible that his passion might have yielded to other obstacles, if he had not at length persuaded himself, that, by means of a divorce, his gratifi- cation might be reconciled with the letter of the law. His conduct has the marks of that union of confidence and formality often observed in men, whose immorality receives treacherous aid from a mistaken conscience." Henry was aware that some objections had been formerly raised to his marriage with Catharine: but the question had been set at rest by the unanimous decision of his council; and nearly twenty years had elapsed without a suspicion of the lawfulness of their union. But, all of a sudden, the king was induced to reconsider this subject; a scruple of conscience came over the royal mind; it was fright- ful to think that he might be living- in a state of incest with the relict of his brother.* Tremblingly alive to these delicate apprehensions, he opened his * O my Wolsfty, Would it not grieve a husband's heart to leave So virtuous a spouse? But, conscience, conscience! — O, 'tis a tender place! and— I must leave her. Shakgfea r 15. — Hen ry VTJI. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 117 heart to Wolsey and others, from whom he was sure of receiving sound and wholesome advice. But does not the most unsuspicious of readers feel inchned to wonder at this sudden chang-e in the royal mindl and to think it no sin to question the entire purity of Henry's motives'? — The following facts may furnish him with some solution to the king's misgivings of conscience. In the service of the queen, and acting in capacity of one of her maids of honor, was a young lady of good family, remarkable for her accomplishments, and for the beauty of her person. Anne Boleyn had resided for several years in France, and had con- tracted many of the fashionable graces, not to say coquettishairs, of the French capital. These allure- ments were destined to prove fatal to Henry's honor as a husband and to his faith as a Catholic* The precise date of his adulterous attachment to Anne Boleyn is not well ascertained; but the fol- lowing items will serve as tolerably correct data. In 1525, when she filled the situation of one of the maids of honor to Queen Catherine, Percy, son to the Earl of Northumberland, made her an offer of marriage, and was-- received as a suitor. Wolsey was ordered to separate the lovers; and Northumberland, having severely chided the pre- sumption of his son, compelled him to marry Mary, a daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. This was probably the first hint that Anne received of the impression she had made on the king's heart: a valuable present of jewels revealed to her more fully the influence of her charms, to which she might also attribute the elevation of her father to the rank of Viscount Rochford.]- There also passed * It seeins the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience.— A^o, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. Shakspeare— ^ewry VITT t In IVicholass " Privy Purse Expenses of Henry VIII," are found ihe following curious entries of presents from the mo- narch to his mistress; 15-28. Purple velvet, and stuff for the use of Anne Boleyn. in 118 SIR THOMAS MORE, an active correspondence between the virtuous dam- sel and her married lover, and the admirers of such reading have lately been entertained by their pub- lication.* "Wolsey's ruling passion was state-intrigue, and his eye was immediately turned to the political consequences that would follow a divorce. Catha- rine once out of the way, he might bring about an alliance between Henry and the daughter of the French king, and this would favor the great ob- ject of his ambition, the elevation to the Papal throne. Imagine, therefore, his vexation and dis- appointment, when the astounding fact came to his knowledge of Henry's passion for Anne. He saw at a glance the power which the Boleyns and their connection would acquire, by the elevation of their young and beautiful relative. He threw himself on his knees before the king, and ear- nestly entreated him to desist from a purpose so unworthy of his birth. But a few moments' re- flection upon the temper of his impetuous master, made him hasten to atone for the indiscretion into which he had suffered himself to be betrayed. He at once became a convert to a measure which he could not avert, and labored by redoubled December of the same year, 1801. in money, no trifle at that period. 1529. In April, her servant receives a recompense for finding a hare; and, in May, the tailor and skinner are paid for her dresses. Another entry mentions bows and arrows pnrchased for her. In November, twenty yards of crimson satin are sent her; in December eight guineas for badger-skins, or furs; on the 21st of the same month, twenty shillings in silver; the follow- ing day, fine linen for her person, accompanied by five pounds. On the'i.Sd, five pounds more; on the 30th one hundred pounds as a New year's gift, &c. * It is a curious fact, that the autographs of these letters found their way to Rome, where they are still preserved among the MSS. of the Vatican. They were transcribed a few years since, and published in a number of the " Pamphleteer." A learned historian, the professed admirer and apologist of Henry VIII, has commented on these letters with a gravity, that sin- gularly contrasts with the revolting character of the subject. His devotion to the royal writer blinds him altogether to those indelicacies in these letters which have shocked the sensi- bilities of Dr Lingard and others.— See Sharon Turner's ^js<. of Henry Fill. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 1 19 activity and zeal to atone for the crime of having dared to dispute the pleasure of his sovereign. Knowing that More had given much of his atten- tion to theological studies, it is natural to conjecture that the king vi^ould be anxious for his opinion on his " secret matter," as it vi^as termed. The first revealings of this affair made to Sir Thomas are found in one of his letters to Cromwell. We will quote a part. " Upon a time, at my coming from beyond sea [from the embassy to the Netherlands,] I repaired as my duty was, to the king's grace, who was at that time at Hampton Court. While walking in the gallery with me, his highness suddenly brake with me on his great matter; and showed me, that it was now perceived, that his marriage was not only against the positive laws of the church and the written law of God, but also so far against the law of nature, that it could in no wise by the church be dispensable.* Now so it was, that be- fore my going over the sea, I had heard certain things moved against the bull of the dispensation, concerning the words in the Levitical law to prove the prohibition to be de jure divino. But yet, I thought at that time, that the greater hope of the matter stood in certain faults which were found in the bull, whereby the bull could not by law be sufficient. And such comfort was there in that point (as far as I perceived,) for a good season, that the counsel on the other side were fain to bring forth a brief, by which they pretended those defaults to be supplied. The truth of which brief was by the king's counsel suspected, and much diligence was afterwards used for the trial of that point. Wherein what was finally found, either I never knew, or else I remember not. "I rehearse you this, to the. intent you should know, that the first time I ever heard that point * Cresacre tells ns that a Dr. Stokely " found out this quirk," which proved a profitable one to him, as Henry afterwards gave him the bishopric of London. 120 SIR THOMAS MORE, moved, was, as I began to tell you, when the king's grace laid the Bible open before me, and read the words which moved his highness and divers other erudite persons so to think; and he asked me farther, what I myself thought thereon. At which time, not presuming to think that his highness would take that point as proved to my poor mind, in so great a matter, I nevertheless showed, as my duty was at his command, what I thought upon the words which I then read. Whereupon his highness accepting benignly my sudden unadvised answer, commanded me to commune further with Bishop Fox, now his grace's almoner, and to read with him a book which then was in making on that matter. "After which book read, and my poor opinion declared unto his highness thereon, like a prudent prince he assembled a good number of very well learned men, at Hampton Court. I heard that they agreed upon a certain form in which the book should he made, which was afterwards read at York place, in my lord Cardinal's chamber, in pre- sence of diverse bishops, and many learned men." Towards the close of this year died Sir Richard Wingfield, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, an important appointment under the crown; and the king, without any solicitation, bestowed the vacant office upon Sir Thomas. 1527. In the summer of this year, Wolsey pro- ceeded on his magnificent embassy to France, in which More and other officers of state were joined with him. The ostensible purpose of this mission was to conclude a treaty for the deliverance of Pope Clement VII., from captivity, and his resto- ration to the possessions of the church; but the secret object was to pave the way for the divorce. More, fortunately for him, was not made the de- positary of this state secret. Both Wolsey in his letters to the king, and his faithful secretary Cavendish have left us journals of this mission. We shall select from them such HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 121 items as will interest the reader, both as presenting pictures of the manners of the ag-e, and as enabling- him to trace the progress of that question, which involves so much of moment— the divorce. June 18. In the instructions given by the king- to Wolsey, relative to the mission, not a hint is dropped respecting the secret object of the journey. But we learn from a letter of Wolsey in reply to a mes- sage from the king, that something has transpired relative to the " secret matter," and that Henr)?- sus- pects Wolsey of disaffection, or, at all events, of in- discretion in regard to this delicate affair.* It is to be regretted that the letter is in a mutilated state; we will quote a part. " The message sent unto me this morning (.Tuly 1st) hath not a little troubled my mind, considering that your Highness should think or conjecture, upon such message as I sent unto your Highness by Master Sampson, that I should either doubt, or should abate in my zeal for your secret matter. For I take God to record, that there is nothing earthly that I covet so much, as the advancing thereof; not doubting, for any thing that I have heard in regard that this overture hath come to the queen's knowledge . . . than 1 have done before; and when he showed me that the queen was very stiff and obstinate; and that she desired counsel as well of your subjects as of strangers, I said, this device could never come of her, but of some that were learned; and these were the worst points that could be imagined, for the impeaching [hindering] of the matter: for . . . that she could resort to the coun- sel of strangers, or . . . she intended to make coun- sel of all the world, France except, as a party against it; wherefore, I think it convenient, till it were known what should succeed of the pope, and to ^scHYLUS, Prometheus. 'Tis a foul canker inbred in the heart Ot tyrants, to mistrust the friends who serve them. w. 11 122 SIR THOMAS MORE, what point the French king might be brought, yonr Grace should handle her both gently and doacely. At the reverence of God, sire, and most humbly prostrate at your feet, I beseech your Grace,- whatsoever report shall be made unto the same, to conceive no opinion of me, but that in this matter, and in all other things that may touch your honor and surety, 1 shall be as constant as any living crea- creature; not letting [relinquishing] for any danger, obloquy, displeasure, or persecution; yea, and if all fail and swerve, your Highness shall find me fast and constant, according to my most bounden duty; praying our Lord to preserve your most noble and royal estate, giving unto the same the accomplish- ment of your desires, to the attaining whereof I shall strike with your Highness usque ad mortem. At my palace beside Westminster, the first day of July, by your most humble chaplain. T. CAR>i= EBOR. July 3d. — Cavendish thus describes the first movements of the journey. " Then marched my lord cardinal forward out of his house at Westmin- ster, passing through all London, over London Bridge, having before him of gentlemen a great number, three in a rank, in black velvet livery coats, and the most part of them with great chains of gold about their necks. And all his yeomen, with noblemen's and gentlemen's servants followed him, in French tawny livery coats; having embroid- ered upon the backs and breasts of the said coats, these letters, T. and C, under the cardinal's hat. His sumpter-mules, which were twenty in number and more, with the carts an4 other carriages of his train, were passed on before, conducted and guarded with a great number of bows and spears. He rode like a cardinal, very suraptously, on a mule trapped with crimson velvet upon velvet, and his stirrups of copper and gilt; and his spare mule following him with like apparel, *^ and before him he had his * It was the usage of the age for the dignitaries of the church His LIFE AND TIiVIES. 123 two great crosses of silver, two great pillars of sil- ver, the ^reat seal of England, his cardinal's hat, and a gentleman that carried his vallaunce, (other- wise called a cloak bag,) which was made altoge- ther of fine scarlet cloth of gold, very richly, having therein a cloak of fine scarlet. Thus passed he through London, and all the way on his journey, having his harbingers passing before^ to provide lodging for his train." The cavalcade halted the first night at Sir John Wiltshire's, two miles beyond Dartford. Wolsey states in his letter to the king, written from that place, that " he had met there my lord of Canterbury (War- ham;) with whom after communication had of your secret matter, and such other things as have been hitherto done therein, I showed him how the know- ledge thereof is come to the queen's grace, and how displeasantly she taketh it, and what your highness had done for the staying and pacification of her; de- claring unto her, that your grace had hitherto nothing intended nor done, but only for the searching and trying out of the truth, proceeding upo?i occasion given by the French party ^ and doubts moved therein by the Bishop of Tarbes.* Which fashion liked my Lord of Canterbury very well. And noting his countenance, gesture, and manner,f although he somewhat marvelled how the queen should come to the knowledge thereof, and by whom; thinking that 3^our grace might constrain and cause her to show the discoverers thereofto your highness: yet, as I perceive, to ride on mules, it being esteemed ni)bf>comiTiartial judge." In conclusion, the pontiff exhorted him, that, as he re- garded the favor of the Holy See, and tendered his own salvation, he would amend his ways, recall his injured queen, and dismiss her rival from his inti- mate and domestic conversation. But Henry was too far blinded by his impure passion, to listen to the counsels of this paternal let- ter. On the contrary, by awakening the fury of the woman, whose conduct was stigmatised, it only served to precipitate the measures that finally sepa- rated England from the communion of the Holy See. It is plain from the king's letters to Anne, that though her conduct had, in many instances been very equivocal, she had till now the reputation of a modest woman: old Fuller's expression is, that " she was cunning in her chastity." But in a letter of the Bishop of Bayonne of the ISth June follow- ing, we read, " 1 think, that for some time past, the king and Mademoiselle Anne have been more than usually intimate; the ministers must hasten mat- ters here, or certain signs of this intimacy, which it will be impossible to conceal, may spoil every thing." It is curious to hear how the court-historian tells the story: " The Emperor," says Hall, " soon grudged that the queen should be divorced; and surely, the most part of the lay-people of England, which knew not the law of God, sore murmured at the matter: and much the more, because there was a gentlewonnan in the court, called Anne Boleyn, whom the king much favored, in all honesty^ and HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 153 surely none otherwise, as all the world well knew after. For this cause, the queen's ladies, gentle- women, and servants largely spake, and said that she so enticed the king, and brought him into such amours, that only for her sake and occasion he would be divorced from the queen. This was the foolish communication of people, contrary to the truth." (CAromc/e, p. 759.) Old Hall felt that he had an awkward task to perform, and he who is proverbially prolix on every other occasion, is wonderously brief on this. Bre- vity, they say, is the soul of wit, and so it may be of policy too, thought the wary Master Hall. In the meantime. Gardener, the king's envoy had been recalled from Rome, and a license was issued, empowering the legates to execute their commission. The legap'tine court was opened on the 18th of June, and on the ^Ist, the king and queen were summoned to appear. The latter obeyed, but protested against the judges, and appealed to the pope. At the next session, Henry sat in state on the right of the cardinals, and ariswered in due form to his name. Catharine was on their left: and, as soon as she was called, rising from her chair, renewed her protest on three grounds: because she was a stranger; because her judges held benefices in the realm, the gift of her adversary; and because she had good reason to believe, that justice could not be obtained in a court constituted like the pre- sent. On the refusal of the cardinals to admit her appeal, she rose a second time, crossed over before them, accompanied by her maids, threw herself at the king's feet, and thus addressed him in broken English: — " Sir, I beseech you for the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and right; take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a stranger, born out of your dominions. I have here no assured friend, much less impartial counsel; and I flee to you, as to the head of justice within this realm. Alas! Sir, wherein have T oifended you, or 154 SIR THOMAS MORE, what occasion given you of displeasure] Have I ever planned aught against your will and pleasure, that you should put me from you] I take God and all the world to witness, that I have been to you a true, humble, and obedient wife, ever conformable to your will and pleasure. Nor have I said or done aught contrary thereto, being always well-pleased and contented with all things wherein you had de- light, whether it were in little or much; neither did I ever grudge in word or countenance, or show in visage a spark of discontent. I loved all those whom you loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, whether they were my friends or mine enemies. These twenty years I have been your true wife, and by me ye have had diverse children, although, saving my daughter, it hath pleased God to call them out of this world: and when ye mar- ried me, I take God to be my judge, that I was a true maid; and whether that be true or not, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me, either of dis- honesty or any other impediment sufficient to ban- ish and put me from you, I am contented to depart, albeit to my great shame and dishonor; and if there be none, then here I most lowlily beseech you, let me remain in my former estate, and receive justice at your hands. The king, your father, was in the time of his reign, of such estimation through the world for his excellent wisdom, that he was called by all men, the second Solomon; and my father, Ferdinand of Spain, was esteemed one of the wisest princes that, for many years, had reigned in Spain. It is not, therefore, to be doubted, but that they elected as wise counsellors about them as to their high discretion was thought meet. Also, as me seemeth, there were in those days, as wise, as learned and judicious men, as be at this present, who then thought the marriage between you and me good and lawful; therefore, it is a wonder to hear that new inventions are brought up against me, who never intended aught but honesty. Ye HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 155 cause me to stand to the order and judgment of this new court, wherein ye may do much wrong, if ye intend any cruelty; for ye may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, having no impartial advis- ers but such as be assigned me, with whose wdsdom and learning I am not acquainted. Ye must con- sider that they who be your subjects cannot be im- partial counsellors for my part: they have been chosen out of your own council; they have been made privy to your deliberations; and they dare not, for fear of you, disobey your will, or oppose your intentions. Therefore, most humbly do I require you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, who is the Just Judge, to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I learn what way my friends in Spain may advise me to take: but, if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favor, your plea- sure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause." Having spoken thus, the queen burst into tears; and instead of returning to her seat, walked out of court, having first made a low obeisance to the king. An officer was commanded to recall her, and he again summoned her loudly. " Madame," said her receiver-general, on whose arm she leaned, "ye are again called." "• Go on," said she, " 1 hear it very well: but this is no court wherein I can have j ustice — proceed therefore." She then left the hall, and never again could be persuaded to make her appearance there, either personally or by proxy. This pathetic appeal, delivered with humility, and yet in the spirit of conscious innocence, made a deep impression on all present. Henry perceived this, and he took occasion to extol the queen in high terms, declaring that she had ever been a de- voted and dutiful wife. In this commendation the monarch seems to have forgotten, that, only a short time before, in a complaint made to the privy-coun- cil, he had declared, that from the manner in which Catharine had lately conducted herself, he believed she hated him, and that his counsellors, thinking 156 SIR THOMAS MORE, his life was in danger, had advised him to with- draw himself entirely from her company.* " Whereas, a pure mind in a chaste body, is the mother of wisdom and deliberation, of sober counsels and ingenuous actions, of open deportment and sweet carriage, of sincere principles and unprejudiced un- derstanding; uncleanness, on the contrary, is the parent of these monsters— blindness of mind, in- consideration, precipitancy or giddiness in actions, timidity and poorness of spirit, and of unkindly arts and stratagems to hide crime, which do nothing but increase it." — Jeremy Taylor. During the whole of these discussions More acted with becoming prudence and reserve. He says in the letter to Crumwell, which we have al- ready cited; " During the whole time the legates sat upon the matter, I never meddled therewith, nor was it meet so to do; for the matter was in hand by an ordinary process of the spiritual law, whereof I had little skill." And he appears to congratulate himself on the circumstance, that, '^ while yet the legates were sitting upon the matter, it pleased the king's highness to send me, in the company of my lord of London, now of Durham, in an embassy to Cambray, about the peace, which, at our being there was concluded between his highness and the French king." It is evident that Sir Thomas looked upon this as a lucky escape; for immediately on his return home, he was again annoyed by the king upon this noisome affair. In some of the sittings of the court, the discussions were carried on with considerable warmth. Wolsey having observed that the point was doubtful, and that no man could know the truth — "Yes," said the Bishop of Rochester, " I for one know the truth." " You know the truth?" said my lord Cardinal. "Forsooth, my lord," said he, " I know that God is Truth itself, and He hath said; what God hath joined, let no man put asunder." "Yes," said * See Burnet, vol. i. p. 113. MIS LIFE AND TIME8. 157 Doctor Ridley, '' it is a shame and a oreat disgrace to this honorable presence, that any allegations like these should be made in this open court, which to all good and hqnest men are detestable to be re- hearsed." '* So, so," said my lord Cardinal, " Bomine Dndur, magis reverenter — more reverently, good Doctor, by your leave." — " No, no, my lord," added he, "there belongeth no reverence to these abominable presumptions against the express words of Christ: an irreverent tale may be irreverently an- swered." " And then," says Cavendish, they left, and proceeded no farther at that time. When the cardinal took his barge with the Bishop of Carlisle, on his way back to Westminster, the bishop said to him, wiping the perspiration from his face, " my lord, the day is very hot." "Yea," quoth my lord cardinal, "if ye had been as well chafed, as 1 have been within this hour, ye would say it was very hot!" According to our notions of things, Anne Boleyn must have had tolerably strong nerves of her own, for Hall informs us, that she was present in the court, and sat out all these proceedings. And yet we can readily believe the fact, when we recollect her subsequent conduct on the news of Catharine's death being brought her; while Henry shed tears to her memory and ordered his household to wear mourning, she dressed herself in some of her gayest robes of yellow silk, and openly proclaimed her joy at being fairly rid of her rival. But ere six short months had elapsed, these yellow robes were to be tinged with a deeper dye. On the 23d of July, the court held its last session; and as a decision in favor of the king was anticipated, the hall was crowded. Henry himself was present, but concealed behind the hangings, where he could hear all that passed. When the cardinals had taken their seats, his majesty's counsel demanded judgment. But Campeggio replied: that judgment must be deferred till the whole of the proceedings had been laid before the sovereign pontiff, and for that purpose he pronounced the court adjourned to 14 158 SIR THOMAS MORE, the commencement of tke next term, in the begin- ning of October. This announcement produced a great sensation in the court, and the reader can easily imagine what were the feelings of the per- sonage behind the arras. Sympathising in his morti- fication, the Duke of Suffolk started from his seat, and striking the table, exclaimed with vehemence; " That never had they been merry in England, since a cardinal came among them!" Though Wolsey was aware of the risk he incurred of offending the roy- alty behind the curtain, yet he could not suffer this personal insult to pass unnoticed. Rising with dig- nity, he, with consummate address, uttered these words, which contain at once a spirited rebuke against Suffolk, and an apology for his ov/n con- duct. " Sir, of all men within this realm, ye have the-least reason to dispraise cardinals; for, but for me, simple cardinal as I am, you at this moment would have had no head upon your shoulders, and no tongue within your lips to make such a brag in dis- repute of us, w^ho intended you no manner of dis- pleasure. Know^ you, then, proud lord, that I, and my brother here, will give place neither to you nor to any other in honorable intentions to the king, and a desire to accomplish his lawful wishes. Bethink ye, my lord, were ye the king's commissioner in a foreign country, having a weighty matter to treat upon, would you venture to decide without first con- sulting your sovereign] Doubtless ye would con- sult, and right carefully too; and, therefore, I advise you to banish all hasty malice, and consider that we here are nothing but commissioners for a time; and dare not proceed to judgment without the know- ledge of our supreme head. It is for this cause that we do no more nor less than our commission allow- eth. Therefore, my lord, take my counsel; hold your peace, pacify yourself, and frame your words like a man of honor and of wisdom. Ye know best what friendship ye have received at my hands, and which I never before this time revealed to any one alive, either to my own glory, or to your dishonor." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 159 Suffolk, by his silence, seems to have acknowledged the truth of these secret circumstances to which the cardinal alluded, and the court broke up without further interruption. A letter from Secretary Gardiner to Wolsey, dated early in September, will show the nervous state of solicitude in which the king lived at this period. " And whereas your grace at the end of your let- ter, writeth that ye have certain things to show to the king's highness, which your grace thinketh not convenient to be committed to writing; 1 assure your grace, that at the reading thereof, his highness seemed altered and moved. Whereupon, as being troubled for the desire of further knowledge, and vainly conjecturing what it is that your grace doth not think convenient to be put into writing, the roads being sure, and without fear of interruption, and his highness knowing that your grace is not wont to spare any labors or pains in writing, when the case so requireth. Musing, and marvelling, therefore, more and more what the matter should be, he willed me with all diligence to despatch his grace's servant Curson, this bearer, with these let- ters to your grace, to desire you incontinently [di- rectly] to signify to the same the caput rei — the heads of the matters which your grace meaneth." He concludes by repeating his request, that he would send him "' the sumrtium et effectum, the head and bearing of your gracious mind, to the intent his highness may somewhat quiet his mind and cogi- tation, and muse no further than needs, upon occa- sion of the obscure words at the end of your grace's letter." In September Campeggio prepared for his de- parture, leaving the affair of the divorce in much the same position as when he came. Henry's pa- tience w^as worn out, his mistress was ready at hand to foster the growing discontent, and the un- successful negotiator with Rome was destined to bear the whole weight of the king's disappointment; 160 HlR THOMAS MURE, and that, with Henry, was hut another word for ruin and disgrace. The symptoms of Wolsey's approachr ing fall were evident to every one hut himself, for he trusted the hollow professions of men, who, though they had served him faithfully in his pros- perity, were ready to hetray his confidence in his declining fortunes. " I see," says the Bishop of Bayonne, '•'that he confides in certain persons, who were the creatures of his hand, but who, I feel as- sured, have turned their backs upon him; and the worst of the business is, that he is unaware of all that is passing." But his greatest cause for fear, were the arts of a woman, whom we have just seen so solemnly assuring him that her gratitude ' should last unfeignedly during her life." An occasion Soon presented itself for Anne to weigh her influence with his, and his scale " kicked the beam." For some offence, Wolsey had driven Sir Thomas. Cheney from court; he appealed to the king's mistress, and Henry reprimanded the cardinal, and recalled the exile. She now no longer disguised her hostility; and eagerly seconded the Dukes of Nor- folk and Suffolk, and her father the Viscount Roch- ford, in their united efforts to precipitate the car- dinal's downfall. We learn from the Bishop of Bayonne that they had other motives, more sub- stantia] than merely their hatred to Wolsey; " The object of these noblemen is, that, when the minister is out of the way, or dead, to seize immediately upon the estates of the church — they talk of this freely over their cups. 1 fancy they will play up aline game when he is gone." Previous to Campeggio's departure, he went, ac- companied by Wolsey, to Grafton in Northhamp- tonshire, to take his leave of the king. Then it was that the cardinal's pride and hopes received their deathblow. On reaching the country seat where Henry was staying, being then on a progress with his mistress, Campeggio was immediately conducted to an apartment prepared for him, while Wolsey had the mortification to learn that no orders for his HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 161 accommodation had been given. Sir Henry Norris, pitying his embarrassment, entreated him to make use of his room, where he learned from some of his friends the secret of the king's displeasure. Short- ly after, he was summoned to the presence cham- ber. The meeting is thus admirably described by Cavendish. '' At this time, the chamber was filled with noblemen who were only intent on observing the countenance of the king and him, and what re- ception he would give him. Immediately after came the king into the chamber, and standing under the cloth of state, my lord kneeled down before him, who took my lord by the hand, and so did he the other cardinal. Then he took up my lord by both arms, and caused him to stand with as amia- ble a cheer as ever he did. He then called him aside, and led him by the hand to a great window, where he talked with him, and caused him to be covered. Then," continues this minute observer, " could you have beheld the countenances of those who had made their wagers to the contrary, it would have made you smile; and thus were they all deceived, as well worthy for their presump- tion." Yet, though the courtiers lost their wagers, it was but a gleam of favor; and Wolsey soon dis- covered that the star of his high fortunes had set for ever. It was observed that Henry used angry words; and he was seen to pluck a letter from his bosom, and hold it up to the cardinal's face, as if demanding whether he could deny his hand-writing. The accused minister seemed to pacify him for the moment, and the conference ended with apparent courtesy on the part of the monarch. Ontakingleave, he requested him to return the followingmorning; but the king dined that same day with Anne Boleyn in her chamber, and her influence was irresistible. She took upon her to be offended at the cordial re- ception which Wolsey had obtained; painted him in the worst colors to Henry, and dwelt with pecu- liar bitterness upon the delays which he had occa- 14* 162 SIR THOMAS MORE, sioned in the progress of the divorce. Henry was too much infatuated by his criminal passion, to use his better judgment; and before he rose from table, to use the Bishop of Bayonne's words; " Mademoi- selle de Boulan had extorted a promise from her friend, that he would never more speak to Wolsey." This promise he faithfully kept, and he never again beheld the face of his old friend and adviser. When Wolsey next morning presented himself at the appointed time, he had the mortification to learn that the royal cavalcade had departed an hour earlier than had been arranged the evening previ- ous, evidently with a view to balk him of his in- tended audience with the king. Henry and Anne had gone to spend the day at Harewell Park, and did not return home till the cardinal, in consequence of a hint which he had received, had departed for London. This however was but the beginning of sorrows. On his return, twobills were filed against him in the Court of King's Bench, by which it was ultimately decided, "ThatCardinal Wolsey was out of the king's protec- tion, his lands, goods, and chattels forfeited, and that his person might be seized." On the same day, it was intimated to him that the king meant to take up his residence at York-place, and that he might retire to Esher, a seat belonging to the bishopric of Win- chester. That the very name of the Cardinal of York might, as far as possible, be obliterated. Hall informs us, that " the name of the place was changed; it was called the King's Manor of West- minster, and no longer York-Place." Is not the hand of Mademoiselle Anne visible here too] These combined mortifications plunged the poor cardinal into despair. He knew the stern temper of his prosecutor, and all that he had to dread from the ill-omened " night bird" — to use his own expres- sion, that possessed the royal ear. He resigned the seals to the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, and transferred by deed his whole personal estate, which HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 163 was valued at 500,000 crowns, to the king. Every resource of malice had been exhausted to add to his mortification. The news of his disgrace had been officiously circulated through the metropolis, so that on entering his barge, he was surprised to behold the Thames covered with boats, and lined with spectators. Both the courtiers and the citizens had crowded together to behold his arrest and com- mitment to the tower: but he disappointed their curiosity and their hopes, and landed at Putney, on ascending the hill near which place occurred the scene we have before had occasion to describe. {See above p. 73.) Among the lessons which history has taught to the pride of our nature, there are few more humbling than that of the latter days of Wolsey. Though it carries us somewhat from the course of our nar- rative, the reader who has gazed on this extraordi- nary man in the zenith of his greatness, will be anxious to know how he comported himself in his state of destitution — for, to the shame of his perse- cutors be it spoken, to such a state was he reduced. Hear what he says in a letter to Bishop Gardiner. "My house is in decay, and with every thing mete for household unprovided and unfurnished. 1 have not apparel for my house, nor money to bring me thither [to York,] nor to live with till the pro- pitious time of the year shall come to remove thither. These things considered, Mr. Secretary, must needs make me in agony and heaviness; mine age therewith and sickness considered. Alas! Mr. Secretary, you, with other my lords, showed me that I should be otherwise furnished and seen unto. And if ye would please to show this to the king, it is not to be doubted but his highness would have consideration and compassion, augmenting my liv- ing, and appointing such things as should be con- venient for my furniture; which to do, shall be to the king's high honor, merit, and discharge of con- science; and to you great praise for the bringing of the same to pass, for your old bringer-up and loving IG4 SIR THOMAS MORE, friend. This kindness from the king's highness shall prolong rny life some little while, though it shall not be long. Remember, good Mr. Secretary, my poor degree, and what service I have done: and how, now approaching to death, I have to begin the world again. I beseech you, therefore, moved with pity and compassion, succor me in this my calamity, and to your power, which I know is great, relieve me; and I, with all mine, shall not only ascribe this my relief to you, but also pray God for the increase of your honor. And as my power shall increase, so i shall not fail to requite your kindness.* Writ- ten hastily at Esher, with the rude and shaking hand of your daily bedesman and assured friend." In a letter to Cromwell, of nearly the same date he says: " If his majesty, considering the little time that I have to live here in this world, by reason of such heaviness as I have conceived in my heart, with the meanness and -decay of the old house, would that I may have some convenient pension, such as the king's highness of his noble charity shall tliink mete. God is my judge, that I have no desire for tiie mire of this world, for, at this hour, I set no more by the riches and promotions of this world, than by the dust under my feet; but only for the declaration of the king's honor and high charity, and to have wherewith to do good deeds, and to help my poor servants and kinsfolk. At the reverence, therefore, of God, my own good Mr. Secretary, and my refuge, now set to your hand that I may come to a laudable end and repose, see- ing that I may be furnished after such a sort and manner, that I may end my short time and life to the honor of Christ's church, and of the prince. Written at Esher, with the trembling hand and heavy heart of your assiti-ed lover and bedesman." The Bishop of Bayonne, in a letter to the French minister in Paris, thus describes his visit to the fal- * In this little trait, we see the ruling passion of the ex- minister strong to the last. In his veriest destitution, the courtier breaks forth as active as ever. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 165 len cardinal. " I have been to visit Wolsey in his dis- tress, and have witnessed the most striking change of fortune. He detailed to me his hard case in the worst rhetoric that was ever heard. Both his tongne and his heart failed him. He recommended himself to the pity of the king- and Madame (Fran- cis I., and his mother,) with a world of sighs and tears: but, after all, there was nothing he said near so moving as his look and appearance. His face is dwindled to one half of its natural size. In truth his misery is such, that his enemies, English- men as they are, cannot help pitying him. They seem determined to carry things to extremities. As for his legation, the seals, his authority, &c., he thinks no more of them. He is willing to give up every thing, even the very shirt from his back, and to end his days in a hermitage, would but the king desist from his displeasure." He says in another place; " I see no hope for the cardinal; the Duke of Norfolk is chief of the council, and in his absence Suffolk, and above all, Madaraoiselle Anne rules the cabinet."* "Greatness," said Sir Thomas Overbury, half a century later, " comes not down by the same way it went up: the distance between the highest and the lowest fortune being often so very small a thing!" " The sudden and violent fall of a man from the pinnacle of greatness to an unexpected grave, is one of those tragic scenes in human affairs, which has a power over the heart, even when unaided by esteem; and often reflects back on his life an unmerited interest, which, though inspired by the * Cresacre speaks out in the honest simplicity of his day. " To what a strange pass v/as King Henry brought by doatiiig on Anne Boleyn! and yet, God knows, she had no qualities whereof he should so doat upon her. as evidently appeared when, for foul matters, he after a short time cut off her head, and proclaimed himself in open parliament to be a cuckold. This he never had been, if he had krpt himself to his first vir tuous Clueen, Catharine:" and he feelingly adds, " we see and feel these miseries as yet." 166 SIR THOMAS MORE, downfall, is in some degree transferred to the fallen individual." — Sir J. Mackintosh. To appoint a successor to Wolsey in the Chan- cery, was an object of great importance; and, after some deliberation, this important and responsible office was conferred upon Sir Thomas More. The Duke of Norfolk became president of the cabinet, and the Duke of Suffolk, earl marshal; Sir Wil- liam Fitzwilliam received the appointments that More had held, and Dr. Stephen Gardiner was made secretary to the king: Anne Boleyn's father, soon after created Earl of Wiltshire, retained his former place. "It may justly excite surprise," observes Dr. Lingard, " that More should accept this dangerous office. With a delicate conscience, and a strong sense of duty, he was not a fit associate for less timorous colleagues: the difficulties, which, in the course of two years, compelled him to retire from court, must, even now, have stared him in the face: and it was still in his power to avoid, but uncertain if he could weather the storm." Had the following passage from a letter of More to Dr. Wilson been present to the historian's mind at the time he wrote the above, we think he would have somewhat qua- lified the passage. More says, that, on entering upon office, " no other commandment had I ever of his grace in good faith, saving that this knot his highness added thereto, that I should therein look first uato God, and after God unto him; which word was also the first lesson that his grace gave me what time I first came into his noble service, and neither a more indifferent commandment, nor a more gracious lesson could ever king, in my mind, give his counsellor, or any his other servant." Ilastell has the following reflection upon this sub- ject: " When we consider that Wolsey never truly loved him, nor that the king could conceive any great hope that he would be corrupted to speak against what was good and just, it was strange to see More thus advanced. It was, doubtless, the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 167 providence of God that so appointed it, that so great a light should not be concealed under a bushel, but shine to all within the house." The particulars of his instalment are not unworthy of being specified as a proof of the reverence for his endowments and excellences professed by the king, and entertained by the public, to whose judgment the ministers of Henry seemed virtually to appeal, with an assurance that the king's appointment would be ratified by the general voice.* " He was led between the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk up Westminster Hall to the Stone Chamber, and there they honorably placed him in the high judgment- seat of chancellor" (for the chancellor was, by his office, the president of that terrible tribunal). " The Duke of Norfolk, by the command of the king, spoke thus unto the people there with great applause and joy gathered together y'\ ■^ It is rare to detect an inaccuracy in LinRarfl; Hume and others have led him into the following: "There were few in- ptances in which the seals had been entrusted to any but dii.f- iiified churchman, none in wliich they had been given to a simple kni^fht. On this account, he was accompanied to the star- chamber, by a crowd of bishops and noblemen,, and the Duke of INorfolk conducting him to his seat, pronounced an eulogium on his talents and virtues, &c." 'J'he following instances where simple knights have been ho- nored with the chancellorship, are upon record. In IGth of IViward 3d, A. D. 1342, Sir Robert Bourchier, knight, was made chancellor. In ]373, the same monarch rais- ed 8ir Robert de Thorp, knighl, to the same office. In ]370, Rfchard li. made Sir Richard de la Scrope, chancellor. In 1383, Sir iMichael de la Pole had the great seal delivered to him by the same monarch. In 1410, iii the reign of Henry IV., Sir Thomas Beaufort, knight, was rnade lord chancellor. t This joy app>'ars to have been general, with the exception of certain spirits soured by the German leaven, which they had brought with them from over the water. iN'orethus speaks of the leader of the party, who was his great opponent: " TyndaM was fain to make a show of his high worldly wit, and that men should see that there was nothing done among princes, but he was fully advertised of all ti)eir secrets. Thus he would have it known that he wasii;fovmed of the private dealings between the king's highness, and the late lord cardinal, and the Reverend father Cuthbert, then Bishop of London, and myself, that it was wittly devised that the cardinal should leave the chancellorship to me, and the bishopric of Durham to my said lord of London, for a while, till he list himself to take them both again. Was not this a wily devise, trow ye?" 168 SIR THOMAS MORE, "The king's majesty (which I pray God, may prove happy and fortunate to the whole realm of England) hath raised to the most hi^h dignity of chancellorship sir Thomas More, a man for his ex- traordinary worth and sufficiency well known to him- self and the whole realm, for no other cause or earthly respect, but for that he hath plainly perceiv- ed all the gifts of nature and grace to be heaped upon him, which either the people could desire, or himself wish, for the discharge of so great an office. For the admirable wisdom, integrity, and innocency, joined with most pleasant facility of wit, that this man is endowed withall, have been sufficiently known to all Englishmen from his youth, and for these many years also to the king's majesty himself. This hath the king abundantly found in many and weighty affairs, which he hath happily despatched both at home and abroad; in diverse offices which be hath borne, in most honorable embassages which he hath undergone; and in his daily counsel and advice upon all other occasions. He hath perceived no man in his realm to be more wise in deliberating, more sincere in opening to him what he thought, nor more eloquent to adorn the matter which he ut- tered. Wherefore, because he saw in him such ex- cellent endowments, and that of his especial care he hath a particular desire that his kingdom and peo- ple might be governed with all equity and justice, in- tegrity and wisdom; he of his own most gracious disposition hath created this singular man lord chan- cellor; that, by his laudable performance of this office, his people may enjoy peace and justice; and honor also and fame may rebound to the whole kingdom. It may perhaps seem to many a strange and unusual matter, that this dignity should be be- stowed upon a laymen, none of the nobility, and one that hath wife and children; because heretofore none but singular learned prelates, or men of great- est nobility, have possessed this place; but what is wanting in these respects, the admirable virtues, the matchless gifts of wit and wisdom of this man doth HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 169 most plentifully recompense the same. For the king's majesty hath not regarded how great, hut what a man he was; he hath not cast his eyes upon the nobility of his blood, but on the worth of his person; he hath respected his sufficiency, not his profession; finally, he would show by this his choice, that he hath some rare subjects amongst the ranks of gentlemen and laymen, who deserve to manage the highest offices of the realm, which bishops and noblemen think they only can de- serve. The rarer therefore it was, so much both himself held it to be the more excellent, and to his people he thought it would be the more grateful. Wherefore, receive this your chancellor with, joyful acclamations, at whose hands you may expect all happiness and content." " Sir Thomas More, according to his wonted mo- desty, was somewhat abashed at this the duke's speech, in that it sounded so much to his praise; but recollecting himself, as place and time would give him leave, he answered in this sort: — ' Al- though most noble duke, and you, right honorable lords, and worshipful gentlemen, I know all these things, which the king's majesty, it seemeth, hath been pleased should be spoken of me at this time and place, and your grace hath with most eloquent words thus amplified, are as far from me, as I could wish with all my heart they were in me, for the bet- ter performance of so great a charge; and although this your speech hath caused in me greater fear than I can well express in words; yet this incom- parable favor of my dread sovereign, by which he showeth how well, yea how highly he conceiveth of my weakness, having commanded that my mean- ness should be so greatly commended, cannot be but most acceptable unto me: and I cannot choose but give your most noble grace exceeding thanks, that what his majesty hath willed you briefly to ut- ter, you, of the abundance of your love unto me, have in a large and eloquent oration dilated. As for myself, I can take it no otherwise, but that his 15 170 SIR THOMAS MORE, majesty's incomparable favor towards me, the good will and incredible propension of his royal mind (wherewith he hath these many years favored me continually), hath alone, without any desert of mine at all, caused both this my new honor, and these your undeserved commendations of me. For who am I, or what is the house of my father, that the king's highness should heap upon me, by such a per- petual stream of affection, these so high honors'? I am far less than any the meanest of his benefits be- stowed on me; how can I then think myself worthy or fit for this so peerless a dignity] I have been drawn by force, as the king's majesty often profes- seth, to his highness's service, to be a courtier; and to take this dignity upon me, is most of all against my will. Yet such is his highness's benignity, such is his bounty, that he highly esteemelh the small dutifulness of his meanest subjects, and seeketh still magnificently to recompense his servants; not only such as deserve well, but even such as have but a desire to deserve well at his hands, in which number I have always wished myself to be, reckoned, be- cause I cannot challenge myself to be one of the former. This being so, you may all perceive with me how great a burden is laid upon my back; in that I must strive in some sort with my diligence and duty to correspond with his royal benevolence, and to be answerable to that great expectation, which he and you seem to have of me; wherefore, those so high praises are so much more grievous unto me, by how much more 1 know the greater charge I have to render myself worthy of, and the fewer means I have to make them good. This weight is hardly suitable to my weak shoulders; this honor is not correspondent to my poor desert: it is a bur- den, not a glory; a care, not a dignity; the one there- fore I must bear as manfully as I can, and discharge the other with as much dexterity as I shall be able. The earnest desire which I have always had, and do now acknowledge myself to have, to satisfy by all the means I possibly can, the most ample benefits of his highness, will greatly excite and aid me to the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 171 diligent performance of all, which I trust also I shall be more able to do, if I find all your good wills and wishes both favorable unto me, and conform- able to his royal munificence; because my serious endeavors to do well, joined with your favorable acceptance, will easily procure that whatsover is performed by me, though it be in itself but small, yet it will seem great and praiseworthy; for those things are always achieved happily, which are ac- cepted willingly; and those succeed fortunately, which are received by others courteously. As you, therefore, hope for great matters and the best at ray hands, so, though I dare not promise any such, yet do I promise truly and affectionately to perform the best I shall be able." When Sir Thomas More had spoken these words, turning his face to the high judgment seat of the Chancery, he proceeded in this manner: — ' But when I look upon this seat, when I think how great and what kind of personages have possessed this place before me, when I call to mind who he was that sate in it last of all — a man of what singular wisdom, of what notable experience, what a prosperous and favorable fortune he had for a great space, and how at the last he had a most grievous fall and died in- glorious — I have cause enough, by my predecessor's example, to think honor but slippery, and this dig- nity not so grateful to me as it may seem to others; for both is it a hard matter to follow with like paces or praises, a man of such admirable wit, prudence, authority, and splendor, to whom I may seem but as the lighting of a candle when the sun is down; and also the sudden and unexpected fall of so great a man as he was, doth terribly put me in mind that this honor ought not to please me too much, nor the lus- tre of his glittering seat dazzle mine eyes. Where- fore I ascend this seat as a place full of labor and danger, void of all solid and true honor; the which by how much the higher it is, so much the great- er fall I have to fear, as well in respect of the very nature of the thing itself, as because I am 172 SIR THOMAS MORE, warned by this late fearful example. And truly I might even now, at this very entrance, stumble, yea faint, but that his majesty's most singular favor towards me,' and all your good wills, which your joyful countenance doth testify in this most honor- able assembly, do somewhat recreate and refresh me; otherwise this seat would be no more pleasing to me, than that sword v/as to Damocles, which hung over his head, tied only by a horse-hair when he had store of delicate fare before him, seated in the chair of state of Dionysius the Tyrant of Si- cily. This therefore shall always be fresh in my mind, this will I have still before mine eyes, that this seat will be honorable, famous, and full of glory unto me, if I shall with care and diligence, fidelity and wisdom, endeavor to do my duty, and shall per- suade myself that the enjoying thereof may be but short and uncertain: the former my labor ought to perform; the latter my predecessor's example may easily teach me. All which being so, you may easily perceive whether I take a greater pleasure in this high dignity, or in this most noble duke's prais- ing of me." " And as they had before charged him," adds Roper, " on the king's behalf, uprightly to admi- nister justice to the people, without corruption or partiality; so did he likewise charge them again, that, if they at any time saw him in any respect digress from any part of his duty in that honorable office, even as they would discharge their own duty and fidelity to God and the king, so should they not fail to disclose it to his grace, who might otherwise have just occasion to lay his faults wholly to their charge." When it is recollected that this speech was deli- vered extempore, and upon that difficult subject a man's self, it is impossible to withhold our admira- tion. There is something striking in the anticipa- tions in the closing part of it, that he should not long enjoy his dangerous pre-eminence. " All the world now took notice of Sir Thomas's HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 173 dignity, whereof Erasmus writetii to John Fab ius, bishop of Vienna, thus: — ' Concerning the new in- crease of honor lately happened to Thomas More, 1 should easily make you believe it, were I to show you the letters of many famous men, rejoicing with much alacrity, and congratulating the king, the realm, himself, and also me, for More's honor, in being made lord chancellor of England.' " When Sir Thomas More was seated in the court of chancery, his father. Sir John More, who was nearly of the age of ninety, was the most ancient judge of the king's bench. " What a grateful spectacle was it," says their descendant, " to see the son ask the blessing of the father every day upon his knees, before he sat upon his own seat!" Even in a more unceremonious age, the simple character of More would have protected these daily rites of jEilial reverence from the suspicion of affectation, which could alone destroy their charm. But at that time, it must have borrowed its chief power from the con- spicuous excellence of the father and son. For if, as Sir J. Mackintosh remarks, inward worth had then borne any proportion to the grave and reverend cere- monial of the age, we might be well warranted in re- garding our forefathers as a race of superior beings.* * In relating this anecdote, Slaplf;ton adds: "This was a good old custom of our land. I<,very day, morning and evening, the children are accustomed to come and on bended knee ask the blessing of their parents. Did this good custom still obtain, it might be that parents would have children more dutiful, tile state more obedient subjects, and the church more reverend and faithful sons." In Chamberlain's collection of Heads by Holbein, to which we have before had occasion to refer, is a highly interesting portrait of More'ti father. The editor observes — "This is the head of a wise man, and flolbein's pencil has seldom betm ac- cused of infidelity." It e.xactly corresponds to his son's de- scription; "A man of courteous and pleasant manners, harmless, gentle, full of compassion, just and incorrupt, old indeed in years, yet fresh for his age in bodily strength." We may add, that it has all the character of Sir Thomas, the same play of humor about the lip, and the same arch expression in the eye. As we are on the subject of protraits, it should not be forgot- ten, that there is a remarkable resemblance between Holbein's iieads of More and his friend Erasmus. 15* 174 SIR THOMAS MORE, The plain attire and dig-nified simplicity of Sir Thomas formed a singular contrast to the pomp and circumstance in which his predecessor made his daily visits to the court of chancery. We quote the narrative of Cavendish for its minute and gra- phic fidelity. "Now will I declare unto you his [Wolsey's] or- der in going to Westminster Hall, daily, in the term season. First, before his coming out of his privy chamber, he heard most commonly every day two masses in his privy closet, and then said his daily ser- vice with his chaplain: and as I heard his chaplain say, being a man of credence and of excellent learn- ing, that the cardinal, what business or weighty mat- ters soever he had in the day, never went to his bed with any part of his divine service unsaid, yea, not so much as one collect: wherein I doubt nor but he deceived the opinion of divers persons. And after mass he would return to his privy chamber again, and being advertised of the furniture of his cham- bers without with noblemen, gentlemen, and other persons, would issue out unto them, apparelled all in red, in the habit of a cardinal: which was either of fine scarlet, or else of crimson satin, taflfaty, da- mask or caffa, the best that he could get for mo- ney: and upon his head a round pillion, with a no- ble of black velvet set to the same in the inner side; he had also a tippet af fine sables about his neck; holding in his hands a very fair orange, whereof the meat or substance within was taken out and filled up again with the part of a sponge, wherein was vinegar, and other confections against the pes- tilent airs; the which he most commonly smelt unto passing among the press, or else when he was pes- tered with many suitors. There was also borne before him, first, the great seal of England, and then his cardinal's hat, by a nobleman or some worthy gentleman, right solemnly, bareheaded. And as soon as he was entered into his chairi!>3r of presence, where there were attending his cou.iiig, to wait up- on him to Westminster Hall, as well noblemen and HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 175 other worthy gentlemen, as noblemen and gentlemen of his own tamily; thus, passing- forth with two great crosses of silver borne before him, also with two great pillars of silver, and his poursuivant at arms with a great mace of silver gilt. Then his gentlemen ushers cried, and said, " On, my lords and masters, on before; make way for my lord's grace!" Thus passed he down from his chamber through the hall; and w^hen he came to the hall door, there was attendant for him his mule, trapped altogether in crimson velvet, and gilt stirrups. When he was mounted, with his cross bearers, and pillar bearers, also upon great horses trapped with fine scarlet, then marched he forward, with his train and furniture in manner as I have declared, having about him four footmen, with gilt pollaxes in their hands; and thus he went until he came to "Westminster Hall door. And there he alighted, and went after this manner, up through the hall into the chancery." Nor was the contrast less striking within the court, than from without. No application could be made to Wolsey, which did not pass through many hands; and no man could apply, whose fingers were not tip- ped with gold. Bur More sat daily in an open hall, that he might receive in person the petitions of the poor. If any reader should blame his conduct in this respect as a breach of an ancient and venerable pre- cept, " Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment; thou shalt not respect the person of the poor, nor honor the person of the mighty; but in righteous- ness shalt thou judge thy neighbor:*" let it be re- membered, that there still clung to the equitable jurisdiction some remains of that precarious and eleemosynary nature from which it originally sprung; which, in the eyes of the compassionate chancellor, might warrant more preference for the helpless poor than could be justified in proceedings more rigorous- ly legal. This and the following are the remarks of Sir J. Mackintosh. * Leviticus, xiy. 15. 176 SIR THOMAS MORE, Courts of law were jealous then, as since, of the power assumed by chancellors to issue injunctions t<5 parties to desist from doing certain acts which they were by law entitled to do, until the court of chancery should determine whether the exercise of the legal right would not work injustice. There are many instances in which irreparable wrong may be committed, before a right can be ascertained in the ordinary course of proceedings. In such ca- ses it is the province of the chancellor to take care that affairs shall continue in their actual condition until the questions in dispute be determined. A considerable outcry against this necessary, though invidious authority, was raised at the commence- ment of More's chancellorship. He silenced this clamor with his wonted prudence and meekness. Having caused one of the six clerks to make out a list of the injunctions issued by him, or pending be- fore him, he invited all the judges to dinner. He laid the list before them; and explained the circum- stances of each case so satisfactorily, that they all confessed that in the like case they would have done no less. Nay, he offered to desist from the juris- diction, if they would undertake to restrict the law within the boundaries of righteousness, which he thought they ought in conscience to do. The judges declined, making the attempt; on which he observed privately to Roper, that he saw they trusted to their influence for obtaining verdicts, which would shift the responsibility from them to the juries. " Where- fore," said he, " I am constrained to abide the ad- venture of their blame." Dauncey, one of his sons-in-law, alleged that, under Wolsey "even the door-keepers got great gains," and so perverted was he by the venality then practised, that he expostulated with More for his churlish integrity. The chancellor said, that if " his father whom he reverenced dearly, were on one side, and the devil, whom he hated with all his might, on the other, the devil should have his right." *' He is represented by his descendant," says Sir HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 177 J. Mackintosh, "as softening- his answer by promis- ing- minor advantages, such as priority of hearing-, and recommendation of arbitration, where the case of a friend was bad. The biographer, however, not being a lawyer, might have misunderstood the con- versation, which had to pass through more than one generation before the tradition reached him; or the words may have been a hasty effusion of good na- ture, uttered only to qualify the roughness of his honesty. If he had been called to perform these promises, his head and heart would have recoiled alike from breaches of equality which he would have felt to be altogether dishonest. When Heron, another of his sons-in-law, relied upon the bad prac- tice of the times so far as to entreat a favorable judgment in a cause of his own. More, though the most affectionate of fathers, immediately undeceived him by an adverse decree. This act of common justice is made an object of panegyric by the biogra- pher, as if it were then deemed an extraordinary in- stance of virtue; a deplorable symptom of that cor- rupt state of general opinion, which, half a century later, contributed to betray into ignominious vices, the wisest of men, and the most illustrious of chan- cellors, — if the latter distinction be not rather due to the virtue of a More or a Somers."* "The king," says Hall, "began his high court of Parliament, the third of November, this year; on which day, he came by water to his palace of Bride- well, and there he and his nobles robed, and so went to the Black Friars' church, where amass of the Holy Ghost was solemnly sung; after which the king re- paired to the parliament chamber, where, when he was seated on the throne, Sir Thomas More, his chancellor, standing on his right hand, made an elo- quent oration, declaring that, like as a good shepherd, who not only keepeth and attendeth well his sheep, * Of the greater proportion of his brethren in office how justly might More have exclaimed with the magistrate in i'iautiis; Homunculi guanti sunt cum recogito! What puny creatures, when I take their measure! SIR THOMAS MORE, but also provideth for all things that either may be hurtful to the flock, or may preserve and defend them ag-ainst all perils: so the king, who was the shepherd, ruler, and governor of this realm, vigilant- ly foreseeing things to come, considered how diverse laws, by the mutation of things, are insufficient and imperfect, and also by the frail condition of man, diverse new enormities were sprung up among the people, for the reform of which there was yet no law, which was the very cause why, at this time, the king had summoned his high court of parliament. And so he resembled the king to a shepherd: and as you see that, amongst a great flock, some are rotten and faulty, which the good shepherd severeth from the sound sheep, so the great wether, which is of late fallen, as you all know, juggled with the king so craftily, scabbedly, and untruly, that all men must think that he imagined that the king had no sense to perceive his crafty doings, or presumed that he would not see or understand his fraudulent juggling and attempts. But he was deceived; for his grace's sight was so quick and penetrable, that he not only saw him, but saw through him; so that he was en- tirely open to him. According to his desert, he hath had a gentle correction; which meek punish- ment he would not should be an example to other of- fenders; but openly declareth, that whosoever here- after shall make the like attempts, or counsel the like offences, shall not escape with the like punish- ment." It must be confessed that the phrase " great rotten wether," as alluding to VVolsey, is in bad taste, and altogether unworthy of More; it looks too like a dis- position to cater to the bad feelings of his royal master, who was present. The only thing to be pleaded in More's excuse, is the general odium that at this moment prevailed against the attainted car- dinal, the influence of which some of the best men of that day could not escape. Tytler, contrasting this coarse phrase with the bold euiogium of the cardinal, pronounced scarcely a month before, thinks HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 179 that " the two statements are not altog^ether incon- sistent. The praise is g-iven to Wolsey's talents for business, which were undoubtedly of a hig-h order; the censure is directed against his want of integrity, and his subtle and crafty administration, — faults noto- rious to all the country, and which tlie new chan- cellor, though he might have selected a more deli- crate appellation, was justified in laying to his charge." Whether this explanation should satisfy the reader, we are not altogether prepared to say. It should not, however, be forgotten that the reporter of this speech is Hall, the court historian, whose prejudice both to More and Wolsey, is notorious. So indefatigable was Sir Thomas in his applica- cation to business, and despatched the causes before him so rapidly, that having one day ended a cause, and called for the next, he received for answer, that not a single cause remained. This fact he ordered to be entered upon record; and deservedly so, as it is probably the only miracle of the kind mankind will ever witness. This fact gave rise to the following epigram: When More somewhile had chancellor been. No more smtsdid remain; The same shall never more be seen. Till ft] ORE be there again. It was evident that he performed the work of pub- lic utility with the relish of an amateur, and not according to the mere routine of office; his was the feeling of a character in old Plautus: Q.uid est suavius quam berte rem gerere bono publico! What task more grateful can a man fulfil. Than to discharge the public duty well! More's turn for drollery did not forsake him, even in his highest elevation. On one occasion, an at- torney whose name was Tubb, handed Sir Thomas a case, requesting his signature to it. On reading it over, and finding it a frivolous matter, instead of his signature he added — a tale of a tub. The attorney 180 SIR THOMAS MORE, gravely marched away with the paper; nor did he discover the joke, till he found the laugh going, against him, when the document was reproduced in court. It had been whispered soon after the disgrace of the cardinal, that an attack was meditated by the new ministers, upon the property of the church. A letter signed by the majority of the lords spiritual and temporal was addressed to the Pope, in July, in which it was represented how much they and the whole body of the nation, were interested in the king's divorce, with a request that he w^ould expe- dite the affair, in order to render it unnecessary to re- sort to more disagreeable remedies. Wolsey, though in the midst of his fallen fortunes, willingly subscrib- ed the document: the name of More is not found in the list. In the event of Clement's refusal, Norfolk, the Earl of Wiltshire, and other creatures of the king, had determined that the marriage should be dissolved by the absolute authority of parliament; from the ob- sequiousness of which they expected to be able to effect all they wished. They found, however, that they had calculated wrongly, and that there were some men of unbending principles, whom no threats or flattery could win over to injustice. Several of the bishops took their stand against the measure,* and among them there was one champion at least, for the good'Cause, v^hose integrity, learn- ing, and weight of opinion, there was no resisting. This was Bishop Fisher, who thus boldly exposed the designs against the church; " I hear," said he, " that a motion has been made to surrender the smaller monasteries into the king's hands. I hear much anxiety expressed for the reformation of the vicious lives of the clergy, but I suspect that it is not so much the good, as the goods, of the church that men are now looking after. Beware, my lords,'' * Many of the bishops frowned and grunted," is the un- courtly phrase of Hall, the Court-historian. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 181 he exclaimed with great earnestness, " beware of yourselves, of your country, your religion, and your Holy mother, the Catholic church. Thore are no- velties abroad; Lutherisra is spreading among the people, and let me beseech you to remember, from the recent miseries of Germany and Bohemia, what disasters, from the same causes, are impend- ing over ourselves. Resist then," he concluded, " resist manfully, my lords, as becomes ye, the mischiefs intended; or, if you do not, be prepared to see all obedience withdrawn not only from the cler- gy, but from yourselves." This spirited address was received with different feelings, according as the peers were inclined to favor or to take alarm at the king's designs; but the Duke of Norfolk, whose schemes it exposed, could not repress his resent- ment. "My lord of Rochester," said he, "many of these words might have been spared; but if I trow, 'tis often seen that the greatest clerks are not always the wisest men:" to which Fisher retorted, " my lord Duke, I do not remember any fools in my time that have proved great clerks." Complaint was made to Henry, of the bishop's boldness, and he was enjoined to express himself more guardedly in future^a temperate rebuke, which may be ascribed to the suspense in which Henry's mind then remain- ed respecting the measure in question. Sir Thomas had been a very short time installed in office, when the old and odious subject — the di- vorce, was again obtruded upon him. More endea- vored to excuse himself from offering an opinion, un- der the plea, that he was unmeet for such matters, never having professed the study of divinity. But the king " sorely'''' pressed him,* and never ceased urging him until he had promised to give his con- sent, at least, to examine the question, conjointly with his friend Tunstall and other learned divines. After the examination, More, with his wonted inge- * Roper, p. 32. 16 183 SIR THOMAS MORE, nuousness and candour, conveyed the result to his master. "To be plain with your grace, neither your bishops, wise and virtuous though they be, nor myself, nor any other of your council, by reason of your manifold benefits bestowed on us, are meet counsellors for your grace herein. If you mind to understand the truth, consult St. Jerome, St. Augus- tin, and other holy doctors of the Greek and Latin churches, who will not be inclined to deceive you either out of respect for their own worldly interests, or by fear of your princely displeasure."* Though the king did not like what " was disagreeable to his desires, yet the language of More was so wisely tempered, that for the present he took it in g-ood part, and oftentimes had conferences with the chan- cellor thereon." The native meekness of More was probably more effectual than all the arts by which courtiers ing-ratiate themselves, or insinuate unpalatable counsel. Shortly after, the king- again moved him to weigh and consider the g^reat matter. The chancellor fell down on his knees, and, reminding Henry of his own w^ords on delivering the great seal, which were — " First look upon God, and after God upon me," added, that nothing had ever so pained him as that he was not able to serve his grace in that matter, without a breach of that original injunction which he had received on the acceptance of his office. The king said he was content to accept his. service otherwise, and would continue his favor, never with that matter molesting his conscience afterwards. But this language proceeded from Henry's heart as it should have been, and not, as we shall find, from what it icas. In the meantime, as the journey of the legate tO' England, and all the king's tortuous negotiations with the See of Rome, had not tended to expedite the divorce, ingenuity had recourse to other me- thods for bringing it about. * Roper, p. 48. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 183 The opinions of the two universities at home, had already been secured, partly by means of gold, and partly by the power of threats. Honest old Cavendish says; " The commissioners had the travail, yet were the charg-es the king's. I heard it repeated of credible persons, that, besides the great charges of these commissioners, there were inestimable sums of money given to the famous clerks to choke them, and in especial to such as had the governance and custody of the universities' seals. " Burnet," says Hallam, " will not allow that Henry menaced the University of Oxford in case of non-compliance, yet there are three letters of his to them, a tenth part of which, considering the nature of the writer, was enough to terrify a doctor of divinity." For proof of his assertion, he refers to Strype. Having succeeded so well at home, he hoped to be able to obtain an equally favorable opinion from the various universities of Italy, France, and Germany, and for this purpose recourse was had to all those arts by which the venal, the unsuspecting, and sometimes even the good and the wise, are wrought upon. Nothing was spared— artifice, entreaty, or bribery,* but more particularly, the latter. Seve- ral of the universitips of Italy and France were in- duced to decide in favor of the king, but in the Ger- man states he was not so successful. Not one pub- lic body could be brought to espouse his cause; even the reformed divines, with a few exceptions, loudly condemned the measure. Luther, of course, was not to be won; he had not forgotten his old grudge to Henry, and he wrote with his own hand to Barnes, the royal agent, that he would rather allow the king to have two wives at once, than to * Nullo non astu, et prece, et pretio. Epist. dementis apud Raynald, p. 647. For r am sure the king Paid ere he prnrnised; whence his suit was granted Ere he had asked. Shakspea-Re.— 7/cnry VIII. 184 SIR THOMAS MORE, consent to his separation from Catharine. There might also have been a secret feeling, an old a,sso- ciation active in Luther's bosom: there had been a question in his regard, of a separation from a Catha- rine — a certain Catharine Borer, which might have weighed with him by a peculiar sympathy at this time. In the midst of these schemes, news arrived from Rome, that Clement, after due deliberation, felt compelled to issue an inhibitory breve, forbidding all ecclesiastical courts or tribunals to give judg- ment in the matrimonial cause of Henry against Catharine. The idng was observed to grow unu- sually pensive. He found all his schemes to bring about the divorce abortive. He began to exhibit symptoms of a change of mind. All his expedi- ents had failed, and considerable sums of money, which he could ill spare, had been lavished without effect. He grew discontented; and observed to his confidents that he had been grossly deceived: he should never have dreamed of a divorce had it not been put into his head that the bull of dispensation had been invalid. He had been afterwards assured that the papal approbation might be easily obtained: that assurance had proved false, and he would now abandon the attempt for ever. In this frame of mind, meeting with Dr. Clark, the Bishop of Bath, he said to him, in a tone of impatience: " My lord of Bath, what think ye, is the bull good, or is it nanght] If it be naught, let it be so declared; and if good, then it shall never be set aside by me." {Herbert.) The Wyatts, the Brians, and all the other intrigants of the court, who were something more than the favorers and partisans of Anne, hast- ened to whisper in her ear the news of the king's " backsliding." Dismay was painted on the coun- tenances of the mistress, and of those who fed upon her bounty and her smiles. Their disgrace was confidently foretold: when, they were rescued from impending ruin by the appearance of one of those HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 185 agents of mischief, whom the Evil one has always ready at hand, when their services are wanted. In Wolsey's establishment there was a man of the name of Crumwell, the son of a fuller in Put- ney, who had emerged from obs-^urity, and been employed by the cardinal in the dissolution of the smaller monasteries, granted him for the support of his colleges. In this trust he had not failed to enrich himself; but, what is worse, he had learned a pernicious lesson, which was, somewhat later, carried into effect upon a fearful scale. This man had for several years been a rover in Italy, and on one occasion, in a moment of communicativeness very unusual with him, had opened his mind to Cardinal Pole. He confessed himself to be a dis- ciple of the Machiavellian school, and had learned that vice and virtue were but names, fit indeed to amuse the leisure of collegians, but pernicious to the man who seeks to rise in the courts of princes. According to his views, the great art of the politi- cian, was to penetrate through the disguise which sovereigns are accustomed to throw over their real inclinations, and to devise the most specious expe- dients by which they may gratify their appetites, without appearing to outrage morality or religion. Crumwell had followed Wolsey to Esher, "but finding," says Mr. Tytler, that " the household of a fallen minister was no sphere for so restless a dis- position, and under a veil of what, without any breach of charity, we may pronounce religious hy- pocrisy, he concealed a determined purpose to re- trieve his fortunes and establish himself in favor with the king." It is at this moment that Caven- dish, the affectionate biographer of his master, Wolsey, gives us this graphic picture of the aspir- ing adventurer. " It chanced me upon All-hallow- een day, to come into the great chamber at Esher, in the morning, to give my attendance, when I found Master Crumwell leaning in the great win- dow, with a primer in his hand, saying Our Lady's Matins: which would have been since a very 16* 186 SIR THOMAS MORE, Strange sight. He prayed earnestly, and the tears trickled from his eyes. I bade him good morrow, saying; ' Why, Master Crumwell, what means all this your sorrow? Is my lord in any danger, for whom you lament thus? or is it any loss ye have sustained by any misadventure'?' — ' Nay, nay,' quoth he, ' it is my unhappy adventure, which is like to lose me all that I have travailed for all the days of my life, for doing of my master true and diligent service.' ' Why, Sir,' quoth I, ' I trust ye are too wise to commit any thing by my lord's commandment, otherwise than ye might do of right, whereby ye have any cause to doubt of loss of your goods.' ' Well, well,' quoth he, ' I can- not tell; but all that I see before mine eyes, is as it is taken; and this I understand right well, that I am in disdain with most men for my master's sake; and surely without just cause. Howbeit, an ill name once gotten, will not lightly be put away. I never had any promotion by my lord, to the increase of my living; and thus much will I say to you, that I intend, God willing, this afternoon, when my lord hath dined, to ride to London, and so to the court, where I will either make or mar, ere 1 come again." There is no doubt that Crumwell was in corres- pondence with the confidants of Anne, and knew the critical situation in which their affairs stood. The very day, therefore, after the king's intention had transpired, he repaired to the court at Greenwich, where all. had been arranged to gain him an audience with the king. Cardinal Pole, who had the account from Crumwell himself, and others who were pre- sent, relate that, upon this occasion, Crumwell sug- gested to the king a mode of overcoming the diffi- culty of the Pope's opposition to the divorce, by taking the authority into his own hands, and decla- ring himself head of the church within his own realm. These ideas were entirely new to the king. When Crumwell had concluded his discourse, and stood with his eyes timidly fixed on the floor, Henry regarded him for a moment in silence, and HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 187 then asked liim if he could prove that these things were feasible. Crumwell raised his eyes modestly from the ground, and assured His Majesty that he could prove it all to his satisfaction. The king was satisfied, thanked the man whose logic was so con- vincing, and ordered him forthwith to be sworn of his privy-council. 1531. On the 7th of February, a bill was brought into the lords, in which was the following clause: " Acknowledging the king to be the protector and only supreme head of the church and clergy of England." J.t was only after long struggles that the good Warham and others could obtain the modi- fication — " under God;" and finally that the clause should run as follows: " of which church and clergy, we acknowledge his majesty to be the chief protector, the only and supreme lord, and, as far as the law of Christ will allow^ the supreme head." Crumwell rose successively to the offices of Chan- cellor of the Exchequer, and of first secretary to the king. It only remained to crown his ambition by a title hitherto unheard of. He was appointed, according to the express terms of the patent, " royal vicegerent, vicar-general, and principal commissary, with all the spiritual authority be- longing to the king as head of the church, for the due administration of justice, in all cases touching the ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the godly refor- mation and redress of all errors, heresies, and abuses in the said church." " Here, then," ex- claims the zealous Roper, " we have the king, and the man commissioned by him, made sole judges in matters of faith, and all ecclesiastical discipline put into their hands. The commission given by our Saviour to his apostles, and their successors, is set aside by human law, and the authority they received from heaven transferred upon the state. The care of souls is made to devolve upon the civil power, and the being of Christianity to depend upon the will of the magistrate!" He afterwards adds; " to show how much Henry triumphed in his new 188 SIR THOMAS MORE, Style and title, a medal was struck, on one side ol' •which was his effigy, and on the reverse three in- scriptions, in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, com- memorative of the event."* March 30. In order as far as possible, to prevent the impression on the public mind likely to be produced by Clement's inhibitory brief, More, in his official capacity as Chancellor, attended by twelve of the peers, went down to the lower house; the answers of the universities were read, and a formidable pile of papers, said to contain the opinions of theologians and canonists, was exhibited. After the prorogation on the following day, several lords were deputed to wait on the queen, and to request that, for the quiet of the king's conscience, she would refer the matter to the decision of four tem- poral and four spiritual peers. '• God grant him a quiet conscience," was the reply; "but this shall be your answer: I am his wife, lawfully married to him by order of the holy church; and so will I abide till the court of Rome, which was privy to the beginning, shall have made thereof an end." A second deputation was sent with an order for her to leave the palace at Windsor. " Go where I may," was her answer, " I shall still be his lawful wife." From that day Catharine and Henry never more saw each other. She repaired to the royal seat of the Moor, thence to East-Hampstead, and at last fixed her residence at Ampthill, in Bedford- shire. f It was about this period that More lost his father. After a long life of useful duties and unblemished integrity, Sir John More was gathered to his fathers * This gave occasion to a severe remark, which is embodied in the following epigram. A fearful sacrilege we see, Which fills good men with pain; For lo! beneath i ascriptions three, Christ, in his Church's person, he Has crucified again! t In days of old here Ampthill's towers were seen, The mournful refuge of an injured queen.---S'co«. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 189 at nearly the age of ninety. He had lived to see his son attain the highest honors in the kingdom to which a subject is eligible, and he was called away in time to be spared the pain of witnessing the cruelty and injustice by which he was to be pursued to the scaffold. Acquainted as the reader is with the heart of Sir Thomas, it is hardly necessary to tell him that, on this trying occasion, he gave the strongest proofs of filial affection; and that the old man breathed his last in his arms, cheered by his prayers and consoled by every tender office that love and religion can bestow. Little, if any, increase of fortune accrued to More by his father's death. Sir John's last wife was still living, and she enjoyed the benefit of the greater portion of her husband's property. More, in his "Apology," has the following observations on this subject: " As for all the lands and fees that I have in all England, beside such lands and fees as I have of the gift of the king's most noble grace, is not at this day, nor shall be while my mother- in-law lives (whose life and good health I pray God may keep and continue) worth yearly to my living, the sum of full fifty pounds." From such data as these we may estimate the value of More's charities, of his liberal spirit, and his contempt of wealth. In the meantime, the situation of Sir Thomas grew daily more embarrassing. The high offices to which he had been raised by the king, the marked degree of personal favor hitherto shown to hira, and the natural tendency of his gentle and amiable disposition, combined to disincline him to resist, as far as the utmost limits of his con- science would allow, the wishes of his friendly master. On the other hand, his deep sense of religion, and his reverence for the authority of the church, made him view with suspicion and alarm the conduct of Henry, and those designs which were visibly tending towards a rupture with the Roman See, the great centre of Catholic unity. 190 >>IR THOMAS MURK, Together with these loftier principles, he was at the same time influenced by the humane feeling^s of his just and generous nature, which engaged his heart to espouse the cause of a blameless and wronged princess, driven from the throne and from the bed of a tyrannical husband. Nor can it be forgotten that More had been admitted to the family privacy, the fire-side intimacies of the king and queen, and consequently had every opportunity of seeing and appreciating the many virtues and esti- mable qualities of this best of women.* " In steering his course through the intrigues and passions of the court," we quote Sir J. Mackintosh, " it is very observable that More most warily retired from every opposition but that which conscience absolutely required: he shunned unnecessary disobedience as much as un- conscientious compliance. If he had been influ- enced solely by prudential considerations, he could not have more cautiously shunned every needless opposition; but in that case he would not have gone so far. He displajred, at the time of which we now speak, that very peculiar excellence of his charac- ter, which, as it showed his submission to be the fruit of sense of duty, gave dignity to that which in others is apt to seem and to be slavish." The anxieties of More increased with the ap- proach towards the execution of the king's projects of divorce and second marriage. Some anecdotes of this period are preserved by the affectionate and descriptive pen of Margaret Roper's husband, which, as he evidently reports in the chancellor's language, it would be unpardonable to relate in any other words than those of the venerable man himself. * Of her That, like a jewel, has hang twenty years Ahout his Jieck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him vi'ith that excellence Which angels love good men with; e'en of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. Will bless the king.— Shakrpf.are, Henry VIII. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 191 We have already seen that the banks of the Thames, in front of Sir Thomas's residence, was his favorite promenade after the business of the day. His son-in-law Roper was frequently the compan- ion of his walk. On one of these occasions, after his return from his duties at court, he thus ad- dressed his son-in-law, in a tone of more than usual earnestness: " Now, would to our Lord, son Roper, upon condition that three things were well estab- lished in Christendom, I were put into a sack, and v;ere presently cast into the Thames." — •*' What great things be those, sir," quoth I, " that should move you so to wish?" — " In faith, son, they be these," said he. ^''The first is, that, whereas the most part of Christian princes be at mortal war, they were all at universal peace. The second, that, whereas the church of Christ is at present sore afflict- ed with many errors and heresies, it were well set- tled in perfect uniformity of religion. The third, that, as the matter of the king's marriage is now come m question, it were, to the glory of God and quietness of all parties, brought to a good conclu- sion.' " On another occasion, as he was proceeding in his barge to Westminster, to attend to his official du- ties, the following scene took place between him, and his faithful servant, John Harris. When the weather was fair. Sir Thomas used to read the whole way, for when against the tide, it was a good hour's row; and in the economy of his duties this hour was important. On the morning in ques- tion, he had taken with him a volume of St. Tho- mas Acquinas, being no doubt at this time engaged on some of his controversial pieces. On a sudden turning to Harris, and pointing with his finger to the volume, he exclaimed: " Look here, Harris; only see how that fellow Luther has been picking his arguments out of St. Thomas's objections; but then the knave has not had the common honesty to say a word of the solutions, which follow close by."* * How much truth is there in this remark of Sir Thomas; nor 192 SIR THOMAS MORE, It is said of Moliere, that, previous to the pro- duction of any of his pieces, he used to read them over to a good old housekeeper of his, in order to remark the effect produced upon her plain unsophis- ticated judgment; in the same manner would More avail himself of the good strong common sense of Harris. "Yea," says Roper, "though Sir Tho- mas was most wise and dexterous in discovering, truth from falsehood, and virtue from cloaked-up vice, yet would he frequently, in his greatest affairs and studies, ask his man Harris his advice and counsel; and, if he thought his judgment better, would willingly submit to his opinion; choosing ra- ther to be in ail things at the discretion of other men, than at his own guiding, desirous in all his actions to exercise the chief of all Christian vir- tues, obedience and humility." We learn from Cresacre, that More afterwards raised this honest man to the place of his private secretary; for, he adds, Harris was a person of sound judgment and great piety.* was it in his time alone that such unworthy arts were resorted to; the knaves of wliorn he speaks are to be found in all volu- minous manufacturers of abuse against the Catholic Church, from Tindall to Southey, whose whole ground of argument is picked from the objections of St. Thomas, and based solely on abuses, which every l)onest Catholic laments as sincerely as his adversary. It has been the trick of the scribes in question to underrate and abuse i^l. Thomas, in order to throwthe hunt- ers of knowledge off the scent, lest their petty larcenies should he detected. Thus " the solemn and neglected riddles of Tho- mas Acquina?," is the expression of a fashionable writer of this tribe: those things are riddles to us which we cannot com- prehend, and precisely in this predicamint is the scribbler of the above. Men capable of appreciating the merits of this wonderful man, have done justice to his immense learning, and his commanding intellect. We cite with pleasure the historian ot The iVliddle Ages. « Harris is immortalised in the celebrated picture of the More family by Holbein, of which we have already spoken. lie is represented in the same group with More's son, with this inscription over his head "Johannes Harresius Thomae Mori famulus." " If you find a good servant, look upon him under no severer aspect than that of a humble friend; the difference between such a one and his master, residing rather in fortune than in nature."— Sir Francis Osborne's Advice to His Son. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 193 On another occasion, Sir Thomas was returning in his barge, after having dined at the house of a mer- chant in the city. His water-bailiff, a trusty ser- vant, having- heard certain persons, who were tinc- tured with the new opinions, rail severely against Sir Thomas, because he was a determined opponent of the Lutheran doctrines, "waxed sore discontent- ed therewith, knowing well that his good master little deserved any evil report." He therefore took an opportunity, when they were seated in the barge, to report to his master the disagreeable things he had heard; and he added, with a significant motion of the head; " And were I, Sir, in such high favor and authority with my prince as you are, such men should not so villanously and falsely misrepresent and slander me. Therefore, will you not do well, Sir, to call them before you, and punish them to their shame for their undeserved malicel" Sir Thomas, smiling at his honest warmth, re- plied: " Why, Mr. Water-bailiff, and would you have me punish those by M^hom I reap more benefit than by all you that are my friends'? Let them, in God's name, speak as loudly of me as they list, and shoot never so msny bolts at me; so long as they hit me not, what am I the worse] True it is, that, should they once hit me, then would it not a little grieve me; howbeit, I trust by God's grace and help, there shall none of them all be able to touch me. And this believe, that I have more cause to pity than to be angry with them." The following is an instance of the happy way in which More could parry an adversary's blow. A member of the house of Manners had ingratiated himself into the king's favor, and been raised to a post of honor. He had formerly been one of Sir Thomas's friends, but " perceiving that the world began somewhat to frown upon him, because he was not so forward as other men to egg on the di- vorce," and hinting that More M^as ungrateful for the king's favors, said to him in a sarcastic tone; " Even so as the old proverb is, Honores mutant 17 194 SIR THOMAS MORE, moresJ''' — " Yes," replied More, with that sparkle of the eye that announced a good thing, " the pro- verb is most apt, but only translate it rightly, for mores is manners^ Sir Thomas was not attacked in that quarter again. The recent task which we have seen More per- form, and to which he was compelled by his official situation, must have done violence to his nature. In laying before the Commons the opinions of the uni- versities, which were, in fact, so many outrages upon the feelings of the Queen, whom he so much loved and respected, he was compelled to recite a tale, which could have afforded him but little satis- faction in the telling. His contempt of worldly greatness was too strong to allow him to hold even the highest station, subject to the violation of his conscience; and it requires but little knowledge of More's character, not to see that he would take measures to prevent his being exposed to the re- petition of an act that had conflicted with his prin- ciples. Accordingly, we find him shortly after applying to his particular friend, the Duke of Nor- folk, to intercede with his royal master, that he might be permitted to resign the seal. A complaint in his breast, arising from too assiduous an applica- tion to business, was the reason assigned by him, for his resignation, as well to the duke, as to the friends with whom he corresponded. But Norfolk knew too well the value of More's services to the king in the situation which he filled, to make such a proposal, till after much importunity on the part of the knight ; and Henry, anxious as he might feel to exchange the rigid honesty of More for something more pliant and yielding to his pur- poses, had the decency not to accept the resigna- tion tendered, till after repeated solicitation. At length, however, the king's consent was obtained, and More waited upon His Majesty by appoint- ment, to deliver up the seal, having held it just two years and seven months. Hall, the court chronicler, thus records the circumstance: " Sir Thomas More, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 195 Chancellor of England, after long suits made to the king-, to be discharged of that office, on the 15th day of May, delivered to the king, at Westminster, the great seal of England, and was with the King's favor discharged; which seal the king kept till Whitsunday following, and on the Monday in Whitsun week, he dubbed Thomas Audley, Speak- er of the Parliament, Knight, and made him lord keeper of the great seal." As the successor of More will, in the sequel, be seen to take an active part against him, we may be allowed to say a few words, in passing, on his con- duct and character. Some estimate of the latter may be formed from documents that have come to light in "The State Papers," and which do not place him in a point of view favorable to a compari- son with his predecessor in office. The follow- ing passages will exhibit his conduci in strong contrast with the severe integrity and manly inde- pendence of Sir Thomas. There is a letter of his to Secretary Crumwell, in which, after stating "that his debts troubled him sore," he adds; "1 am alraid to require any thing of the king's grace, he hath been so good lord to me; but. Sir, if by your means, it might please the king's grace to give me that poor house, I once told you of, that late belonged to Christ's church, a little from London, with the lands and pastures thereunto belonging, which ex- ceed not 20 mark a year; and also that his grace would, of his goodness, pay me that £100 due to me, and lend me £600, upon good sureties. I pray you burn this letter, or keep it secret, for therein my necessity appeareth, which I would that all should not know." In another letter dated the same year (1533) is the following: " Bruits [reports] have run concerning the dissolution of the Abbey of St. John, Colches- ter, and of St. Oswyth,and 1 am bold to write to your lordship after my old suit. I beseech you, my lord, if your lordship should think this suit honorable and reasonable, to move this matter to the king's majes- 196 SIR THOMAS MORE, ty, and to set it earnestly forward. I trouble you with my suits often, and cannot recompense you for the gentleness and pains taken for me; but if you can or may obtain this suit, your lordship shall have for your favor therein £200." This bribe is offered in so cool and business-like a tone, that it is not difficult to conjecture that there was nothing- novel to Crumwell in transactions of this kind. The editor of the State Papers, from which this is taken, drily remarks: " Crumwell was not tempted by this bribe: he obtained the Abbey for himself." Marillac, the French ambassador, terms Audley un grand vendeur de justice— 3, great barterer of Justice. {Le Grund, I, 22i.) HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 1 97 CHAPTER VII. 1532—1534. iETAT. 54. MORE IN HIS RETIREMENT — NEW DOMESTIC ARRANGE- MENTS — HIS POVERTY — OFFERING OF THE BISHOPS ■ — ACCUSATION AND APOLOGY — CRANMER — MAR- RIAGE OF HENRY AND ANNE BOLEYN — THE NUN OF KENT — BISHOP FISHER— MORE ACCUSED OF MIS- PRISON OF TREASON— STATUTES OF SUCCESSION AND ALLEGIANCE— MORE REFUSES THE OATH — COMMIT- TED TO THE TOWER. TJae spirit in which More resigns his honors, and retires to Chelsea — Anecdote— More describes his feelings to Erasmus — Composes a monumental Inscription for himself— Aew do- mestic arrangements — His ])oveny— Oftering made him by the Bishops — He is accused ot bribery — Devotes his leisure to study, and composes his Apology and other works— Rise of Craiimer— He is made Archbishop of i anterburj- — Fro- nounces the divorce — Marriage of Henry with Anne Boleyn — Coronation of Anne— More declines an invitation to the ceremony — Firmness of dueen Catharine to the last— Final separation of England from the communion of the Catholic Church— Elizabefh Barton, the nun of Kent — Her execution — Irosecution of Bishop Fisher — His letter to Crumvvell on his inhuman treatment in the Tower— More is implicated together with Fisher— His letters to Secretary Crumwell — To the King — He is accused ol misprision of treason — Is ex- amined before the Commission — His firmness— Henry is made Head of the Chiirch— Isal the zenith of power, civil and ec- clesiastical— Its effect upon his character and conduct— Sta- tutes of succession and allegiance — More refuses to take the oath— He is cited to appear before the commission at Lam- beth—His account of his examination, in a letter to his daughter Margaret — Is placed in the custody of the Abbot of Westminster—* ranmer's argument and letter on qualifying the oath— The King disposed to adopt Craniner's sugge tion, but prevented by the influenee of the Boleyn party — The oath tendered to More unqualified, and refused by him — His committal to the Tower— Anecdotes. More descended from his high station with more joy and alacrity than others feel ia entering- upon 17* 198 SiR THOMAS MORE. the envied honors of office. The possession of these honors instead of corrupting, had but disci- plined his heart;* by their removal, he felt his mind relieved from a weight that had oppressed it, and rejoiced at being able to breathe again in free- dom. When his friends manifested their sorrow- on his descent from grandeur, he smiled at their unnecessary solicitude, and made them ashamed of sacrificing a moment's cheerfulness at the view of an occurrence, which those acquainted with the uncertain tenure of worldly honors, should ever be prepared to encounter. He gave a proof of this temper of mind in the characteristic manner in which he announced his resignation to his lady. He had given up the seals on the preceding day which was Saturday, and on the Sunday morning he accompanied his family to Chel- sea church. During his chancellorship, one of More's attendants had been in the habit, after the church-service was over, of going to his lady's pew to inform her that my Lord had gone on before. On this occasion, Sir Thomas came to the pew himself, cap in hand, and making a low bow, said to her with perfect gravity; — " Madame, my Lord is gone!'''' Accustomed to his playful manner, " for he used many jests unto her upon all occasions," his lady imagined this to be one of his wonted jokes, and took little or no notice of it at the time. But when, on reaching home, he informed her seri- ously that he had resigned the seal, she flew into a passion outright. That she was worldly-minded, we have already had occasion to see, and the pre- sent moment would naturally call that feeling into action. " Tilly vallylf what will you do," quoth * There is no surer sign of a worthy and genuine spirit, than when honors amend a man: for their natural tendency is to corrupt. — Lord Bacon. I'll find my conquest in a safe retreat; While others rise, I'll sink to be as great.— Sir Rob. Howard. t Sir J. Mackintosh seems puzzled about this word. It was a common exclamation of this and Shakspeare'sday, in whose HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 199 she, her temper rising, " what will you do, that you list not to put yourself forward, like other folks'? Will you sit still by the fire, and as children do, make goslings in the ashes with a stick"? "Would to God, that I were a man, and look ye then what 1 would do!" " Why, Alice," quoth Sir Thomas, *' and what wouldst thou do]" — " What!" quoth she, " why^ marry! go forward with the best of them all. JPor, as my mother was wont, to say — God rest her soul!— it is ever better to rule than to be ruled. Therefore, by heavens, I warrant that 1 would not be so foolish as to be ruled, where I might rule." — " By my troth, wife," said Sir Tho- mas, " I know that to be a rule thou wert always fain to abide by." — "And so would any one," rejoined Alice, " who has a particle of spirit." Finding that his lady was determined- to have the last word, the facetious knight called his daugh- ters, and asked them if they could espy any thing strange in their mother's appearance. Alice, ima- gining it was something wrong in the adjustment of her dress, turned herself about for the daughters to examine. " Oh, it is not that," said Sir Thomas, laughing; " don't you perceive that your mother's nose standeth somewhat awryl" This was too bad, and the offended dame shut herself up in her own room — the very thing that Sir Thomas wanted. It will, perhaps, be said, that trifles like these are scarcely worth recording in the life of so great a man. But it may be observed, that the characters of men are frequently best learnt from circumstan- ces apparently trifling. Anecdotes like these are better calculated to show us More as he was, than plays it occurs more than once. From a collection of ancient poems, published with a translation, in 1600, it would appear to be of Cornish origin. One of the poems is a dialogue on the subject of Cain and Abel. In reply to a question, whe- ther he was not sorry for having killed his brother, Cain replies: Tily yaly! nynges yadrage thymo whath. Which is translated: Tittle tattle! nothing am I sorry for that. 200 SIR THOMAS MORE. the most elaborate descriptions. They also prove that his humor was natural to him, and wholly un- tinctured by singularity or affectation; and at the same time convince us, that riches, honors, and power had no charms for him, and that he could disencumber himself of them with a jest upon his lips. In More's Latin works are two letters which he wrote to Erasmus, at this period. They contain some interesting passages respecting Sir Thomas, which are here translated. " The thing, my dear Desiderius, which I have most wished for from my very boyhood, and which I rejoice in your having always enjoyed, and my- self occasionally — namely, that being free from public business, I might have some time to devote to God and myself; and this by the goodness of heaven and the favor of an indulgent prince, I have at last obtained. I have not, however, obtained it as I could have wished. For my desire was to have reached the last stage of existence in a state, which, though suitable to my years, might yet have ena- bled me to enjoy the remainder of my days strong in health and unbroken by age, free from disease and with a mind undistracted by pain. It remain- eth in the hand of God whether this wish of mine, unreasonable as perhaps it is, shall be accom- plished. Meantime, a disorder of 1 know not what nature has attacked my breast, by which I suffer less in present pain, than in fear of the consequen- ces. For when it had annoyed me for some months without abatement, the physicians whom I con- sulted, gave their opinion that its continuance was dangerous, and rendered the prospect of cure less probable : the only remedy must be the gradual effects of time, proper diet, and medicine. Finding that they were unable to fix a period for my recov- ery, or, indeed, to ensure me a perfect cure at all, I saw that I must either lay down my office, or dis- charge my duty in it little to my satisfaction. And since I could not discharge that duty without some HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 201 hazard of my life, and by so doing should lose both life and office, I determined to lose one of them rather than both. Wherefore, that I might consult the public good, as well as my own welfare, I entreated His Highness, the Prince, that he would release me from the high office with which his great favor had honored me, far above my hopes, my wishes, and my pretensions, sinking as I was under the weight of the same. I pray heaven to reward His Majesty for those favors towards me; that the remainder of life allotted me, may not be spent in inglorious and slothful repose, but that, together with the disposition, strength of body may be given me, to employ it profitably. For, under bad health, I am not equal to any thing. It is not all the world that are like Erasmus, to whom heaven would seem to have granted an exclusive privilege. For who but yourself could dare to pro- mise what you accomplish] — you, who are not hin- dered by the inconveniences of growing age, and though, afflicted by such maladies as youth and strength ordinarily sink before, yet do you not cease from year to year to instruct mankind by your ex- cellent writings, as if age and ill-health could rob nothing from you." It was during this interval that, with an eye calmly and steadily fixed on the prospect before him, he erected a monument for himself in the church of Chelsea, with an inscription recounting the most prominent incidents of his life.* He thus speaks of it in one of his letters to Erasmus: " Cer- tain praters had begun to give it out here, that though I dissembled my sentiments, 1 in reality gave up my office unwillingly. I am determined to represent the matter as it really was, and, for that purpose, I have set about my monument, for which I have been composing an epitaph, in which I will * This monument, which still remains entire and undefaoed, is situated on the south side of the chancel. For the Inscrip- tion see Jifpevdix No. 1 to the present volume. 202 SIR THOMAS MORE, confute these insinuations— for, if gny one can do so, it is surely myself. In pronouncing upon my late conduct, though they could not tax me with falsehood, ihey did not acquit me of a certain de- gree of arrogance. 1 choose this method, to prevent these misrepresentations from gaining credit; assur- edly, not on my own account, for I little heed what men say, so God but approve. But since 1 had written some books, in our mother tongue, in favor of certain disputed tenets of ours, I conceived that it behooved me to defend the integrity of my cha- racter. And that you may know how arrogantly I have written, I enclose you the said epitaph, in which you will see how little disposed 1 am to compliment these men. I have now waited a due time for suffrages on my official conduct, but, as yet, no one has stepped forward to challenge my integrity. I must have been very innocent, or very much upon my guard; and if my adversaries will not give me credit for the one, they must for the other.* The King himself has declared his senti- ments on the subject oftentimes in private, and twice in public. For when my successor took his seat, His Majesty commanded the Duke of Norfolk, High-Treasurer of England, to bear honorable tes- timony of me, even more than my modesty will allow me to repeat, and to say that he most unwil- lingly accepted the resignation that I tendered him, and only after repeated entreaties. And not con- tent wiih this, he caused the same thing to be re- peated in his presence, a considerable time after- wards in the speech made by my successor in the Comnnons." Settled quietly down in the retreat of his beloved Chelsea, he seems to have breathed once again. Hear him pour out his heart to a friend: "These great fortunes lift a man up high, and set him above * To an Athenian, who, in praising a public functionary, had said, that every one either applauded him, or left him with- oat censure, a philosopher replied—" How seldom, then, must he have done his duty!" HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 203 the show; but oftentimes like a fierce and skittish horse, they will cast their master. The g-olden me- diocrity, the mean estate, is the thing- to be desired which shall bear us up, as it were, in hands more easily; which shall obey us, and not we it. I, therefore, abiding firmly in this opinion, set greater store by my little house, my study, the pleasure of my books, my family, and the rest and the peace of my mind, than by all your king's palaces, all your common business, all your glory, all the ad- vantages that we hawk after, all the favor of the court. I look for other fruit of my study: that I may bring forth the children that I travail on, that I may give out some books of mine own, to the common profit, which may somewhat favor, if not of cunning [knowledge], at the leastwise of wit and diligence!" It is painful to reflect, that More's dream of happiness was to be of short duration, and these literary projects of his a mere Utopian vision. It cannot but seem strange, that the king should permit a favorite minister of his to retire with no- thing but barren expressions of esteem, and not have the generosity to make some provision for the supply of his wants. And yet that such was the fact, we learn from Sir Thomas's son-in-law, as well as from circumstances which we shall have to de- tail. " As his grace," says Roper, " courteously receiv- ed the seal from his hands, with thanks and praise for his worthy service in that office, so it pleased his highness further to say to him, that, for the service he had before done him, he should, in any suit he might hereafter have unto him, which should either concern his honor^ — for that word it pleased his highness to use unto him, or which should regard his interests, find his highness a good and gracious lord unto him." Roper adds, and he speaks as one interested in the result, " how true the words proved, let others be judges, when the king not only did not bestow^ upon him the value of one penny, but afterwards took from him and his 204 SIR THOMAS MORE, posterity all that ever had been either g-iven by him, left him by his father, or purchased by himself." More would appear to have been born in the same ag-e with Wolsey, in order to exliibita striking con- trast to his conduct on almost all occasions. When we read of the cardinal's immense wealth on his retiring from the chancellorship and the splendid establishment which he kept up, and then look at More in his honorable poverty, he rises proportion- ably in our estimation. We quote the words of his son-in-law: " 1 am well assured that all the land he ever purchased before he was lord chancellor, was not above the value of twenty marks* -by the year, and, after his debts were paid, he had not, to my knowledge, (his chain of office excepted), left him in gold and silver the worth of one hundred pounds." Surely, observes Cresacre, it is a rare thing to be said, that one of the king's council, who had gone through many offices for nearly twenty years, should not be able to purchase one hundred pounds in land, when now-^-days, a private attorney, by his own practice, will leave his children five hundred pounds, or more of land in inheritance. He attributes the fact of Sir Thomas's admirable contempt of worldly interests, to the bounteous hand which was ever open so liberally to the poor, to his own kinsfolk, his family, and his friends, as well as to that spirit of the old hospitality which Sir Thomas loved to cherish, and also to his liberality to the church. The bishops were not ignorant of the fact, that, notwithstanding the favor of the king, More was a poor man, and they came to a determination which it is delightful to record. They, together with the leading men of the clergy, agreed in one of their convocations, to recompense him v/ith a sum of money raised among them, supposed to have been to the amount of about five thousand pounds, a splendid offering in those days. The bishops of Bath, Durham, and Exeter, (Drs. Clarke, Tunstall, * The mark was a silver coin of the value of 13s. 4d. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 205 and Hussay), waited upon him in consequence, and tendered him the sum in question in the name of the convocation; they said that " they had weighed with themselves what pains and travail he had taken in writing many learned books in defence of the Catholic faith, against the errors secretly dissemi- nated abroad in the realm; that it was to their pas- toral charge the care of these interests principally appertained, and yet that there had not been a single clergyman who had matched his writings either in the extent of the volumes, the soundness of the argument, or in the happy result produced. That, therefore, they held themselves bound to consider him for the pains he had taken, and the zeal he had shown to discharge them in God's quarrel; that they were v/ell aware they could not requite him according to his merits — that must be left to the goodness of God: and yet taking into conside- ration that his estate was not equal to his worth, they had been deputed by the whole convocation, to beg his acceptance of this sum, as a small testi- mony of their sense of the obligations they owed him, and which they hoped he would accept according to the spirit in which it was presented." This, says More's grandson, was a beautiful deed in respect to the Prelates who made the offering, but little knew they Sir Thomas's magnificent disposition. He of- fered them his grateful acknowledgments, but refused the present. "It is no small comfort to me (said he) that men so wise and learned accepts so well of my simple doings. But I never purposed to receive any reward, save from the hands of God alone: from Him, the giver of all good gifts, came the means that I have used to defend his cause, and to Him alone are the thanks to be ascribed. I give my most humble and hearty thanks to your lordships, for your so bountiful and so friendly consideration; but I must beg you to hold me excused from receiv- ing anything at your hands." And when, continues his grandson, " they still pressed it upon him with so great importunity, that few could have supposed 18 206 SIR THOMAS MORE, he would have had the resolution to persist in the refusal, they could not, for all that, prevail any whit upon him. They then varied their mode of as- sault, and besought him that, at least, he would not deny their bestowingcit upon his wife and children." " Not so, my lords," said the knight, " not so; ye shall not steal a march upon me thus. I had rather see it cast into the Thames, than that either I or any of mine should have thereof the worth of a single penny. For although your offer, my lords, be indeed very friendly and honorable, yet set 1 so much by my pleasure and so little by my profit, that I would not, in good faith, for a much greater sum than yours, have lost the value of so many nights' sleep as was spent upon the same. And yet, for all that, I could well wish, that, upon condition all heresies were suppressed, all my works were burned, and my labor utterly lost." Sir J. Mackintosh observes, that he spoke this not from any boastful pride, which was most foreign to his nature, but as shrinking with a sort of instinc- tive delicacy from the touch of money, even before he considered how much the acceptance of the gift might impair his usefulness." And thus, continues Cresacre, the bishops were fain to depart, and return to every one his own again. And by this his virtuous answer, and the firmness of his conduct, every one may see, that all his solicitude was for God's greater honor, and not for any vain glory, or mere earthly interests. The reformers, upon the watch to find something that would tell against their untiring opponent, cir- culated a report from the above circumstance, that More had been bribed by the clergy to write against them; "measuring," says Cresacre, "other men by the standard of their own covetous humors." In his " Apology," which More published shortly after, he has the following passage on this subject. " I will not say nay, but that some good and honor- able men among them [the clergy] would, in re- ward of my good will and my labor against these HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 207 heretics, have given me much more than ever I did, or could, deserve. But I dare take God and them also to record, that all of them could never fee me one penny thereof; but, as I plainly told them, that I would rather have cast their money into the Thames than take it. For albeit there were among them, as indeed there were, both good men and honorable, yet look I for my thanks from God, who is their better, and for whose sake 1 take the labor, and not for theirs. I am not yet altogether so virtueless, but that of my own natural disposi- tion, without any special or peculiar help of grace thereto, I am both over-proud, and over-slothful too, to be hired for money to take half the labor and business in writing, that I have taken in this ^ear [matter] since I began.'* {Works p. 867.) Surely, if the king had been possessed of any sensibility, he must have felt the conduct of the bishops as the severest of all libels upon his con- duct. But Henry's growing selfishness had shut his heart against feelings of this kind. When his impure passion was to be catered for, we have seen him profuse enough of the royal purse; but there was nothing in the purity and integrity of More to interest his feelings as a man, or awaken his sym- pathy to his former friend. More's resources were of a nobler nature. The simplicity of his tastes and the moderation of his indulgences rendered retrenchment a task so easy to himself, as to be scarcely perceptible in his personal habits. His fool or jester, then a ne- cessary part of a great man's establishment, he gave to the lord mayor for the time being.* His first care was to provide for his attendants, by placing his gentlemen and yeomen with peers and prelates, and his eight watermen in the service of his suc- cessor Sir T. Audley, to whom he gave his great barge, one of the most indispensable appendages * Rastell informs us that Pattison was sent home to his father; this doubtless was the fact, as being more in accordance with the known humanity of Sir Thomas's character. 208 SIR THOMAS MORE, of his office in an age when carriages were un- known. His sorrows were for separation from those whom he loved. He called together his children and grandchildren, who had hitherto lived in peace and love under his patriarchal roof, and, lamenting that he could not as he was used, and as he gladly would, bear out the whole charges of them all himself, and continue living together as they were wont, he prayed them to give him their coun- sel on this trying occasion. When he saw them silent, and unwilling to risk an opinion, he gave them his, seasoned with his natural gaiety, and containing some strokes illustrative of the state of society at that time. — " I have been brought up," quoth he, "at Oxford, at an inn of Chan- cery, at Lincoln's Inn, and also in the king's court: from the lowest degree to the highest, and yet I have at present left me little above 100/. a year" (including the king's grants); " so that now, if we like to live together, we must be content to be contributaries together; but we must not fall to the lowest fare first. We will begin with Lincoln's Inn diet, where many right worshipful and of good years do live fall well; which, if we find not our- selves the first year able to maintain, then will we the next year go one step to New Inn fare; if that year exceed our ability, we will the next year descend to Oxford fare,* wherewith many grave, learned, * If the following description ^eiven by Tlinmas Lever (1550), in a discourse at St. Paul's Cross, be correct, the fare was hard enougli in all conscience. "There be diverse there that rise between four and five in the morning, and remain until six in prayer in the common chapel- At ten o'clock tliey go to dinner, at which tliey are content with a penny piece of beef amongfour, having a pntage made of the broth of the same beef, with salt and oatmeai, and nothing else. After this slender dinner, they are teaching or learning till five in the evening, when they have a supper not better than their dinner. Immediately after which they go to reasoning in problems, or to some other study till nine or ten; and then, being without fire, are fain to walk or run up and down for half an hour, to beget a heat in the feet, when they go to bed. Yet these be men not weary of their pains, but very sorry to leave their studies." "The college beer," says old Fuller, "is raw, small, and windy." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 209 and ancient fathers are continually conversant. If our ability stretch not to maintain either, then may we with bags and wallets go a begging together, and, hoping for charity, to sing a Salve, regina at every man's door, and so still keep company and be merry together."* It was a thing for men to wonder at, says Cres- acre, that whereas More was taken by the king into his service from a very worshipful living of four hundred pounds by the year, to deal in the greatest and weightiest causes that concerned his highness and the realm; and though Sir Thomas had spent with painful cares, travels and troubles, as well beyond the seas, as within the kingdom, in effect the whole substance of his life; yet with all the gain he got thereby — being never himself a waste- ful spender — he was unable, after the resignation of his office, to find for himself and those that be- longed to him, sufficient meat, drink, fuel, apparel, and such needful charges. As such was the case, his children went to their own livings, all but my uncle Roper and my aunt, who lived in the house next unto him. The following is added in a second manuscript Life of More, in the Lambeth collection. " After the resignation of his office of Chancellor, he was not able for the maintenance of himself and such as belonged to him, sufficiently to find meat, drink, fuel, apparel, and such other necessaries: but was compelled for lack of other fuel, in the winter time before he went to bed, to cause a great bundle of fern to be brought into his own chamber, and with the blaze thereof to warm himself, his wife, and children, and so without any other fire to go to their beds." More, in one of his letters to Erasmus, had con- gratulated himself, that no one had stepped forward to challenge his integrity. It was not long before Roper, pp. 51, 52. 18* 210 SIR THOMAS MORE, there were found beings hardy enough for the task.** The most officious and malignant scrutiny was exercised, with a view to discover some ground of accusation against him; and now it was that he found the true value of his innocence and integrity. Had he not acted with the utmost probity in the high office he filled, and kept his hands pure from corruption, the slightest matter would have been gladly laid hold of to crush him. This was suffi- ciently evident in the instance of a man of the name of Parnell, who was induced to come forward with a complaint that Sir Thomas had pronounced a de- cree against him in the Court of Chancery, at the suit of one Vaughan, and that he had been biassed in pronouncing judgment by the bribe of a large silver gilt cup, presented to liim by the wife of the said Vaughan. Upon this accusation he was sum- moned to appear before the council at which Lord Wiltshire, father to Anne Boleyn, presided. When charged by the witness with the fact in question, he readily acknowledged that as such a cup had been brought him as a New Year's gift, long after the decree was made, he had not refused to take it. On hearing this, the eyes of the president of the council glistened with delight; he could not restrain his emotions, but exclaimed: " There, my lords, did I not tell you that you would find this matter true!" Sir Thomas quietly observed, that, as they had been pleased courteously to hear one part of the story, they would impartially listen to the other. This being granted, he declared, that, " Though, after much solicitation, he did indeed receive the * " The world," More used to say, " is ungrateful: not only does it rarely recompense the good turns that we do it, but mis- represents our plainest actions. But, indeed, were the world as grateful as it might, it could never recompense a good action: that awaits a higher reward." Of the ungrateful he says in another place; "That they wrote the best deeds done them in dust, but the smallest injuries in marble. Shakspearehas taken this image. In reply to dueen Catha- rine's reproaches on Cardinal Wolsey, Griffith says: Noble madam. Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues We write in water. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 211 cup, yet immediately sending- for his butler, he ordered him to fill it with wine, of which when Mrs. Vaug-han had drank, he pledged her in return; and then, as freely as her husband had given it to him, even so freely he gave the same to her again, to present to her husband as her New Year's gift; and which she received, though with some reluc- tance, and carried back with her again." To the truth of this the woman herself, and others there present, deposed, and a smile was on the face of all the council, except the president, who lost no time in withdrawing from the chamber. To use an ex- pression of More's, " Men's accusations are often- times very hot and violent : but a very cool tale follows, when the simple truth is known." Sir Thomas now withdrew his attention altoge- gether from public affairs, and devoted his leisure to study and devotion. He completed different controversial works which he had begun during his chancellorship, and gave them to the public. To this period, belong his celebrated "Apology," the second part of his " Reply to Tindall," the treatise entitled "The Debellation of Salem and Byzance," and a reply in five books to an anonymous treatise, called " The Supper of the Lord." These works show the extent of More's learning, and his tact in polemic warfare; and have often been resorted to by later divines, as arsenals stored with materials for the defence of the faith. How far wit and humor are suitable weapons in a contest involving inte- rests so solemn and important, we shall not stop to examine; but if it be allowed the champion of truth to employ them, certain it is that More has wielded them with vigor and address. The contrast be- tween this lighter warfare, and the solemn and touching passages which stand in juxtaposition, has a very singular effect. Take an example or two; He has a well-conducted argument, termi- nating in the following forcible sentence: " There- fore, to tell me to leave the truth as taught in the known church, and seek it in an unknown, is to S13 SIR THOMAS MORE, persuade me to renounce the light of the sun in order to pick my way by a rush-light." This is immediately succeeded by the following apt, but whimsical illustration: " Now-a-days, there are almost as many sects as there are men, and not one agreeth with the other. Hence, to try and learn the right way of them, is much the same, as if a man walking in a deep forest, would fain find the way to the town for which he is making, and should inquire of a parcel of lewd mocking knaves, who, when the bewildered man had prayed them to tell him the way, should get them into a roundel^ [circle], turning them back to back, and then speaking all at once, should each one cry, ' This way!' pointing with his finger in the direction of his nose." (p. 707.) After a solemn warning to Tindal against relapse into error, and his inconsistency in allowing that to be truth to day, which he will disavow to-morrow, he breaks off as follows: " Though he confessed it before, yet would he now secretly steal back again, not willingly, peradventure, but that the Old One puUeth him back by his coat-skirt unawares." (p. 569.) His illustrations are frequently very whimsical. " He writeth well and fluently, and in reading his books this is the eflfect: — the tale is all very well as long as it is telling, and goeth as fair and as smooth over a man's ear, as the water goeth over a goose's back: but let the water tarry still for a time, and it will even go well to the skin." (p. 756.) " So long as Tindall trieth his logic sadly [seri- ously], it may be endured, but his merriment is sad- der still; he jesteth as adroitly as a camel danceth." (p. 760.) "When I tell him of Christ's promise that he would leave behind him a spouse, his Church, without spot or wrinkle, and yet that from his ex- position it would appear otherwise; he equivocates, he scuds in and out like a hare with a dozen brace HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 213 of greyhounds after her, and finally he slinks slily away by saying, that the Church overbad spots and wrinkles of sin, and yet for all that the Cburch of Christ is very pure and clean, because abiding in the knowledge of her spots and wrinkles, and ask- ing mercy for them, God layeth none of them to her charge. I know not what to make of a church pure and clean, and yet with spots and wrinkles both. 1 had as lieve he had told us, that if there were a woman with a crooked nose, yet as long as no man tell her of it, so long her nose stood straight." (p. 750.) " The common received belief of Christ's uni- versal Church, is argument enough for the simple Catholic. For, as if a sophister with a fond argu- ment should prove to a simple soul, that two eggs were three, because there is one, and there are twain; now, one and twain make three: yet the sim- ple unlearned man, though he lack logic to foil his fond argument, yet hath wit enough to laugh thereat, and, eating the two eggs himself, to bid the sophister take and eat the third. So is every faith- ful man as sure in the sight of his own soul, how speciousl3r soever an adversary argue from scrip- ture against his faith, that what he is taught is true; it being true because taught him by the Church, whom the Spirit of God leads into all the truth." (p. 650.) One other extract, and we have done. " In reasoning with one of Luther's progenj'-, who was more zealous than well-read, 1 told him I had a witness in my favor whom I would produce. Who is it] quoth he; and when I named Origen, he shrunk back and said; " I had rather go manj'- a good mile about than meet with that man. It is the same that Bishop Fisher brought in against a friend of mine, and he told me he could not stand against him, so right cunning a man was he; and he ended by asking me whether the man were not a stranger in these parts." What follows is too curious to be omitted. 214 SIR THOMAS MORE, " Tinddll asks me, why I have not contended with Erasmus, whom he calleth my darling, for all this long while, for translating this word ecdesia into congregatio. And then he cometh forth with this right proper taunt, that I favor him of likelihood for his making of his book of Moria in my house. There had he caught me, lo! save for lack of a lit- tle salt. I have not contended with Erasmus, my darling, because I found no such malicious intent with Erasmus, my darling, as I find with Tindall. For had 1 found with Erasmus, my darling, the shrewd intent and purpose that I find in Tindall, Erasmus should no longer be any darling of mine. But 1 find in Erasmus, my darling, that he detest- €th and abhorreth the errors and heresies of Tindall, and therefore, Erasmus, my darling, shall be my darling still. And surely had Tindall never taught these errors, or had the grace to revoke them, then should Tindall be my darling too. But while he holdeth such heretical style, 1 cannot take for my darling, him that the devil taketh for his darling. " As touching 31oria^ in which Erasmus, under the Greek name of Moria (Folly), doth merely touch and reprove such faults and follies as he found in any kind of people, running through every state and condition, spiritual and temporal, leaving almost none untouched; by which book, Tindall saith, if it were in English, every man would then well see, that I was then far otherwise minded than when [ now write. If this be true, then the more cause have I to thank God for my amendment. But surely this is true. For God be thanked, I never had that mind in my life to have the blessed saints' images or their holy relics out of reverence. But if there were any such thing in Moria, it could not make any man see that I was of that mind, the book being made by another man, though he were my darling never so dear. Howbeit, that book of Moria doth but jest upon the abuses of such things, after the manner of the disourh [clown's] part in a play; nor yet so far either as the Messenger HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 215 doth in my Dialogue, which yet I have suffered to stand there, and that rather by the counsel of other men, than of myself. For, albeit, it be lawful for any man to mislike the misuse of every good thing, and that in my Dialogue there be not only those evil things rehearsed and answered, and the good- ness of the thing plainly proved, yet hath Tindall by erroneous books so envenomed the hearts of lewdly disposed persons, that men can scarcely speak of these things now-a-days, so much as in play, but that such evil hearers wax a great deal the w^orse . . . Therefore, in these days, in which men, by their own default, misconstrue and take as harm the very scripture of God, I would not now translate Maria into English, nor some works either that I have myself written ere this; albeit there be no harm therein intended. But yet folks being, as they are, given to take harm of that which is good, I would not only, with my own hands, help to burn my darling's book, but mine own also, rather than folks should, through their own fault, take any harm therefrom; seeing that it is likely in these days they would so do, " But now, after this, Tindall handleth me full dis- courteously, for he taketh away all the thanks and reward I should have had of the Spirituality. For he showeth them that I wrote not the book for any affection that I bore to them, but that I did it for the lucre that should come thereof, after which he said I so sore hunger, that, as my good friend, he prays for me that I eat not too fast for choaking. " Now, if the Spirituality had been about to have gathered a disme [tenth] among them, to give it to me, Tindall here had lost it me every penny. But heaven forgive the good man, as I do. For when he speaketh of my lucre, in good faith he makeih me laugh, and so I ween he maketh many more do, who know well (God be thanked!) that I have not so much lucre thereby, that I stand in any great peril of choaking. This lies not in my breast, and is not among my peccadillos, though in searching to the 216 SIR THOMAS MORE, bottom of my breast, I found some pretty ones there, such as I will not, however, confess to Father Tindall, because he saith confessors keep no coun- sel." (p. 423.) "It is evident," says Sir James Mackintosh, "that our two philosophers, who found all the fair visions they had been led to frame, dispelled by noise and violence, deeply felt the injustice of cit- ing- against them, as a proof of inconsistency, that they departed from the pleasantries, the gay dreams, at most the fond speculations, of their early days, when they saw those harmless visions turned into weapons of destruction in the blood-stained hands of the boors of Saxony, and of the ferocious fanatics of Munster. The virtuous love of peace might be more prevalent in More; the desire of personal ease predominated more in Erasmus. But both were, doubtless from commendable or excusable causes, incensed against those odious disciples, who now, ' and with no friendly voice,' invoked their author- ity against themselves." With respect to Erasmus, More never cooled in his affection to the man, but he could not approve the latitude of the writer. Cresacre observes of him, that though " he could utter his mind in most eloquent phrase, yet did he always take a delight in scoffing at religious matters, and finding fault with the clergy. He took upon him to censure the fathers of the church at his pleasure, and in his writings he is said to have hatched the egg that Luther had laid. Yet is he not to be accounted heretical, for he was never obstinate in any of his opinions. He always lived a Catholic priest, and wrote sharply against the new gospellers, who then began to appear in the world. He declares, in one of his letters, that he hates these seditious opinions, with which the world is so miserably shaken. But he is justly censured by the church as a busy fellow." Finally, having found in the works of his friend many things necessary to be amended, he seriously advised him to imitate the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 317 example of the great St. Augustine, by making; some atonement to the world in a Book of Retrac- tions, to correct what he had unadvisedly written in the heat of youth. But Erasmus had not St. Augustine's humility, and he never followed this good counsel. To this period, also, must be referred More's " Let- ter relative to John Frith's paper against the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar." This is, perhaps, one of the most touching of all Sir Thomas's compositions. (See Selections.) Frith was a young man, who had formerly placed himself under More's care, but af- terwards became a zealous advocate of the new opinions. This touching remonstrance of his af- fectionate master was" unavailing; Frith persevered in his errors, and perished in the flames of Smith- field, which were lighted by Henry alike against the Catholic and the Protestant.* Among the many annoyances to which poor authors are subject, not the least is that of being solicited by the brethren of the craft, to read over their blotted manuscripts, to counsel, revise, and re- touch. More was attacked by one of the tribe, but ho contrived to escape with admirable address. Cresacre tells the anecdote with all his wonted naivete. " A certain friend of More's had taken great pains to write a book, which he would have set out, thinking well of his own wit, though he could find no other to praise it. And wishing Sir Thomas to oversee it before it was printed, he brought it to him to view. More perusing it, and finding no matter therein worth the print, said to him with a grave countenance; 'If it had been in verse, it w"ould be of more worth.' Away went the man, and turned it into verse, and again brought * Cluas tua religio, pari sic jure necare i;^iie Lutheranos, Catholicosque cruce? Henry Holland (1540.) What faith is that, whose rancorous hate will strike Both Catholic and Lutheran alike? W. 19 218 SIR THOMAS MORE, the man in his odd way; " Yea, marry, my friend, now it is somewhat, for now it is rhyme: before it was neither rhyme nor reason."* 1533. We must now glance for an instant at the position of things in that court, from the infection of which More had providentially escaped. Five years had now rolled away, since Henry first soli- cited a divorce, and three since he had begun to cohabit with Anne Boleyn; yet still he appeared to have made but little progress towards the attain- ment of his object. He had, however, learned the bitter truth, that " The way of the adulterer is hedged with thorns." {Husea vi. 6.) A priest, of the name of Cranmer, had long been attached to the family of the Earl of Wiltshire, the father of Anne Boleyn. It was he who first sug- gested the idea of consulting the universities of Europe on the king's divorce, and on learning which, Henry, delighted at the novelty of the thing, had exclaimed; " That man has got the right sow by the ear!"f Anne had long known the man in her father's family, and with that address of which she was mistress, had penetrated fully into his cha- racter, and calculated to what purpose she could * The anecdote is thus versified in an anonymous volume of the date of 1C06, called the Mouse Trap. Paulus a pamphlet doth in prose present Unto the knight, the fruit of idle time; The critic said he should be more content To see the thing converted into rhyme: More said, when done, and duly brought in season; " Now it is rhyme: before, it was nor rhyme nor reason." t Nor was this the only sow that Cranmer got by the ear: the world is indebted to him for the glory, such as it is, of hav- ing discovered the astounding fact, that the sovereign pontiff is the anti-christ of the A[)olcalypse! and so pleased was he with the notion, that he made it tlie theme of several edifying discourses. Many a hungry parson has to thank Cranmer for this bright invention, for it has been the means by which store of fat benefices have been obtained. When the idea was first started, it filled the pions Catholic with horror: it is now hooted at from one end of Christendom to the other, and might subject the serious asserter to the penalty of a strait waistcoat. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 219 turn the natural pliability of his temper. His ser- vices in the cause of the divorce were secured and amply remunerated; but a still higher meed of his devotedness awaited him. On the death of the good Warham, Henry raised him to the highest ecclesiastical honor in the kingdom, sure to find in him an Archbishop of Canterbury according fo his own heart; "a station," remarks Sir J. M'ln- tosh, " which was in fact, the unsuitable reward of diplomatic activity for a very ambiguous purpose." The following items in " The State Papers" will enable us to trace correctly the remaining steps of the divorce. On the 30lh of March, Cranmer was consecrated to the See of Canterbury. With one hand he received the papal bulls, by virtue of Avhich he was invested with the pall, and with the other he surrendered them to the crown, declaring that he did not recognise the pontiff as the giver of the ecclesiastical dignity he was in the act of receiving from his hands: at one and the same mo- ment, taking the oath of canonical obedience to the pope, and protesting that he did not believe in the assertions it contained.* Exactly twelve days after this chivalrous transaction, [April 11th], we find a letter from Cranmer to the king, and the an- swer of Henry to the same. They represent one of many solemn and hypocritical farces that were enacted between the king and his pliant archbishop: for they had acquired a wonderful facility of play- ing into each other's hands. Cranmer begs that, " for as much as it hath pleased Almighty God and the king's grace to call him, albeit a poor wretch and most unworthy, to the high oiTice of Primate, that he would grant him his royal licence to proceed in the affair of the divorce, and bring it at once to * " Upon the moral character of this transaction it-is unne- cessary to dwell. If such a protest be invested with any validity, oaths cease to bind, and truth and sincerity in the afl'airs of life are empty somiAs."— {British Statesmen, p. 157.) And yet a long and labored defence of this immorality has been recently published by an eminent divine of the Church of England. 220 SIR THOMAS MORE, an issue, and that for the exoneration . of his own conscience, and the performance of his duty to his country; for, he adds, the deciding upon the divorce would dispel "the obloquy and bruit, which daily spring- up and increase, of the clergy of the realm, and put outof doubtall such inconveniences, perils, and dangers as the rude and ignorant people do speak, and talk to be imminent.' " April 14. Is the king's answer to Cranmer. He is sorry to see " the uncertainty of our succession, whereby our said people is seen to be not a little offended;" he wishes him " by reason of his office of primacy, to set some direction and end in the said great cause of matrimony, according to the pleasure of Almighty God, inasmuch as it hath so long re- mained undetermined, to our great and grievous unquietness and burthen of conscience." May 12. A letter from Cranmer to Henry. A monition has been served on Queen Catharine, and, from her refusal to receive it, she is pronounced truly and manifestly contumacious. May 17. Cranmer is at Dunstable, the residence of Queen Catharine, and writes to the king, to advertise his highness, that his grace's great matter is now brought to a final sentence, to be given upon Friday next ensuing; " at which time, 1 trust so to endeavor myself further in this behalf, as shall become me to do; to the pleasure of Almighty God, and the mere truth of the matter." May 23. Cranmer again to Henry, " advertising his highness, that this 23d day of May, he has given sentence in his grace's great and weighty cause." What he adds shows that no time had been lost; " by the letter by Mr. Thurlesby [whom Henry made bishop of Westminster five years after, the only bishop of that see,] I was advertised of your grace's pleasure, that I should cause your grace's council to conceive a procuratory concerning a second matrimony; I have sent the said letters to them, and required them to do according to the tenor thereof, most humbly beseeching your highness that I may HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 231 know your grace's further pleasure concerning the same matrimony, as soon as your grace, with your council, shall be perfectly resolved therein. For the time of the coronation is so near at hand, that the matter requireth good expedition." July 3, 4. Letters of Lord Mountjoy to the council, containing the report of the conference with Queen Catharine, at her residence at Ampthill. We shall have occasion to quote these letters more at large. September 7. A letter of Anne Boleyn to Lord Cobham, announcing the birth, on that day, of the princess Elizabeth. October 10. Letter of Lord Mountjoy to Crum- well. Many of Catharine's household refuse to call her otherwise than Queen. He is tired of being her chamberlain and wishes to resign. December 19. Letters of the Duke of Suffolk and of the council to the king, containing a report of their conference with Catharine, who, we find, has removed to Bugden. May 21, 1534. Letter of Archbishop Lee and Bishop Tunstall to the king. As the lay members of the council had been unsuccessful in persuading Catharine to acquiesce in the divorce, it was resolved to try what effect the clergy could produce, and the present is the report of their conference. All will not do; Catharine is still determined to be queen in spite of them, and will not concede one jot of her privilege. September 14. Letter of Clerke, Bishop of Wells, to Crumwell, reporting a preacher, who had accident- ally prayed for Queen Catharine, instead of Queen Anne. This unconscious partizan of the queen who does his duty by the mere force of habit, we find to be Dr. Carsley, Canon of Wells Cathedral, who is made to express his deep contrition for an offence, which his bishop thinks grave enough to be reported to the council! Speaking of the divorce and the subsequent mar- riage, Cresacre remarks, that this farce " was the 19* 222 SIR THOMAS MORE, beginning of a lamentable tragedy, the end whereof we cannot yet see, though there have been almost one hundred years since." Better than three hun- dred years have now elapsed, and yet, humanly speaking, is there any better prospect of the de- nouement of this great drama] On the 25th of January, Henry was privately mar- ried to Anne, and her coronation took place on the 1st of June. The pageant, for obvions reasons, was more splendid and imposing than any thing of the kind ever witnessed before. Aware of the weight of More's opinion, the king tried every possible means to obtain, at least, the appearance of his ap- probation of the proceedings. With this view he commanded the bishops of Durham, Bath, and Win- chester, to desire his attendance at the coronation. They were ordered to write a letter to persuade him to join the procession, and to accompanyit with the needful present of 20/. to buy a court dress. More, in his usual odd manner, exused himself from attend- ing, but said the 20/. might as w^ell stay where it was. But, added he, in a solemn tone, "Take heed, my lords, take heed lest by procuring your lordships to be present at the coronation, they will next ask you to preach for the setting forth of the same; and finally, to write books to all the M^orld, in its defence." Speaking of Anne Boleyn and her coronation. More observed to his family; " How often when we think we are soaring the highest, will fate come and pluck us out of our feathers, and suddenly down we come to the earth again!" When some one told him of the festive doings on this occasion, he replied in the old saw, — " They dance well for whom fortune pays the piper;" but let them take heed that " the end of the feast, be not the beginning of a fray." More felt, that, to attend the coronation of this second-hand queen, would be to turn his back on his old mistress, and insult her in the hour of her distress. To use the phrase of a statesman of a following reign, he was not " One of those glow-worms that shine in the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 223 summer of their friends' good fortune, but crawl away in the adverse storm." {Lord Burleigh.) More had a keen eye to the issues of things. When Roper had some time before informed him of the Iving's marriage, he mused for a while, with his finger to his forehead, and then observed: "Roper, my son, they'll not let this matter rest here; I pray to God that it be not confirmed with oaths, and enforced with much severity]" That More was no false prophet, the events of a few short months will show. It is conjectured that More's unreserve in uttering his sentiments and his intre- pidity in refusing compliances hostile to his feelings and his conscience, were carried to the ear of Anne Boleyn, and that she was an active agent in exci- ting Henry's future rigor against his old and faith- ful servant. It might have been imagined that she had exhausted all her spite upon the unfortunate Wolsey, but, " The depths of woman's malice who can tell?" We mustbe allowed to direct the reader's attention for a moment to the much injured Catharine, and to the repeated attempts made to intimidate her into an abjuration of her rights and dignities. On the 3d of July, as we have already seen, the Lord Mount- joy and others repaired to her residence atAmpthill, to state to her the king's determination. They found her indisposed with a cough and lying upon a pallet. When told the title she was henceforward to bear, she said " that she was not Princess Dowa- ger, but the Queen, and the king's true wife; that she came to the king a pure maiden, and thereupon was crowned and anointed queen, and had by the king lawful issue and no bastardy* wherefore the name of queen she would vindicate, challenge, and so call herself during her life. That it stood neither with * It is clear from the significant tone in which this was ut- tered, that Catharine knew of the actual situation of the wo- uiau for whose impure embraces her husband had deserted her 224 SIR THOMAS MORE, the law of God, nor raan, nor with the king's honor to have two queens." " When we alleged to her, that, if she reserved the name of queen, it was thought she would do it for a vain desire and appetite of glory, whereby she would provoke the king's highness, not only against her, but also against her whole family and servants, and furthermore be an occasion that the king would withdraw his fatherly love from her honorable and dearest daughter, the Lady Princess, by reason of her unkindness, and that this should move her, if no other cause did. To this her answer was: As for any vain glory, it was not that she desired the name of a queen, but only for discharge of her con- science, to declare herself the king's very true wife; as to the Princess, her daughter, she said that she was the king's true begotten child, and as God had given her to them, so, for her part, she would ren- der her again to the king, as his daughter, to do with her as shall stand with his pleasure; trusting to God, that she will prove an honest woman. In fine, that neither for her daughter, family, possession, or any worldly adversity, or displeasure, that might ensue, would she yield in this cause, to put her soul in danger; alleging the words of the Gospel, that they were not to be feared who have power over the body, but He only, that hath power over the soul." On the day following, they repaired to her again to read over their report of what had passed the day previous. When they came to the words Prin- cess Dowager, she asked forthe papers, " and calling for pen and ink, in such places as she found the name of Princess Dowager, she with her pen struck it out, as it is apparent."* When the paper, thus amended by her hand, was read through, she said; "That she did not vindicate the name of queen for mere appetite of vain glory; she protested that she * The obliteration still remains in the authentic document ihe State Paper Office. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 225 would rather be a poor beggar's wife, and be sure of Heaven, than to be queen of all the world, and in doubt thereof, by occasion of her own consent. As to her being but the king's subject, to that she said, as long as the king took her for his wife, she was also his subject: but if the king took her not for his wife, she said that she came not into this realm on merchandise, nor yet to be married to any merchant. She added, that she had always demeaned herself well and truly towards the king, and if it can be proved that, in word or deed, she had done any thing prejudicial to his grace or his realm, she is content to suffer for it." Two months after, another attempt is made to subdue the queen's firmness, but with as little success as before. The agents employed are the Dukes of Sussex, Suffolk, and others; they re- present her as " persisting in her great stomach and obstinacy," and protesting with a loud voice that she would rather be hewn in pieces than forswear her lawful title of queen. As Catha- rine's old attendants had refused to recognise their royal mistress by any but her former title, the commission had come with a fresh set of ser- vants to replace them. But Catharine's firmness so alarmed the new comers, that " when they came to take their new oath, they said they were loth to serve her, persisting in the mind she was of." When the commissioners spoke of removing her toSomer- sham, she said "that they would not get her to go there, unless they should bind her with ropes." Considering the impetuosity of Henry's charac- ter, and the arts of the wanton by his side, ever prompt to excite to mischief, we are almost disposed to wonder how the intrepidity of Catharine escaped unpunished. Could the slightest surmise, the ve- riest breath of slander have attached to her, how eagerly, at a moment like this, w^ould it have been turned to her destruction! Lee and Tunstal,in their interview with the queen, display neither great delicacy, nor much address. 226 SIR THOMAS MORE, They begin by telling- her that the king-, her former husband, after being- discharged of the marriage made with her, had contracted a new one with his dearest wife, queen Anne; that God be thanked, fair issue is already sprung of this marriage, and more likely to follow.* The effect was what might have been expected from a woman of Catharine's keen feelings and lofty spirit. She is described as being " in great choler and agony, always interrupting our words." When they asserted that the consumma- tion of her marriage with Henry's brother had been proved; with aloud voice she said they lied falsely, that so said. She answered, that she was not bound to stand to the divorce made by my lord of Canter- bury, whom she called a mere shadow; that though he had given sentence against her, yet the Pope had given sentence with her, whom she took for Christ's vicar, and therefore would always obey as a faithful daughter; that she would never leave the name of queen, and would always take herself for your high- ness' wife; in a word, that she would in no wise, either for any peril, or loss of her life or goods, re- linquish the name of queen, (p. 419.) It is painful to see that these two visiters, reve- rend churchmen as they were, did not scruple to stoop to a falsehood, in order to subserve the pur- poses of their royal master. They told Catharine that " after his highness was discharged of the mar- riage made with her, he contracted a new marriage with his dearest wife, queen Anne." The divorce, mere form as it was, was pronounced by Cranmer on the 28th of May, and Henry had been privately mar- ried by Dr. Lee, in a garret at Whitehall, on the 25th of the January preceding. When the ques- tions were naturally asked — " How the king could have proceeded to a new marriage, before the former had been lawfully annulledr' and " How the right of succession could be less doubtful now than be- * Do not these overofBcious gentlemen, in the present in- stance, illustrate the old proverb, " of counting the chickens be- fore the eggs are hatched?" HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 227 fore?" Henry gravely declared, that " he had ex- amined the cause in the court of his own conscience, which was enlightened and directed by the spirit of God, who guideth the hearts of princes." It may reasonably be questioned, whether all his- tory can afford an example so fraught with artifice, self-delusion, and studied hypocrisy, as the affair of the divorce of Henry the Eighth; and yet a learned living divine of the established church has told the world, that this divorce " was the very cra- dle of the reformation in England." More's opinions, and the firmness with which he had recently resisted the royal will, were now the subjects of common discourse, and every dependent on the court, every time-serving courtier was ar- rayed in a kind of natural hostility against the ex- chancellor. The most malignant scrutiny was exercised to discover some ground of accusation against him. Among others, recourse was had to the following. After Henry's divorce had been publicly proclaimed, a document was set forth by authority, stating the reasons for the measure. A report was circulated that Sir Thomas had written an answer to it. The accusation was a grave one, coming at such a moment, and he felt called upon to clear himself of the charge. This was the sub- ject of the following letter to Secretary Crumwell. Right Worshipful Sir: — In most hearty wise I recommend myself to you. My cousin, William Rastell, has informed me, that your goodness showed him, that it has been reported I have made answer against a book of certain articles, lately put forth in print by the king's honorable council, and delivered it to my said cousin to print. And though he, for his part, truly denied it, yet because he somewhat remained in doubt whether your Master- ship gave him therein full credence or not, he has desired me, for his farther discharge, to declare to you the very truth. Sir, so help me God, neither my said cousin, nor any man else, ever had any 228 SIR THOMAS MORE, book of mine to print, since the said book of the king's council came forth. For, in truth, the last book he printed of mine was that which I made against an unknown heretic, who has sent over a work, that walketh through many man's hands, named The Supper of The Lord^ against the blessed Sacrament of the Altar. My answer to which, al- though the printer (unawares to me) dated it 1534, by which it seems to be printed since the feast of the Circumcision, was, of very truth, both made and printed, and many of them gone, before Christ- mas. I never espied the printer's oversight in the date, till more than three weeks after; the which being true, sufficeth for his declaration in this be- lief. As touching my own self, I shall say thus much farther, that, on my faith, I never made any such book, nor ever thought to do so. I read the said Book of certain articles once over and never more. But I am for one's reading many times, things whereof I would have metely sure knowledge, ere ever I would make an answer, though the matter and the book both concerned the poorest man in the town, and were of the simplest man's making too. For of many things which in that Book are touched, in some I know not the law, and in some I know not the fact; and, therefore, would I never be so childish, nor so play the proud arrogant fool, by whomsoever the book had been made, and to whom- soever the matter had belonged, as to presume to make an answer to the same, concerning matters whereof I was never sufficiently learned in the law, nor fully instructed in the fact. But when the mat- ter appertained to the King's Highness, and the Book professeth openly that it was made by his honorable council, and by them put in print with his Grace's license, I surely trust, in good faith, that of your good mind towards me, though I had never written you word thereof, yourself will both think and say so much for me, that it were a thing far unlikely, that an answer should be made thereto by me. I will, by the grace of Almighty God, as long HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 229 as it shall please him to lend me life in this world, in all such places as I am of my duty to God and the King's Grace bounden, truly say my mind, and discharge my conscience, as becometh a poor hon- est true man, wheresoever I shall be by His Grace commanded. Yet surely if it should happen that any Book should issue abroad in the name of His Grace, or of his honorable council, if it seemed such as myself would not have given my own advice to the making, yet I know my bounden duty, to bear more honor to my Prince, and more reverence to his honorable council, than that it could become me, for many causes, to make an answer to the same, or to counsel and advise any man else to do it. And, therefore, as it is a thing I never did, nor intended, so I heartily beseech you, if you shall happen to perceive any man, either of ill-will, or of lightness, report any such thing of me, be so good a master to me as help to bring us both together; and then, never take me for honest after, if you do not find his honesty somewhat impaired in the mat- ter. Thus, I am bold on your goodness to encum- ber you with my long rude letter; in the contents whereof, I eftsoons heartily beseech you to be, in the manner aforesaid, a good master and friend to me; whereby you shall bind me to be your beads- man while I live; as knoweth our Lord, whose es- pecial grace, both bodily and ghostly, long preserve and keep you. At Chelsea, on the Vigil of the Purification of our Blessed Lady, [Feb. 1, 1533,] by the hand of assuredly all your own THOMAS MORE. We have seen numerous instances of More's faithful prognostications of the future in relation to others; we are now to witness his forebodings of his own fate, and that of his family. In the position he now stood, it needed no prophet's eye to foresee the storm that was gathering in the horizon, and which was shortly to burst over his head. He knew the cruel and impetuous temper of the king, 20 230 SIR THOMAS MORE, from which his most faithful servants found no secu- rity. He was well aware that, if he could not be won over to Henry's purpose by gentle means, he must prepare for the worst; and he awaited the impending blow in silent resignation. There was nothing in More of that reckless and fool-hardy spirit, that leads a man to brave his fate. As a father, he was far from being indifferent to the future lot of his wife and children; on the contrary, the blow that would reach them through his person, caused him to pass many a restless night; and he prayed with earnestness for courage to support the blow; "for," he observed, "with all my philosophy I find that my flesh cannot endure a fillip." Hear how he expresses himself on this subject, in a letter which he subsequently wrote to Margaret: "And notwith- standing also 1 have good hope that God shall never suffer so good and wise a prince, in such way to requite the long service of his true faithful servant; )'-et, since there is nothing impossible to fall, I for- get not in this matter the counsel of Christ in the Gospel, that ere I should begin to build this castle for the safeguard of mine own soul, I should sit and reckon what the charge should be. I counted, Margaret, full surely many a restless night, while my wife slept, and weighed, ere I slept, what peril might befall me; so far forth, that I am sure there came no care above mine. And in devising there- upon, daughter, I had a full heavy heart. But yet, I thank our Lord, that, for all that, I never thought to change, though the very uttermost should hap- pen to me that my fears ran upon." He thought it wise to prepare his family for the worst, and, in his own characteristic manner, once hired a pursuivant to come on a sudden to his house, while he was at dinner, and knocking hastily at the door, to summon him the next day before the Council. Such was his whimsical method of schooling his wife and children, the better to meet the calamities which he felt were approaching. " He would talk to them," says Roper, " of the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 231' joys of heaven and of the pains of hell; of the lives of holy martyrs, of their g;rievous pains endured for the love of God, and of their passion and death un- dergone rather than offend Him. And he would add, M^hat a happy and blessed thing it was to suf- fer privation of goods, imprisonment, loss of lands, and even of life itself in thecauseof Heaven. With this, and the like virtuous talk, he had so long be- fore his trouble encouraged them, that, when he afterwards fell into trouble indeed, it was felt by them a great deal the less." The close of this year witnessed a memorable decision. A convocation of the clergy had been held at Canterbury and York: in the former it was re- solved, that the Bishop of Rome " had received from Heaven no higher jurisdiction, than any other foreign bishop," — four voices only opposing it, and one doubting; while the convocation of York una- nimously came to the same decision. The univer- sities of Oxford and Cambridge followed the exam- ple of the metropolitan courts; and Cranmer, laying aside his style of legate of the Apostolic See, as- sumed that of metropolitan. Injunctions were issued that the very word " Pope" should be care- fully erased out of all books employed in the pub- lic worship, and the prayer in his behalf abolished. All persons were commanded to speak of him only as the Bishop of Rome; while the chapters, and collegiate bodies renounced his jurisdiction under their common seals, and acknowledged the king's unqualified supremacy. Henry now saw himself at the height of his ut- most ambition, supreme not only in temporal, but in spiritual power.* The salutary influence which the presence of a Wolsey and a More, exerted upon the violence of his nature, had been removed; and his will and his passions were catered to by those * A bold sarcastic reply was made to the Kins;, by the Lord Dacre, Avho, when asked by Henry what he thought of the new ecclesiastical authority he had assumed, replied: " If Your Majesty has already sinned, and if you should sin hereafter, you have now only to absolve yourself !" •232 ^IR THOMAS MOKE, abject tools of power— a Criimwell and a Craniner. The possession of unlimited sway, spiritual and temporal, acted fatally upon a heart naturally selfish, and which had never known the wholesome discipline of misfortune. As Henry advanced in years, these united causes produced " that porten- tous combination of sensuality and intolerance, from which the mind painfully and instinctively recoils."* {Tyiler.) From the establishment of the king's supremacy, the attention of parliament was directed to the suc- cession to the crown: and, by another act, the mar- riage between Henry and Catharine was pronounced unlawful and null, and that between him and Anne Boleyn lawful and valid: the king's issue by the first marriage was, of course, excluded from the succession, that by the second was made inheritable of the crown; to slander the said marriage or seek to prejudice the succession of the heirs thereof, was declared high treason, if the offence was committed by writing, printing, or deed; and misprision of trea- son, if by words only: and all the king's subjects of full age, were commanded to swear obedience to the same act, under the penalty of misprision of treason. * Through tyranny, the virtues of the hearts Suffer an ostracism, and depart.— Dr. Donne. (1590) When these so nob]e benefits shall prove Not well-dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, 'J'hey turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man, so complete, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Henry VIII. The germ of Shakspeare's thought may be found in the fol- lowing lines of old Flautus. Maxima parsmorem hunc homines habent. — duod sibi voluiit, dum id impetrant, boni sunt; bed id ubi jam p^'ues sese habent. Ex bonis pessimi et fraudulentissimi fiunt. The greater part of men are thus by nature: — VV hile aiming at their purpo;:;e, all is well; B It this their end attained, they change at once, And from good men become mere knaves and rutfians W. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 233 Now was the moment to try men's souls, and every conflict between fear and duty was watched with a jealous eye. The various discussions on so delicate a subject kept the king's mind tremblingly alive to every rumor; his jealousy magnified the least hint of disapprobation into a crime, which nothing but blood could atone. The first who suf- fered, were implicated in a conspiracy attributed to Elizabeth Barton, known by the name of the Holy Maid of Kent. She was a native of Alding- ton, in that country and being subject to fits, the contortions of her body, and the incoherent expres- sions which she uttered during her paroxysms,* were attributed by the ignorance of her neigh- bors to preternatural agency. She insensibly par- took of the delusion, and, at the recommendation of the parish rector, professed herself a nun in the priory of St. Sepulchre, Canterbury. Here her ecstacies and supposed revelations were multiplied; and the fame of her sanctity spread widely and de- luded many. To use the words of Sir J. Mackintosh, "her morbid susceptibility was so excited by Hen- ry's profane defiance of the Catholic church, and by his cruel desertion of C atharine, his faithful wife, that her pious and humane feelings led her to represent, and probably to believe, herself to be visited by a divine revelation of those punishments which the king was about to draw down on himself and on the kingdom. In the universal opinion of the six- teenth century, such interpositions were considered as still occurring." She was apprehended, with several others accused of being her accomplices, and condemned to stand in the pillory at St. Paul's cross, on a Sunday, and confess the imposture. The more humane had hoped that Henry would have been content with this public avowal of her guilt; but he would not be satisfied v/ithout the blood of the poor girl,," whose visions" observes the * Turner terms them "her vocal effusions;'"' would not this phrase lead us to conjecture that the poor girl's ravings were given in recitative? 30*= 234 SIR THOMAS MORE, humane Mackintosh, "were those of a disturbed, if not alienated mind." Bishop Fisher was attainted by the same act, for having innocently listened to some of the nun's revelations, and was committed to the Tower. The infirmities of ao^e were upon him, for he was now past his eightieth year. In his letter to the lords, on occasion of iheir passing the bill, he pleaded disease and weakness, as the cause of not appearing- in his place, adding; "if I had been present in person, I doubt not my manifold infirmities would have moved you much more to pity the cause whereby I am brought into this grievous trouble." We are told by Roper, that More's name was originally inserted in the attain- der, the king supposing that this bill would be so troublous and terrible to Sir Thomas More, that it would force him to relent and condescend to his request; wherein his grace was much deceived. Sir Thomas was personally to be received in his own defence to make answer. But the king, not liking that, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury, the chan- cellor, the Duke of Norfolk, and Crumwell, to attempt his conversion. Audley reminded More of the king's especial favor and of his many benefits. More admitted them, but modestly added, that his highness had most graciously declared that, on this matter, he should not again be molested. When in the end they saw that no persuasion could move him, they then said, " that the king's highness had given them in commandment, if they could by no gentleness win him, in the king's name with in- gratitude to charge him, that never was servant to his master so villainous, nor subject to his prince so traitorous as he." They even reproached him for having either written in the name of his master, or betrayed his sovereign into writing, the book against Luther, which had so deeply pledged Henry to the support of papal pretensions. To these up- braidings he calmly answered: "These terrors are arguments for children, and not for me. As to the fact, the king knoweth, that after the book was HIS LIFE AND TIMES. QSS linished by his hig-hness's appointment, 1 was, by the consent of the maker, only a sorter out and placer of the principal matters therein contained." He added, that he warned the king of the prudence of "touching' the pope's authority more slenderly, and that he had reminded Henry of the statutes of praemunire," whereby " a good part of the pope's pastoral care was pared away;" to which the im- petuous monarch answered, " "We are so much bounden unto the see of Rome, that we cannot do too much honor unto it." On More's return to Chelsea from his interview with these lords. Roper said to him — "I hope all is well, since you are so merry]" — " It is so, indeed," said More, " I thank God" — "Are you, then, out of the parliament bill?" said Roper. — "By my troth, I never remem- bered it; but," said More, " I will tell thee why I was so merry; because I had given the devil a foul fall, and that with those lords I had gene so far as, without great shame, I never can go back again." "A frank avowal of the power of temptation, and a simple joy at having, at the hazard of life, escaped from the farther seductions of the court, bestow a greatness on these few and familiar words, which scarcely belongs to any other of the sayings of man." {Mackintosh.) Henry, incensed at the failure of wheedling and threatening messages, broke out into violent decla- rations of his resolution to include More in the attainder, and said that he vi^ould be personally present to ensure the passing of the bill. Lord Audley and his colleagues on their knees besought their master to forbear, lest by an overthrow in his own presence, he might be contemned by his own subjects, and dishonored throughout Christendom for ever;* adding, that they doubted not that they * i2? cL^yaKzov 'TT^ctyfjC Scttiv, m Zev nai Bsoi, Aristcipli. Plut. i. O Jove and all ye gods, how hard a thing To serve a wicked and a senseless king! \V. 236 SIR THOMAS MORE, should find a more meet occasion " to serve his turn;" for that in this case of the nun he was so clearly innocent, that men deemed him far worthier of praise than of reproof. Henry was compelled to yield.* " Such," says Mackintosh, " was the power of defenceless virtue over the slender remains of independence among slavish peers, and over the lin- gering remnants of common humanity which might still be mingled with a cooler policy in the bosoms of subservient politicians." One of the worst of that race, Thomas C rum well, on meeting Roper in the parliament house next day after the king assented to the prayer of his ministers, bade him tell More that he was put out of the bill. Roper sent a messenger to Margaret Roper, who hastened to her beloved father with the tidings. More an- swered her with his usual gayety and fondness, " In faith, Megg, what is put off is not given up."f Soon after, the Duke of Norfolk said to him — " By the mass! Master More, it is perilous striving with princes; the anger of a prince brings death." — " Is that all, my lord] then the difference between you and me is but this — that I shall die to-day and you to-morrow.^'' "No life in Plutarch is more full of happy sayings and striking retorts than that of More. But the terseness and liveliness of his are justly overlooked in the contemplation of that union of perfect simplicity with moral grandeur, which, perhaps, no other human being has so uniformly reached."- — Sir J. Mackintosh. In Bishop Godvvyn's Annals (1616) is a portrait of Henry VHI , with this epigr^iph: Regem dedi iratus eis — I gave them a king in my auger. f-n * The house of lords addressed the king, praying him to de- clare whether it would he agreeable to his pleasure, that SirT.. More and others should not be heard in tlieir own defence be- fore " the lords in the royal senale called the Stere Chamber." Nothing more appears on the journals relative to this matter. liOrds' Jourii. 6th March, 1533. The journals prove the narra- tive of Roper, from which the text is composed, to be as accu- rate as it is beautiful. t He spoke to her in his conversational Latin—" Qnod difer- tur non avferf.ur.'' HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 237 The reader will be gratified b}^ listening to More's simple and honest statement of the singular atFair of the nun. Not content with clearing his conduct in the following letter to secretary Crumwell, he also addressed another to the king, pleading very feel- ingly his past services in his favor. Sir Tho7nas More to Secretary Crumwell. Right Worshipful — After my most hearty recom- mendation, with like thanks for your goodness in accepting of my rude long letter: 1 perceive, that, of your further goodness and favor towards me, itliked your mastership to break with my son Roper of that, that I had had communication, not only with divers that were of acquaintance with the lewd* nun of Canterbury, but also with herself; and had, over that, by my writing, declaring favor towards her, given her advice and counsel; of which my demeanor, that it liketh you to be content to take the labor and the pain to hear, by mine own writing, the truth, I very heartily thank you, and reckon myself therein right deeply beholden to you. It is, I suppose, about eight or nine years ago since I heard of that housewife first; at which time, the Bishop of Canterbury that then was — God assoil his soul! sent unto the king's grace a roll of paper, in which were written certain words of hers, that she had, as report was then made, at sundry times spoken in her trances; whereupon it pleased the king's grace to deliver me the roll, commanding me to look therein, and afterwards show him what I thought thereon. Whereunto, at another time, when his highness asked me, I told him, that in good faith I found nothing in these words that I could any thing regard or esteem; for seeing that some part fell in rhyme, and that, God wot, full rude also; for any reabon, God wot, that I saw therein, a right simple woman might, in my mind, speak it of her own wit well enough. Howbeit, I * Lewd in the acceptation of this age signified ignorant. 238 SIR THOMAS MORE, said, that because it was constantly reported for a truth, that God wrouo;ht in her, and that a miracle was showed upon her, I durst not, nor would not, be bold in judging- the matter. And the kinjg's gr?ice, as methonght, esteemed the matter as light as it after proved lewd. From that time, till about Christmas was twelve- month, albeit that continually there was much talk- ing of her, and of her holiness, yet never heard I any talk rehearsed, either of revelation of hers, or miracle, saving that I heard say divers times, in my lord cardinal's days, that she had been both with his lordship, and with the king's grace, but what she said, either to the one or to the other, upon my faith, I had never heard any one word. Now, as I was about to tell you, about Christmas was twelve- month. Father Risby, Friar Observant, then of Can- terbury, lodged one night at mine house; where, after supper, a little before he went to his chamber, he fell in communication with me of the nun, giving her high commendation of holiness, and that it was wonderful to see and understand the works that God wrought in her; which thing, I answered, that I was very glad to hear, and thanked God thereof. Then he told me, that she had been with my lord legate in his lifetime, and with the king's grace too; and that she had told my lord legate a revelation of hers, of three swords that God hath put in my lord legate's hand, which if he ordered not well, God would lay it sore to his charge. The first, she said, was the ordering the spirituality under the Pope, as legate; the second, the rule that he bore in ord r of the temporality under the king, as his chancellor; and the third, she said, was the meddling he was put in trust with by the king, concerning the great matter of his marriage. And therewithal I said unto him, that any revela- tion of the king's matters I would not hear of. I doubte ' not but the goodness of God would direct his highness, with his grace and wisdom, that the thing should take such end as God should be pleased HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 239 with, to the king's honor and surety of the realm. When he heard me say these words, or the like, he said unto me, that God had specially com- manded her to pray for the king; and forthwith he broke again into hqr revelations concerning the car- dinal, tfiat his soul v/as saved by her mediation; and without any other communication went unto his chamber. And he and I never talked any more of any such manner of matter, nor, since his departing on the morrow, did I ever see him after- wards, to my remembrance, till I saw him at Paul's Cross. After this, about Shrovetide, there came unto me, a Hitle before supper. Father Rich, Friar Observant of Richmond; and as we fell in talking, I asked him of Father Risby, how he did] And upon that occasion, he asked me, whether Father Risby had any thing showed me of the holy Nun of Kent? and I said. Yea, and that I was very glad to hear of her virtue. I would not, quoth he, tell you again what you have heard of her already; but I have heard and known many great graces that God hath wrought in her, and in other folk by her, which I would gladly tell you, if I thought you had not heard them already. And therewith he asked me, whether Father Risby had told me any thing of her being with my lord cardinal; and 1 said, Yea: then he told you, quoth he, of the three swords: Yea verily, quoth I. Did he tell you, quoth he, of the revelations that she had concern- ing the king's grace? Nay, forsooth, quoth I, nor if he would have done so, would I have given him the hearing. Nor verily no more I would indeed, for since she hath been with the king's grace herself, and told him, methought it a thing needless to tell it to me, or to any man else. And when Father Rich perceived that I would not hear her revelations concerning the king's grace, he talked on a little of her virtue, and let her revelations alone; and therewith my supper was set upon the board, where I required him to sit with me; but he would in no 240 SIR THOMAS MORE, wise tarry, but departed to London. After that night I talked with him twice, once in mine own house, another time in his own garden at the Friars, at every time a great space, but not of any revela- tions touching the king's grace, but only of other mean talk, I knew not what, of which things, some were very strange, and some were very child- ish. But albeit, that he said, he had seen her lie in her trance in great pains, and that he had at other times taken great spiritual comfort in her communication, yet did he never tell me that she had told him those tales herself; for if he had, I would, for the tale of Mary Magdalene which he told me, and for the tale of the Host, with which, as I have heard, she said she was houseled at the king's mass at Calais: if I had heard it of him, as told unto himself by her mouth for a revelation, I should have both liked him and her the worse. But whether ever I heard the same tale of Rich or of Risby, or of neither of them both, but of some other man, since she was in hold, in good faith 1 cannot tell; but I wot well when or wheresoever I heard it, methought it a tale too marvellous to be true, and very likely that she had told some man her dream, who told it again for a revelation. And in effect, I little doubted but that some of these tales that were told of her were untrue; but yet, since I never heard them reported as spoken by her own mouth, I thought nevertheless that many of them might be true, and she a very virtuous woman too; as some lies be, peradventure, written of some that be saints in heaven, and yet many miracles indeed done by them for all that. After this, I being upon a day at Sion, and talk- ing with divers of the fathers together at the grate, they showed me that she had been with them, and showed me divers things that some of them mis- liked in her; and in this talking, they wished that I had spoken with her, and said, they would fain see how I should like her. Whereupon, afterward, when I heard that she was there again, I came HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 241 thither to see her, and to speak with her myself. At which communication had in a little chapel, there were none present but we two: in the begin- ing- whereof, I showed that my coming to her was not of any curious mind, any thing to know of such things as folk talked, that it pleased God to reveal and show unto her, but for the great virtue that I had heard so many years, every day more and more spoken and reported of her; I therefore had a great mind to see, and be acquainted with her, that she might have somewhat the more occasion to remember me to God in her devotion and prayers: whereunto she gave me a very good virtuous an- swer: That as God did of his goodness far better by her than she, a poor wretch, was worthy, so she feared that many folk yet beside that spoke of their own favorable minds many things for her, far above the truth, and that of me she had many such things heard, that already she prayed for me, and ever would; whereof I heartily thanked her. I said unto her: Madame, one Hellen, a maiden dwel- ling about Totnam, of whose trances and revela- tions there hath been much talking, hath been with me of late, and showed me that she was with you, and that after the rehearsal of such visions as she had seen, you showed her that they were no reve- lations, but plain illusions of the Devil, and advised her to cast them out of her mind. And verily she gave therein good credence unto you, and thereupon hath left to lean any longer unto such visions of her own: whereupon she saith, she findeth your words true, for ever since she hath been less visited with such things than she was wont to be before. To this she answered me: Forsooth, sir, there is in this point no praise unto me; but the goodness of God, as it appeareth, hath wrought much meekness in her soul, w^ho hath taken my rude warning so well, and not grudged to hear her spirit and her visions reproved. 1 liked her, in good faith, better for this answer, than for many of the things that I heard reported by her. Afterward 21 342 SIR THOMAS MORE, she told me, upon that occasion, how great need folk have that are visited vv^ith such visions to take heed and prove vi^ell of what spirit they come of; and in that communication she told me, that of late the Devil, in the likeness of a bird, was flying- and fluttering about her in a chamber, and suffered him- self to be taken; and being in hands, suddenly changed, in their sight that were present, into such a strange ugly-fashioned bird, that they were all afraid, and threw him out at a window. For conclusion: we talked no word of the king's grace, or of any great personage else, nor in effect, of any man or woman, but of herself and myself; but after no long communication had, for ere ever we met, my time came to go home, I gave her a double ducat, and begged her to pray for me and mine, and so departed from her, and never spake with her after. Howbeit, of a truth, 1 had a great good opinion of her, and had her in great estimation, as you shall perceive by the letter that 1 wrote unto her. For afterwards, because I had often heard that many right worshipful folk, as well men as women, used to have much communication with her; and many folk are by nature inquisitive and curious, whereby they fall sometime into such talking, as better were to forbear; of which thing I nothing thought while I talked with her out of charity, therefore I wrote her a letter thereof; which since ii may be, perad- venture, that she brake or lost, I shall insert the very copy thereof in this present letter. [The following were the very words.] " Good madam, and my right dearly beloved sister in our Lord God, after most hearty commendation, I shall beseech you to take my good mind in good worth, and pardon me, that I am so homely as of myself, unrequired, and also without necessity, to give counsel to you, of whom for the good inspira- tions and great revelations that it liketh Almighty God of his goodness to give and show, as many wise, well-learned, and very virtuous folk testify, I myself have need, for the comfort of my soul, to HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 243 require and ask advice. For surely, good madam, since it pleaseth God sometimes to suffer such as are far under and of little estimation, to give yet fruitful advertisement to such other as are in the light of the spirit so far above them, that there M^ere betvi^een them no comparison, (as he suffered his high prophet Moses to be in some things advised and counselled by Jethro,) I cannot, for the love that in our Lord I bear you, refrain to put you in remembrance of one thing, which, in my poor mind, I think highly necessary to be by your v^^isdom con- sidered, referring the end and the order thereof, to God and his Holy Spirit to direct you. Good madam, I doubt not but that you remember, that, in the beginning of my communication with you, I showed you, that 1 neither was, nor would be, curious of any knowledge of other men's matters, and least of all of any matter of princes, or of the realm, in case it so were, that God had, as to many good folks beforetime he hath, any time revealed unto you such things, I said unto your ladyship, that I was not only not desirous to hear of, but also would not hear of. Now, madam, I consider well that many folk desire to speak with you, which are not all peradventure of my mind in this point; but some hap to be curious and inquisitive of things that little pertain unto their parts; and some might peradventure hap to talk of such things as might peradventure after turn to much harm; as I think you have heard how the late Duke of Buckingham, moved with the fame of one that was reported for a holy monk, and had such talking with him, as after was a great part of his destruction, and dis- heriting of his blood, and great slander and infamy of religion. It sufficeth me, good madam, to put you in remembrance of such things, as I nothing doubt your wisdom, and the Spirit of God shall keep you from talking with any person, specially with high persons, of any such manner of things as pertain to princes' affairs, or the state of the realm, but only to commune and talk with any person, high 244 sm THOMAS more, and low, of such manner of things as may to the soul be profitable for you to show, and for them to know. And thus, my good lady, and dearly beloved sister in our Lord, 1 make an end of this my need- less advertisement unto you, whom the blessed Trinity preserve and increase in grace, and put in your mind to recommend me and mine unto Him in your devout prayers. At Chelsea, this Tuesday, by the hand of your hearty loving Brother and Beadsman,* "THOMAS MORE, Kxnight." At the receipt of this letter, she answered my servant, that she heartily thanked me. Soon after this there came to mine house the prior of the charter-house at Shene, and one brother Williams with him, who nothing talked to me but of her, and of the great joy that they took in her virtue; but of any of her revelations ihey had no commu- nication. But at another time brother Williams came to me, and told me a long tale of her being at the house of a knight in Kent, that was sore troubled with temptations to destroy himself; and none other thing we talked of, nor should have done of likeli- hood, though we had tarried together much longer, he took so great pleasure, good man, to tell the tale, with all the circumstances at length. When I came again another time to Sion, on a day in which there was a profession, some of the fathers asked me how I liked the nun] And I answered, that, in good faith, I liked her very well in her talking; howbeit, quoth I, she is never the nearer tried by that, for I assure you, she were likely to be very bad, if she seemed good, ere I should think her other, till she happened to be proved naught; and in good faith, that is my manner indeed, * Beadsman — One who prays lor another. Yes, in my depth of love, I'll be One thai will drop his beads for thee. Herrick (1636). HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 245 except J were set to search and examine the truth, upon likelihood of some cloaked evil; for in that case, although I nothing suspected the person my- self, yet no less than if I suspected him sore, I would, as far as my wit would serve me, search to find out the truth, as yourself hath done very pru- dently in this matter; v/herein you have done, in my mind, to your great laud and praise, a very meritorious deed, in bringing forth to light such d,etestable hypocrisy, whereby every other wretch may take warning, and be feared to set forth their own devilish dissembled falsehood, under the man- ner and color of the wonderful work of God; for verily, this woman so handled herself, with help of that evil spirit that inspired her, that after her own confession declared at St. Paul's Cross, when I sent word by my servant unto the Prior of the Char- terhouse, that she was undoubtedly proved a false deceiving hypocrite; the good man had had so good opinion of her so long, that he could at the first scantly believe me therein. Howbeit it was not he alone that thought her so very good, but many another right good man besides, as little marvel was upon so good report, till she was proved naught. I remember m^e further, that, in communication between Father Rich and me, I counselled him, that in such strange things as concerned such folk as had come unto her, to whom, as she said, she had told the causes of their coming, ere themselves spake thereof; and such good fruit as they said that many men had received by her prayer, he, and such other as so reported it, and thought that the knowledge thereof should much pertain to the glory of God, should first cause the things to be well and sure examined by the ordinaries, and such as had authority thereunto; so that it might be surely known whether the things were true or not, and that there were no letters intermingled among them, or else the letters might after hap to aweigh the •credence of these things that were true. And when " 21 *" 246 SIR THOMAS MORE, he told me the tale of Mary Magdalen, 1 said unto him; Father Rich, that she is a g-ood virtuous woman, in good faith, I hear so many good folk so report, that I verily think it true; and think it well likely that God worketh some good and great things by her. But yet, as you wot well, these strange tales are no part of our creed; and therefore before you see them surely proved, you shall have my poor counsel, not to wed yourself so far forth to the cre- dence of them, as to report them very surely for true, lest that if it should hap that they were after- wards proved false, it might diminish your estima- tion in your preaching, whereof might grow great loss. To this he thanked me for my counsel, but how he used it after that, I cannot tell. Thus have I, good Mr. Crumwell, fully declared to you, as far as myself can call to remembrance, all that ever I have done or said in this matter, wherein I am sure that never one of them all shall tell you any further thing of effect; for if any of them, or any man else, report of rae, as I trust verily no man will, and I wot well truly no man can, any word or deed by me spoken or done, touch- ing any breach of my legal truth and duty toward my most redoubted sovereign and natural liege lord, Lwill come to mine answer, and make it good in such wise as becometh a poor true man to do; that whosoever any such thing shall say, shall therein say untrue: for I neither have in this matter done evil, nor said evil, nor so much as any evil thing thought, but only have been glad, and rejoiced at them that w^ere reported for good; which condi- tion I shall nevertheless keep toward all other good folk, despite the false cloaked hypocrisy of any of these, no more than I shall esteem Judas the true apostle, for Judas the false traitor. But so purpose 1 to bear myself in every man's company, while I live, that neither good man nor bad, neither monk, friar, nor nun, nor other man or woman in this world, shall make me digress from my truth and faith, either towards God, or towards HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 247 luy natural prince, by the grace of Almighty God; and as you therein find me true, so I heartily there- in pray you to continue toward me your favor and good-will, as you shall be sure of my poor daily prayer; for other pleasure can I not do you. And thus the blessed Trinity, both bodily and ghostly, long preserve and prosper you. I pray you pardon me, that 1 write not unto you of mine own hand, for verily I am compelled to for- bear writing for a while, by reason of this disease of mine, whereof the chief occasion is grown, as it is thought, by the stooping and leaning on my breast, that I have used in writing. And thus, eftsoons, I beseech our Lord long to preserve you. Sir Thomas More to the same. Right WORSHIPFUL — After right hearty recommen- dations, so it is that I am informed, that there is a bill put in against me into the higher house before the lords, concerning my communication with the nun of Canterbury and my writing unto her: whereof I not a little marvel, the truth of the matter being such as God and I know it is, and as I have plainly de- clared unto you by my former letters, wherein 1 found you then so good, that I am now bold eftsoons upon your goodness to desire you to show me the favor, that I might the rather by your good means, have a copy of the bill. Which seen, if I find any untrue surmise therein, as of likelihood there is, Irnay make mine humble suit unto the king's good grace, and declare the truth, either to his grace, or, by his grace's commandment, wheresoever the matter shall require. I am so sure of my truth toward his grace, that 1 cannot mistrust his grace's favor towards me, upon the truth known, nor the judgment of any honest man. Nor ever shall their loss in this ■ matter grieve me, being myself so innocent as God and 1 know me, whatsoever should happen me ' therein, by the grace of Almighty God, who bodil}'' and ghostly preserve you. At Chelsea, this present Saturday, by the hand of heartily all your own, THOMAS MORE, Knight. 248 SIR THOMAS MORE, Sir Thomas More to the King. May it like your Highness to call to your gracious remembrance, that at such time as of the great weighty office of your chancellor (with which so far above my merits or qualities, your highness had, of your incom- parable goodness, honored and exalted me) ye were so good and gracious unto me, as at my poor hum- ble suit to discharge and disburden me, giving me licence, with your gracious favor, to bestow the residue of my life to come about the provision for my soul in the service ol God, and to be your beads- man and pray for you. It pleased your highness further to say unto me, that, for the service which I before had done you, (which it then liked your goodness far above my deserving to commend) that in any suit that I should after have to your grace, that either should concern mine honor, (that word it liked your highness to use unto me,) or that should pertain unto my profit, I should find your highness good and gracious lord unto me. So is it now, gracious sovereign, that worldly honor is the thing whereof 1 have resigned both the possession and the desire, in the resignation of your most honorable office. And for worldly profit, I trust experience proveth, and daily more and more shall prove, that I never was very greedy thereof. But now is my most humble suit unto your excellent highness, to be- seech the same somewhat to tender my poor honesty: howbeit principally, that, of your accustomed good- ness, no sinister information move your noble grace to have any more distrust of my truth and devotion toward you, than I have or shall during my life give cause. For in this matter of the nun of Can- terbury, I have unto your trusty counsellor, master Thomas Crumwell, by my writing as plainly de- clared the truth, as I possibly can. Which my declaration, of his duty toward your grace, and his goodness towards me, he hath, I understand, declared unto your grace. In any part of all which my deal- ing, whether any other man may peradventure put any doubt or move any scruple or suspicion, that HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 249 can I neither tell, nor lieth in my hand to let [hin- der.] But unto myself, it is not possible any part of my said demeanor to seem evil, the very clear- ness of mine own conscience knowing- in all the matter m.y mind and intent so good. Wherefore, most gracious sovereign, 1 neither will, nor yet can it well become me, with your highness to reason or argue the matter, but in my most humble manner prostrate at your gracious feet, I only beseech your grace, with your own high prudence and your accus- tomed goodness, to consider and weigh the matter. And if that in your so doing, your own virtuous mind shall give you, that, notwithstanding the mani- fold and excellent goodness that your gracious highness hath by so many manner of ways used unto me, I were a wretch of such a monstrous ingratitude, as could with any of them all, or any other person living, digress from my bounden duty of allegiance toward your good grace; then desire I no further favor at your gracious hand, than the loss of all that ever I may lose, goods, lands, liberty, and finally my life withal; whereof the keeping of any part unto myself, could never do me penny-worth of pleasure; but only should my comfort be, that after my short life, and your long, (which, with continual prosperity, to God's pleasure our Lord of his mercy send you,) I should once meet your grace again in heaven, and there be merry with you: where among mine other pleasures this should yet be one, that your grace should surely see there then, that howsoever you take me, I am your true beadsman now, and ever have been, and will be till I die, howsoever your pleasure be to do by me. Howbeit, if in the considering of my cause, your high wisdom, and gracious goodness, perceive (as I verily trust in God you shall,) that I none otherwise have demeaned myself, than well may stand with my bounden duty of faithfulness toward your royal majesty, then, in my most humble wise, I beseech your most noble grace, that the knowledge of your true gracious persuasion in that behalf, may relieve 250 SIR THOMAS MORE, the torment of my present heaviness conceived of the dread and fear (by that I hear such a grievous bill put by your learned counsel into your high court of parliament against rae,) lest your grace might, by some sinister information be moved any thing to think the contrary. Which if your high- ness do not, as I trust in God and your great good- ness (the matter by yonr own high prudence ex- amined and considered,) ye will not; then in my most humble manner, I beseech your highness fur- ther, (albeit that in respect of my form.er request this other thing is very slight,) yet since your high- ness hath heretofore of your mere abundant good- ness heaped and accumulated upon me (though I was thereto far unworthy) from time to time both worship and great honor too. Since I now have left all such things, and nothing seek or desire but the life to come, and pray for your grace the while, it may like your highness, of your accustomed benig- nity, somewhat to tender my poor honesty, and never suffer (by the means of such a bill put forth against me) any man to take occasion hereafter against the truth to slander me: which would yet, by the peril of their own souls, do themselves more hurt than me. This shall, I trust, settle my heart with your gracious favor, to depend upon the com- fort of the truth and hope of heaven, and not upon the fallible opinion, or for certain words spoken by light and changeable people. And thus most dreaded and most dear sovereign Lord, I beseech the bless- ed Trinity, to preserve your most noble grace both body and soul, and all that are your well-willers, and amend all the contrary: among whom, if ever I be or ever have been one, then pray I God that he may, with my open shame and destruction, declare it." But though Sir Thomas had satisfactorily cleared his conduct in reference to the nun, other troubles were in store for him. He, as well as fellow-suf- ferer, the virtuous Fisher, might have said, in the language of Shakspeare: HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 251 If Pm traduc'd by tongues, wliich neilhar know My faculties, nor person, yet will he Thf chroniclers of my doiii!.'s let me say: "'Tis but the fute of place, an'l the rough brake That virtue must go through!" Uennj VIII. The authority of Fisher and More had great weight not only in England, but also on the conti- nent, and the warmest opponents of the divorce were accustomed to boast, that they had no fear of going wrong so long as they followed the opinions of these two celebrated men. The moment was now come to try the experiment whether the dan- ger to which they had been exposed, had subdued their spirit. Fisher, as we have already seen, was in the Tower, and, although an infirm old man, was treated in the first instance with extreme rigor, and afterwards w^ith brutal neglect. When the good old man, now in nearly his eightieth year, was visited by some bishops who were his friends, and earnestly reasoned with upon the subject, he said that he had no disposition to appear sin- gular, and would make every concession which his conscience would allow. He declared him- self ready to swear to the Succession, and pre- pared never to dispute about the marriage with Catharine; but that he could never declare his con- viction that it was not against the law of God. This, however, would not satisfy the king; he was attainted in Parliament, deprived of his bishopric, and recommitted to the Tower. The cruel neglect which the venerable prelate experienced, and the manner in v/hich Henry treated the victims of his resent- ment, may be seen from the following pathetic pas- sage in a letter which he addressed to Crumwell: — '•Furthermore, I beseech you, be good master to me in my necessity; for I have neither shirt, nor suit, nor any other clothes that are necessary for me to wear, but that be ragged and rent too shame- fully; notwithstanding, I might easily suffer that, if they would keep my body warm. And my diet, 253 SIR THOMAS MOREJ, also, God knoweth how slender it is at many times. And, now, in mine ag-e, my stomach may not away but with a few kinds of meats; which, if I want, I decay forthwith, and fall into crazes and diseases of my body, and cannot keep myself in health. And also I beseech you, that it may please you, by your high wisdom, to move the King's Highness to take me into his gracious favor again, and to restore me to my liberty out of this cold and painful imprisonment, whereby ye shall bind me to be your poor beadsman for ever unto Almighty God, who ever have you in his protection and cus- tody. Other twain things I must desire from you. The one is, that it may please you I may take some priest with me into the Tower, to hear my confession ag-ainst this holy time; the other is, that I may bor- row some books to say my devotions more effectu- ally these holy days, for the comfort of my soul. This 1 beseech you to grant me of your charity. And thus our Lord God send you a merry Christ- mas, and so comfortable to your heart's desire. At the Tovi'er, the 22d of December, by your poor beadsman ROCHESTER. That this very touching letter had any effect in mitigating the rigor of his imprisonment, we have no proof. He continued a year after in the Tower; and it appeared probable, considering his advanced age, and the treatment he received, that death would in a little time put a period to his suf- ferings, when a well-meant, but unseasonable honor paid him by Pope Paul HI., in creatmghim a Car- dinal, roused the half sleeping lion and drew down his destructive fury upon the head of the devoted bishop. No sooner had the intelligence of this promotion reached the King, than he gave the strictest orders that the bearer of these honors should be prohibited from entering his dominions, and immediately despatched Secretary Crumwell to th® Tower to examine the poor old man, who, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 253 amidst the squalid wretchedness and privations of his prison-house, was wholly unconscious of the honors intended him. After some introductory con- versation, Crumwell said to him, " My Lord of Rochester, what would you say if the Pope should send you a Cardinal's hat; would you accept it]" — " Sir," replied the bishop, "I know myself to be so far unworthy of any such dignity, that I think of nothing less. But, if any such thing should hap- pen, assure yourself I should improve that favor to the best advantage I could, in assisting the Holy Catholic Church of Christ; and, in that respect, I would receive it upon my knees." This was all the inquisitor wanted, and like a very zealous and faithful messenger, he hastened to report it to the King, the words of the reply, in all probability, losing nothing b}'" the way. Henry could not re- straia his passion; but as he had grown very large and unwieldy, words could not at once find utter- ance. After an effort, he exclaimed: " Ah ha! and so the old man is yet so lusty] Well, let the Pope make him a Cardinal when he will. Mother of God! Paul may send him the hat, but I will take care that he shall have never a head to wear it on."* In a despatch to the King, dated .Iiine 12, is the following. "Finally, the said Machon writeth thai he, expostulating with the Bishop of Rome for that he had made the Bishop of Rochester a Cardi- nal, knowing him to be a person whom your Grace favored not, and M'ho had most worthily deserved your Grace's high indignation, the &aid Bishop of * " With this scurvy jest, and with suoli brutal defiance, did Henry bfgin his new career of sanguiiiary tyrani.y.'— /Sir J. J^Iackintosh. {Sasl as was the king's jest, ii seems to have been thought a capital thing at the time, fur both the historians of tliis period have tried to improve it. " 'I'he Pope." says old Hall, "did send the > ardinaTs hat as far as Calais, but the head i^ should have fitted, was as high as London brjdge, ere ever the iiat could come." Holinsiiead attempts a new turn: " i'he hat came as far as ( alais, but the head was off before the hat was on: so that they met not." 22 254 SIR THOMAS MORE, Rome answered, that he had not done it for any displeasure unto your Highness, but only for that he thoug-ht him, for his singular learning and good living, to be a person most meet to be present in the General Council, there to give his aid and assist- ance in such doubts as might arise." From this moment, Fisher's fate vv^as sealed; and the same base and cruel means was employed to get him into Henry's power, which was afterwards practised with the same success upon More him- self. Rich, the solicitor-general, a man " damned to everlasting fame," was sent to the unsuspecting Bishop with a mes- sage from the king. He informed him, that his majesty, for the better satisfaction of his own con- science, had sent him, in this secret manner, to know his opinion of the Supremacy; and, in order the more to encourage him to make a disclosure of his mind. Rich added, that the king assured him, on his honor, that, whatever he should say to him, he should abide no danger or peril for it, nor should any advantage be taken of the opinions thus confi- dentially communicated. Trusting to this promise and unsuspecting of any snare, Fisher inconsider- ately declared — " That as to the business of the Su- premacy, he must needs repeat to His Majesty, what he had often told him before, and would so tell him were he to die that very hour, that it was utterly unlawful, and that the king should beware of taking such title upon him, as he valued his own soul, and the good of his posterity." For these words, Fisher w^as brought to trial, found guilty on the evidence of Rich, and condemned to be behead- ed. He suffered with the serenity and heroism that might be expected from his character. Being in- formed at five o'clock in the morning of the day of his execution, that it was his last, he received the in- telligence with an unchanged countenance, and lay- ing himself on his pallet, slept soundly for two hours. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 255 He then rose and dressed himself with unusual care, which being- remarked by his attendant, who hinted that he would soon have to doff this better suit — " What of that, John," said he, "■ dost thou not know that this is my marriag-e-day, and that it be- hooves me on so joyful an occasion, to go appareled in my best]" The veneration which Henry once bore to this admirable man, the personal friend of his fa- ther, of whose counsellors he was the last survivor, and the prelate to whose care his pious mother, on her death bed, had recommended the inexperience of his youth, seems now to have been changed into brute and unrelenting hatred. Not content with the execution of the venerable prelate, he ordered the dead body to be stripped, and after being exposed for some hours to the gaze of the populace, to be thrown into the grave without coffin or shroud. Erasmus thus sums up the character of Fisher — " I know of none to compare to him for integrity of life, for extent of learning, and for greatness of soul." Storer has some beautiful verses to his memory, which terminate thus: One Patriarch-like, and grave in all designs; Who finished well his long, long pilgrimage: ^ man made old to teach the worth of age! March 30. — This being the closing day of the parliamentary session of 1534, the chancellor Aud- ley, when the commons were at the bar of the house of lords, but when they could neither deliberate, nor assent, read the king's letters patent, containing the form of an oath relative to the succession and other matters, and appointing the archbishop of Canterbury, the chancellor, and the Dukes of Nor- folk and Suffolk, to be commissioners for adminis- tering it. No time was lost in putting to the test the firmness of the ex-chancellor. On the 13th of April, More was summoned to appear before the commissioners at Lambeth, to take an oath to a law, which one of the ablest lawyers of our age, pro- 256 SIR THOMAS MORE, nounces to be a monstrous and tyrannical edict, mis- called a law."* The fatal summons found him engaged in his studies in his qu,iet retreat at Chel- sea: but the blow did not reach him unprepared. Having, as Cresacre informs us, a jiresentment of what was that day to take place, he had risen at an earlier hour than usual, and repaired to Chelsea church, where he was confessed, and, at an early mass, devoutly received the blessed sacrament; as he was always accustomed to do, when any matter of importance was to be undertaken. The reader who knows not " of what spirit those times were," will be astonished to learn, that the same pursuivants who came to apprehend the knight, were also furnished with a warrant for searching his premises, it being thought that he was not really so poor as he pretended to be. Unmoved by the indignity thus offered him, in violating his domestic sanctuary. More lost nothing of his habit- ual gaiety. While the officers were upon the search, he told his daughter Margaret that those who thus doubted the truth of his poverty and were determin- ed to ascertain the fact, would have nothing for their pains; "unless," added he, glancing his eye roguish- ly towards his wife — "unless they should happen to find Alice's gay girdle, and her gold beads." More now prepared to attend the summons, and begged his son-in-law Roper to accompany him. It had been his custom to start at an early hour for Westminster, to attend to his official duties; and regularly as the morning came, did his attentive wife and affectionate children accompany the fond father to the water side, where he took his barge. On the way, he was sure to have some little piece of well-timed advice for one, and his ready jest for another; and on leaving them for the day, he kissed them all, and waved his hand in farewell as the boat parted and he lost sight. of them among the trees. On this occasion, they accompanied him as * Sir James Mackintosh, Hist. Eiig. Vol. II. p 152. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 257 usual, but no merry jest enlivened the walk. The future was present before him, and the father's heart was full. He felt this moment of unusual weakness, and mistrusted himself. It was not for him at such a time to add to the anjruish of his family. Therefore, when they came to the garden-gate that led to the bank of the Thames, he stopped, kissed them all with more than usual fondness, and begged them to return to the house and pray for him. Then, carefully closing the wicket after him, he went into the boat with Roper and four of his servants. He turned not his eyes once back towards the garden, to wave his wonted farewell; and was spared the additional pang of beholding his favorite Margaret, who had lingered behind the rest, unable to tear herself from the spot. His countenance, says his son-in-law, bespoke a heavy heart, and for some time he sat wrapped in silent thought. It was evident that the internal conflict was strong; but, at last, " his mind being lightened and relieved by those high princi- ples to which, with him, every low consideration yielded," he pressed Roper's arm, and said to him in a significant whisper— " Son Roper, I thank our Lord the field is won!" What he meant thereby, continues Roper, I knew not at the time; but being loth to appear ignorant, I answered; " Sir, I am very glad thereof." But, as I conjectured, it was the love he had to God, which wrought in him so effectually, as to conquer all his animal affections. On appearing before the commissioners and after having read the statute and the form of the oath, he declared his readiness to swear that he would main- tain and defend the order of succession to the crown as established by parliament. He disclaimed all censure of those who had imposed, or those who had taken the oath, but declared it to be im- possible that he should swear to the whole contents of it, without offending against his own conscience; adding, that if they doubted whether his refusal pro- ceeded from pure scruple of conscience or from his own phantasies, he was willing to satisfy their 22*= 258 SIR THOMAS MORE, doubts by oath. The commissioners urged that he was the first who refused it; they showed him the subscriptions of all the lords and commoners who had sworn; they held out the king's sure displeasure at the single recusant. When he was called on a second time, they charged him with obstinacy for not mentioning any special part of the oath which wounded his conscience.* He answered, that if he were to open his reasons for refusal farther, he should exasperate the king still more. He offered, however, to assign his reasons, if the lords would procure his highness's gracious assurance, that the avowal of the grounds of his defence should not be considered as otiensive to the king, nor prove dangerous to himself. The commissioners answered that such assurances would be lio defence against a legal charge. He offered, however, to trust himself to the king's honor. Cran- mer took some advantage of M ore's candor, urging that, as he had disclaimed all blame of those who had sworn, it was evident that he thought it only doubtful whether the oath was unlawful; and desired him to consider whether the obligation to obey the king was not absolutely certain. He was struck with the subtility of this reasoning, which took him by surprise, but not convinced of its solidity. Not- withstanding his surprise, he seems to have almost touched the true answer, that, as the oath contained a profession of opinion, such, for examples, as the lawfulness of the king's marriage, on which men might differ, it might be declined by some and taken by others with equal honesty. Crumwell, whom More believed to favor him, loudly swore that he would rather see his only son had lost his head than that More had thus refused the oath. Crumwell * speaking of the oath he compared it to a two-pd2:efl s\v(/rd: if he took it, his soul would suffer a wouud; i( he refus- ed it, his body. Mere's spirit, to use a figure of Lord Bacon's, was the " very kneeiim.her of honesty, knit in the natural fibre, and by no arts to be suppled or relaxed." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 359 bore the answer to the king", and chancellor Audley distinctly enjoined hira to state very clearly More's willingness to swear to the succession. " Surely," said More, ''as to swearing to the succession, I see no peril." Crumweli was not a good man, but the gentle virtue of More subdued even the bad. He never more returned to his house, being committed to the custody of the abbot of Westminster,* in which he continued four days: and at the end of that time he was conveyed to the Tower, on Friday the 17th of April, 1534. It was very shortly after his commitment to the Tower, that he wrote the following letter to his darling daughter Margaret, which contains a faith- ful and animated sketch of what passed before the council. It has no superscription, and is unsigned, a matter of prudent precaution, no doubt, in the situation in which he was placed. " When I was before the I -ords at Lambeth, I was the first that was called in, alDeit that master Doc- tor, the vicar of Croydon, [Hugh Latymer] was come before me, and diverse others. After the cause of my sending for declared unto me, (whereof T somewhat marvelled in my mind, considering that they sent for no more temporal men but me,) I desir- ed the sight of the oath, which they shewed me under the great seal. Then desired 1 the sight of the act of the succession, which was delivered me in a printed roll. After which read secretly by my- self, and the other considered with the act, I shew- ed unto them, that my purpose was not to put any fault either in the act or any man that made it, or in the oath of any man that sware it, nor to condemn the conscience of any other man. But as for myself, in good faith, my conscience so moved me in the matter, that though I would not deny to swear to the succession, 5i'et unto that oath that there was offered me, I could not swear without the jeopardino- * William Bpnson was appointed ;il)b;)t in iSlO. Flo surren- dered his abbey to Henry, by whom lie was inado Dean, and died in 154:-V 260 SIR THOMAS MORE, of my soul to perpetual damnation. And if they doubted whether I did refuse the oath only for the grudge of my conscience, or for any other fantacy, I was ready therein to satisfy them by my oath; which if they trusted not, what should they be better to give me any oath. And if I trusted that I would therein swear true, then trusted I that, of their goodness, they would not move me to swear the oath that they offered me, perceiving that to swear it was against my own conscience. Unto this my lord chancellor said, that they were all very sorry to hear me say thus, and see me thus refuse the oath. And they all said, that, on their faith, I was the very first that ever refused it, which would cause the king's highness to conceive great suspicion of me and great indignation toward me. And therewith they showed me the roll, and let me see the names of the lords and commoners who had sworn and subscribed their names already. Which notwith- standing when they saw that I refused to swear the same myself, not blaming any other man that had sworn, I was in conclusion commanded to go down into the garden. And thereupon I tarried in the old burned chamber that looketh into the garden, and would not go down because of the heat. In that time saw I master Doctor Latymer come into the garden, and there walked he with diverse other doctors and chaplains of my lord of Canterbury. And very merry I saw him, for he laughed, and took one or two about the neck so handsomely, that if they had been women, I would have weened he had been waxed wanton. After that came mas- ter Doctor Wilson forth from the lords, and was with two gentlemen brought by me, and gentlemanly sent straight into the Tower. W hat time my lord of Rochester was called in before them, that 1 cannot tell; but at night I heard he had been before them, but where he had remained that night, and so forth, .till he was sent hither, I never heard. I heard also that Master Vicar of Croydon, and all the remnant of the priests of London that were sent for, were swornr HIS LIFE AND TIMES. -261 aod that they had such favor at the council's hand, that they were not lingered, nor made to dance any long attendance to their trouble and cost, as suitors were sometimes wont to be, but were sped apace to their great comfort; so far forth, that master Vicar of Croydon, either for gladness or for dryness, or else that it might be seen, Quod ilk notus erat poniiJici\ [that he was known to the prelate,] went to my lord's buttery *bar, and called for drink, and drank valde familiariter. When they had played their pageant^ and were gone out of the place, then was I called in again. And then was it declared unto me, that a number had sworn (even since I went aside) gladly without any sticking. Wherein I laid no blame to any man, but for my ownself answered as before. Now as well before as then, they somewhat laid unto me for obstinacy, that, whereas before and since I refused to swear, I would not declare any special part of that oath that grudged my conscience, and open the cause wherefor. For thereunto I had said unto them, that I feared lest the king's highness would, as they said, take displeasure enough towards me for the only refusal of the oath. And that if I should open and disclose the causes why, I should there- with but further exasperate his highness, which I would in no wise do, but rather would I abide all the danger and harm that might come towards me, than give his highness any occasion of further dis- pleasure, than the offering of the oath unto me of pure necessity constrained me. Howbeit when they diverse times imputed this to me for stubbornness and obstinacy, that I would neither swear the oath, nor yet declare the causes why, I declared thus far to them, that rather than I would be accounted for obstinate, I would upon the king's gracious license, or rather his such commandment had, as might be my sufficient warrant that my declaration should not offend his highness, nor put me in the danger of any of his statutes, I would be content to declare the causes in writing, and over that to give an oath in the beginning, that, if I might find 262 SIR THOMAS MORE, those causes by any man in such wise answered, as I might think mine own conscience satisfied, I would, after that, with all mine heart swear the prin- cipal oath too. To this J. was answered, that, though the king should give me license under his letters patent, yet would it not serve against the statute. Whereto I said, that yet if I had them, I would stand unto the trust of his honor at my peril for the remnant. But thinketh me now, that if I may not declare the causes without peril, then to leave them undeclared is no obstinacy. My lord of Can- terbury taking hold upon what I said, that I con- demned not the consciences of them that swore, said unto me: That it appeared well, that I did not take it for a very sure thing and a certain that I might not lawfully swear it, but rather as a thing uncertain and doubtful. But then (said my lord) you know for a certainty and a thing without doubt, that you be bounden to obey your sovereign lord the king. And therefore are ye bounden to leave off the doubt of your unsure conscience in refusing the oath, and take the sure way in obeying of your prince and swear it. Now albeit, that in mine own mind I thought myself not concluded, yet this argument seemed to me suddenly so subtle, and namely with such authority coming out of so noble a prelate's mouth, that 1 could again answer nothing thereto, but only that I thought myself I might not well do so, be- cause that in my conscience this was one of the ca- ses, in which I was bounden that I should not obey my prince, since, whatsoever other folks thought in the matter (whose conscience or learning I would not condemn nor take upon me to judge), yet in my conscience, the truth seemed on the other side; wherein 1 had informed my conscience neither suddenly nor slightly, but by long leisure and dili- gent search for the matter. And of truth, if that reason may conclude, then have we a ready way to avoid all perplexities. For in whatsoever matter the doctors stand in great doubt, the king's com- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 263 mandment given upon whither side he list, solveth all the doubts. Then said my lord of Westminster to me, that howsoever the matter seemed unto mine own mind, I had cause to fear that mind own mind was erroneous, when I see the great council of the realm determine of my mind the contrary, and that therefore I ought to change my conscience. To that I answered, that if there were no more but myself upon my side, and the whole parliament upon the other, I would be sore afraid to lean to mine own mind only against so many. But on the other side, if it so be that in some things for which I refuse the oath, I have, as 1 think I have, upon my part as great a council and a greater too, I am not then bounden to change my conscience, and conform it to the council of one realm, against the general coun- cil of Christendom. Upon this master Secretary, as he that tenderly favoreth me, said and swore a great oath, that he had rather that his own only son (which is of truth a goodly young gentleman, and shall I trust come to much worship) had lost his head, than that I should thus have refused the oath. Forsurely the king's highness would now conceive a great suspicion against me, and think that the matter of the nun of Canterbury was all contrived by my drift. To which I said, that the contrary was true and well known. And whatsoever should mishap me, it lay not in my power to help it without the peril of my soul. Then did my lord chancellor re- peat before me my refusal unto master secretary, as to him that was going unto the king's grace. And in the rehearsing, his lordship repeated again that I denied not but was content to swear unto the suc- cession. Whereunto I said, that as for that point I would be content, so that 1 might see my oath in that point so framed, in such a manner as might stand with my conscience. Then said my lord: Marry! master secretary mark that too; that he will not swear that neither, but under some certain man- ner. — Verily, no, my lord quoth I, but that I will see it made in such wise first, as 1 shall myself see, §64 SIR THOMAS MORE, that I shall neither be forsworn, nor swear ag-ainst my conscience. Surely as to swear to the succes- sion I see no peril. But I thought and think it rea- son that to mine own oath I look well myself, and be of counsel also in the fashion, and never intended to swear for a peice, and set my hand to the whole oath. Howbeit. so help me God, as touching- the whole oath, I never withdrew any man from it, nor ever advised any to refuse it, nor ever put nor will put any scruple in any man's head, but leave every one to his own conscience. And methinketh, in good faith, that so were it g-ood reason that every man should leave me to mine." Durinor the time that Sir Thomas remained in the custody of the abbot of Westminster, the king con- sulted w^ith his council as to the best measures to be taken with him. It is to the credit of Cranmer that, at this critical moment, he interposed in behalf of Sir Thomas and Bishop Fisher. He wrote the following- letter to Crumwell, which, as being an unequivocal testimony of the estimation in which More and his opinions were held, demands a place here. Archbishop Cranmer to Secretary Crumwell. Right worshipful Mr. Crumwell: — After most hearty commendations, &c., I doubt not but that you do right well remember, that my lord of Rochester and Mr. More were content to be sworn to the act of the kmg's succession, but not to the preamble of the same. What was the cause of their refusal thereof I am uncertain, and they would by no means ex- press the same. Nevertheless, it must needs be, either the diminution of the authority of the bishop of Rome, or else the reprobation of the king's first pretended matrimony. But if they do absolutely persist in their opinions of the preamble, yet me seemeth it should not be re- fused, if they will be sworn to the very act of suc- cession; so that they will be sworn to maintain the same against all powers and potentates. For hereby shall be a great occasion to satisfy the Princess Dowager, and the lady Mary, who do think that HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 265 they should damn their souls if they should abandon and relinquish their estates. And not only it should stop the mouths of them, but also of the emperor and other their friends, if they give as much credence to my lord of Rochester and Mr. More speaking- or doing against them, as they hither to have done, and thought that others should have done, when they spake and did with them. And peradventure, it would be a good quietation to many others within this realm, if such men should say, that the succes- sion comprised within the said act, is good accord- ing to God's laws. For then I think there is not one within this realm who could ever reclaim against it. And whereas diverse persons, either of a wilful- ness will not, or of an indurate and invertable con- science cannot, alter from their opinions of the king's first pretended marriage, (wherein they have once said their minds, and forever have a persuasion in their head, that, if they should now vary therefrom, their fame and estimation were distained for ever,) or else of the authority of the bishop of Rome: yet, if all the realm, with one accord, would apprehend the said succession, in my judgment it is a thing to be embraced. Which thing, although I trust surely in God that it shall be brought to pass, yet hereunto might not a little avail the consent and oaths of these two persons, the Bishop of Rochester and Mr. More, with their adherents, or rather confede- rates. And if the King's pleasure so were, their said oaths might be suppressed, but [except] when and where His Highness might take some commo- dity by the publishing of the same* Thus our Lord have you ever in his conservation. From my manor at Croydon, the 17th day of April. Your own assured ever THOMAS CANTUAR. But this judicious advice was not followed^ There was an influence behind the throne, more powerful than the throne itself, and it prevailed against feeling and justice. Let us hear Roper 23 266 SIR THOMAS MORE, upon this point. A disposition was at first shown to discharge Sir Thomas, upon his taking an oath, in which the matter of the Supremacy was not to appear; and it would have been done, had not Anne Boleyn, and her party, by their importunate cla- mors so sorely exasperated the King against him, that, contrary to his former resolution, he caused the said oath of Supremacy to be administered to him. When the authorities came to tender it, he excused himself in a discreet and-^-^respectful man- ner; but the command was imperative. On his ulti- mate refusual, orders arr-rived for his committal to the Tower, to which he was accordingly conveyed on Friday the 17th of April, in the custody of Sir Richard Southwell.* They entered a boat, and proceeded down the river to the place of destination. On their way, Sir Richard, pointing to the gold chain which More had about his neck, took the liberty of drop- ping a hint as to the precaution of his sending it home to his wife, or to one of his daughters. " Nay Sir," said More, with his accustomed vivacity, " that I will never do. As I am a knight, I would not have it said, that when my enemies took me in the field, they did not fare the better for their prize." On their landing, they found the Lieuten- ant was ready at the Tower gate to receive them; and on reaching the lodge, the porter, according to the unfeeling usage of the time, demanded his per- quisite of office, which consisted of the prisoner's upper garment. "Marry, good Master Porter," said Sir Thomas, " here it is," taking off his cap, and observing; " Here is my uppermost piece of dress, and sorry I am it is no better." Cerberus, however, was not to be soothed by a sop like this; * Sir Richard Southwell was thefatlier of Robert Southwell, the Jesuit, who was a martyr to his faith under Elizabeth (1595); and whose admirable productions, both in prose and verse, have been the delight of men of taste, of every creed, A future number of The *'athoi,ic Family Library, will make our readers acquainted with his Life and Writinge, and with the memorable epoch in which he flourished. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 267 " Sir," quoth he, "I must have your gown"— and his gown he had. He was allowed to have one of his servants to attend him. The man's name was .Tohn a Wood, who could neither read nor write. Care was how- ever taken to swear him, that if he should see or hear any thing spoken or written against the King, the council, or the statQ of the realm, he should immediately reveal it to the Lieutenant. When More was shown by that officer to his apartment, and treated with all the delicacy his situation would allow, he turned to him, and with all that elasticity of mind which nothing could destroy, observed : " Good Master Lieutenant, methinks I shall have no reason to mislike my fare; but whenever I do, don't spare me, I beg of you, but thrust me at once ©ut of your doors." 268 SIR THOMAS MORE. CHAPTER VIII. 1534—1535. ^TAT. 55. MORE IN THE TOWER — PROJECT OF HIS DAUGHTER MARGARET— CORRESPONDENCE OF MRS. ALINGTON AND MARGARET' — PRIVATE EXAMINATIONS OF MORE IN THE TOWER — HIS TRIAL — DEFENCE— REPLY TO RICH — HIS SENTENCE — INTERROGATORIES PUT TO HIM AFTER HIS TRIAL — HIS EXECUTION. More in tb«; Tower — His firmness and resignation — Margaret's singular project for obtaining admission to her father— IMore's letter to her on the subject — Their interview — More's wife and family obtain access to him — Alice's conversation — Let- ter of Mrs. Alington to Margaret— Her account of a visit from the new chancellor — Her exertions in behalf of More — Margaret to Mrs. Alington— Account of her visit to her father — Shows him Mrs. Alington's letter, and his comments thereon — Margaret acknowledges to her father her having tjaken the oath, and reasons with him on the subject — More's communication with Bishop Fisher, and Dr. Wilson— It reaches the ear of the council and excites their s\ispicions — More is deprived of his books, papers, and writing-materials — Anecdote — He is compelled to write his communications, &c., with a coal— He is privately examined by the council— His account of the same in a letter to Margaret— Execution of Reynolds and his companions— More is brought to trial in the Court of King's Bench, Westminster — His appearance after his imprisonment — [lis answer to the long and compli- cated indictment drawn out against him — Proves its insuf- ficiency—Rich's treachery, and More's reproof— He is found guilty — His unreserved statement of his sentiments on the Supremacy — His sentence mitigated into decapitation— Anecdote- Affecting scene between Margaret and her father Interrogatories administered to him after his trial— His firm- ness, piety, and resignation— His last letter to Margaret — He receives notice to prepare for death — His gaiety to the last— Execution —Burial — Character. We are no'w touching on the period that is to terr minate the career of the illustrious subject of our memoir. During the first month, More's confine- ment in the To"wer was rigorous; no member of his HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 269 family, not even his beloved Margaret being per- mitted to have access to him; "and yet," says Cre- sacre, " not for one moment did his wonted cheer- fulness forsake him, as we afterwards learned from his warder." But though denied the happiness of seeing her father, yet, with a feeling worthy of such a daughter, Margaret had written him the follow- ing letter, and contrived to have it conveyed to his solitary abode. " Mine own good Father! — It is to me no little comfort, since 1 cannot talk with you by such means as I would, at the least way to delight myself in this bitter time of your absence, by such means as I may, by as often writing to you, as shall be expedient, and by reading again and again your most fruitful and delectable letter, the faithful messenger of your very virtuous and ghostly mind, rid from all corrupt love of worldly things, and fast knit only in the love of God and desire of heaven, as becoraeth a ver}?^ true worshipper and a faithful servant of God. He, I doubt not, good Father, holdeth his holy hand over you, and shall as he hath done, preserve you both body and soul, {tit sit mens sana in corpore sanu); and namely, now when you have abjected all earthly consolations, and for his love resigned yourself willingly, gladly, and fully to his holy protection. Father, what think you hath been our comfort since your depart- ing from us] Purely, the experience we have had of your life past, and godly conversation, and whole- some counsel, and virtuous example, and a surety not only of the continuance of the same, but also a great increase, by the goodness of our Lord, to the great rest and gladness of your heart, devoid of all earthly dregs and garnished with the noble vesture of heavenly virtues, a pleasant palace for the Holy Spirit of God to rest in, who defend you (as I doubt not, good Father, but of his goodness he will) frara all trouble o fmind and of body; and give me, your most loving obedient daughter and handmaid, and all of us your children and friends, to follow that 23* 270 SIR THOMAS MORE, which we praise in you, and to our only comfort remember, and, coming together of you, that we may in conclusion meet with you, mine own dear Father, in the bliss of Heaven, to which our most merciful Lord hath bought us with his precious blood. " Your own most loving obedient daughter and beadswoman Margaret Roper, who desireth above all worldly things to be in John a Wood's stead, to do you some service. But we live in hope that we shall shortly receive you again. I pray God heartily we may, if it be his holy will." To this letter Margaret obtained no answer. Her^ father, anxious as he felt to acknowledge this testi mony of love, was too closely watched to be able to reply. The pain of disappointment sharpened her invention, and ingenuity devised what ordinary calculation would have failed to discover. In hours of severest trial, woman has often shown herself possessed of resources denied to him who claims to be her superior. Of this truth did Margaret, in the instance before us, exhibit a very striking ex- ample. The pious yearnings of a daughter's heart were to be satisfied, and love devised the means, daring, if not desperate, as they might appear to a less resolute spirit. Her father's whole soul was known to her, and of his inflexible principles re- specting the question of the Supremacy, she was fully aware: and yet it was on that very point that her device turned in order to gain access to the father she so fondly and so devotedly loved. But how was this difficult and hazardous project to be accomplished'? and yet acconiplished it was, and with more than a politician's address, for she out- witted the subtle Crumwell himself. Let Rastell tell the story. "After Sir Thomas had been in prison a month's space, or so, his daughter Marga- ret, anxiously desiring to see him, wittjly invented this craft. — She wrote a letter, wherein she seemed to labor to persuade him to take the oath, and sent it to her father, nothing doubting that it would be HIS LIFE AND TIMES, 271 intercepted and carried to Cramwell, and that it would be the means of gaining her access to her father: and the slight succeeded." Cresacre's account of the matter is as follows: " Margaret Roper sent her father a letter wherein she seemed somewhat to labor to persuade him to take the oath {though she nothing so thought) to win thereby credence with master Thomas Crura well, that she might the rather get liberty to have free resort to her father (which she only had) during the greater time of his imprisonment." This draws forth from Sir J. Mackintosh, the following reflection. " It would be blameable to seek for bad motives in the case of so merciful an alleviation of punishment, as the King's license for Margaret Roper to resort to her father in the Tower." While we admire the humanity that dictated this sentence, we are obliged to confess that the claims of truth are imperative, and must take the preced- ency of every other feeling, however amiable in itself. Truth, then, compels us to confess, that such " bad motives" did operate in the instance before us; and that, in order to gain his ends, Crumwell did not scruple to tamper with a daugh-* ter's tenderest feelings, in order to convert them into an undue influence over the mind of a parent, and that this was made the price of her permission to visit her father. More being, of course, unaware of his daughter's motive in writing him such a letter, returns her an answer full of rebuke, and yet breathing the most tender affection, and bespeaking the most delicate regard for her judgment. 3foi-e to his daughter Margaret. Our Lord bless you! — If I had not been, my dearly beloved daughter, at a firm and fast point, 1 trust in God's great mercy, this good great while before, your lamentable letter had not a little ahashed me, surely far above all other things, of which I hear (iiverse times not a few terrible towards me. But 272 SIR THOMAS niORE, surely they all touched me never so near, nor were so crrievous unto me, as to see you, my well beloved child, in such vehement piteous manner, laborto per- suade unto me the thing- wherein I have, of pure ne- cessity for respect unto mine own soul, so often given you so precise answer before. Wherein as touching' the points of your letter, 1 can make none answer. For 1 doubt not that you well remember that the matters which move my conscience, (without declaration whereof I can nothing touch the points,) I have sun- dry times shewed yoa that 1 will disclose them to no man. And therefore, daughter Margaret, I can in this thing no further, but like as you labor me again to follow your mind, to desire and pray you both again to leave olT such labor, and with my former an- sv/ers to hold yourself content.* A deadly grief unto me, and much more deadly than to hear of mine own death (for the fear thereof, I thank Our Lord, the fear of hell, the hope of heaven, and the passion of Christ daily more and more assuage,) is, that I per- ceive my good son your husband, and you my good daughter, and my good wife,, and mine other good children and innocent friends, in great displeasure and danger of great harm thereby. The /e^ [hind- rance] whereof while it lieth not in my hand, 1 can no farther but commit all to God. Nam in manu Dei, (saith the Scripture) cor regis es/, el sicut dioi- sionea aquaruni, qaocunque voluerit irnpellit illud. — For the heart of the king is in the hand of God, and like the waves of the sea, he impels it wherever he will. Whose high goodness 1 humbly beseech to incline the noble heart of the king's highness to the tender favor of you all, and to favor me no better than God and myself know that my faithful heart to- wards him and my daily prayer for him do deserve. For surely if his highness might inwardly see my * Rastell records this trait in his cousin Margaret's character, — " She could give tlie ver}' hest of counsel, and follow it too — a thing very rare in a woman!'' Margaret had taken the oath with this condition annexed — in so far as it was agreeable with the law of God." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 273 true mind such as God knoweth it is, it would, (I trust) somewhat assuage his high displeasure. Which while I can in this world never in such wise show, hut that his grace may be persuaded to believe the contrary of me, lean no further go, but put allin the hands of Him, for fear of whose displeasure, for the safeguard of my soul, stirred by mine own con- science, (without insectation or reproach laying to any other man's,) I suffer and endure this trouble. Out of which I beseech him to bring me, when his will shall be, into his endless bliss of heaven, and in the mean while, give me grace, and you both, in all our agonies and troubles, devoutl}/ to resort prostrate unto the remembrance of that bitter agony, which our Saviour suffered before his passion at the Mount. And if we diligently so do, I verily trust we shall find therein great comfort and consolation. And thus, my dear daughter, the blessed spirit of Christ, by his tender mercy govern and guide you all, to his pleasure and your wealth and comfort both of body and soul. Your tender loving Father, THOMAS MO^E, Knight, It was towards the close of May, when Margaret obtained the accomplishment of her earnest desire, for w^hich she had so boldly and so successfully struggled. No sooner was the door opened to her father's apartment, than in an instant she was in his arms, and clung round his neck in a long and silent embrace.* More then fell on his knees, and his daughter following his example, joined him in those acts of devotion, with which he sanctified all his actions; and which, in the present instance, served to restore that calm of mind which the sudden en- trance of her he loved first and best had for a moment disturbed. Then rising, and once again embracing his daughter, he looked fondly upon her, and said in Deep joys and griefs tn the same issue come; Thus murmur shallow brooks, the deep are dumb. Sir W. Raleiffh, 274 SIR THOMAS MORE, his usual cheerful tone: "Well, I verily believe, Meg-, that they who have put me here, v/een they have done me a high displeasure. But I assure thee, on my faith, mine own good daughter, if it had not been for my wife, and ye who be my children, I should not have failed long- ere this to have been en- closed in as straighta room, and straighter too. But, since I am come hither without my own desert, I trust that God of his goodness will discharge me of my care, and with his gracious help supply my lack among ye. I find no cause, I thank God, Meg, to reckon myself in worse case here than at home; for methinks God maketh me a wanton, and setteth me on his lap and dandleth me." When Margaret prepared to leave the prison, he placed in her hand the following- note to his family, which she secreted in her bosom: To MY LOVING Friends: — Forasmuch as being in prison, I cannot tell what need I may have, or of what necessity I may hap to stand in, I heartily beseech 5^ou all, that if my well-beloved daughter, Margaret Roper, who alone of all my friends hath, by the king-'s gracious favor, license to resort to me, should anything desire of any of you, of such things as I may hap to need, that it may like you no less to re- gard and tender it, than if I moved it unto you, and required it of yoa, personally present myself. And 1 beseech you all to pray for me, and 1 shall pray for yoa. Your faithful lover and poor beadsman THOMAS MORE, Knight, Prisoner. Margaret must have looked upon this little doc- ument as an additional proof of the depth of her father's regard and confidence- Some short time after Margaret's visit to her fa- ther, his wife and the rest of his family obtained permission to see him. Alice, as we have already had occasion to remark, was an excellent housewife, but she was a stranger to that dignity, not to say delicacy of character, which we are taught to look HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 275 for in the wife of such a man. Tp use Cresacre's language: " at her first entrance to his chamber, like a plain, good woman, and somewhat worldly too, she thus bluntly saluted him; ' Why, Mr, More, I marvel much that you, who have hitherto been taken for a wise man, will now so play the fool, as to lie here in this close filthy prison, and be content to be shut up with mice and rats (and here she turned up her nose), when you might be abroad at your liberty, v/ith the favor and good- will both of the king and the council, if you Vv'ould but do as all the bishops and. best learned men of his realm have done." She then enlarged upon his " right fair house at Chelsea, his library, books, gallery, garden und orchard, and the being merry in compa- ny with me your good wife, your children and household; and raising her voice at the conclusion, she thus added; 'Yea, in God's name, I muse what you mean by still fondly tarrying here!' More bore it all in his usual kindly and playful way, contriving always to blend religious feelings with his quaint- ness and humor. ' Why, good Alice,' said he with that winning smile of his, which nothing could repress, 'tell me one thing' — 'And pray what is that]* said she. ' Is not this house as near heaven as mine own]' She answered him in her customary exclamation of contempt; ' Oh, tilly valley, tilly valley!' He treated her harsh language as a wholesome exercise for his patience, and replied with equal mildness, though Vv'ith more gravity; ' How, sayst thou, Alice] Is it not so indeed]" — ' Bone DeusI man," was Alice's hasty reply, ' will this gear [matter] be never given over]" — " Nay then, Alice," continued More, ' if it be so, I see no great^cause why I should joy in my fair house, or in any thing belonging thereunto, when if 1 should have been buried in my grave but seven years, and rise arid come hither again,* I should not fail to find * He might have said but seven months," adds Cresaere in a paren thesis. 276 SIR THOMAS MORE, some therein that would bid me get out of doors and tell me plainly it were none of mine. What cause, then, have 1 to like such a house, as would so soon forget its master?' Alice was a testy soul, but she did not want feeling, and these allusions had the effect of sabdaing her spirit. More perceiv- ed the effect of his words, and patting her on the cheek — ' Now, good mistress Alice,' said he, ' do tell me how long you think one might live to enjoy this house of ours]' ' Perhaps some twenty years.' " Well now, my good Alice, if you had said some thousand, nay some hundred years even, it had been somewhat; and yet he were a very bad calculator that would risk the losing of an eternity for some hundred or thousand years. But what, if we are not sure of enjoying our possessions a single day!' Thus it was that More's habitual good humor never forsook him, and nothing, to use Cresacre's remark, " could be a surer proof, that all was at ease from within." And here, it would be unjust not to allege in excuse for Alice, that she was not without cause for being out of humor. " Right fair as was her house at Chelsea," that evil genius the res angusta dovii — want and her attendant ills, had taken up their abode within its once happy walls. This we gather from the following letter, which accident has preserved, and which tells the tale more effectually than whole pages could do. Mistress Alice More to Secretary Crumwell. To the Right Honorable, and her especial good master. Master secretary — In my most humble wise I recommend me to your good mastership, acknowledging myself to be most deeply bounden to you, for your manifold goodness and loving fa- vor, before this time, and now daily shown towards my poor husband and me. I pray Almighty God, to continue your goodness so still, for thereupon hangeth the greatest part of my poor husband's com- HIS Ll^E AND TIMES. 277* fort and mine. The cause of my writing; at this time is, to certify your especial good mastership of my great and extreme necessity; who, on and be- sides the charge of mine own house, do pay weekly fifteen shillings for the board-wages of my poor hus- band and his servant,^^ for the maintaining whereof, I have been compelled, of very necessity, to sell part of my own apparrel, for lack of other substance to make money of. Wherefore, my mosi humble pe-* tition and suit to your mastership, at this time, is to desire your advice and counsel, whether I may be Bo bold as to attend upon the king's most gracious highness. I trust there is no doubt in this case of any impediment; for the young man, being a plough- man had been diseased with the ague for the space of three weeks before he departed. And besides this, it is now five weeks since it departed, and nd other person diseased in the house since that time. f Wherefore I most humbly beseech your especial good mastership (as my only trust is, and else know not what to do, but utterly in this world to be un- done), for the love of God to consider the premises; and thereupon of your most abundant goodness, to show your most favorable help to the comforting of my poor husband and me, in this. our great heaviness, extreme age, and necessity. And thus we, and all ours, shall daily, during our lives, pray to God for the prosperous success of your right honorable dig- nity. By your poor continual oratrix. Dame ALICE MORE.:|: The following correspondence that passed in the August next after Sir Thomas's imprisonment, be- tween Margaret Roper, and Mrs. Alice Alington, the married daughter of Alice by her first husband, * A curious fact is here disclosed, tliat the state prisoners at the period in question were supported at the expense of their own families. t Doubtless the recent prevalence of the Sweating Sickness had been the cause of the great precautions alluded to in this passage. I From Dr. Howard's Collection. 1753. 9A 278 Sir thomas more, is so full of interest in itself, and throws so much light upon Sir Thomas's private history at this period, that it is matter of surprise his biographers should have neglected to avail themselves of mate- rials so important. The letters are preserved in Rastell's Edition of More's Works. (1557.) Mice Jllington to Margaret Roper. Sister Roper:— With all my heart, I recommend me to you, thanking you for all kindness. The cause of my writing at this time, is to show you, that, within two hours after my coming home, my Lord Chancellor [Audley] did come to take a course at buck in our Park, the which was to my husband a great coml'ort, that it would please him so to do. When he had taken his pleasure, and killed his deer; he went to Sir Thomas Barneston's to bed; where I was the next day with him at his desire, the M'hich I could not say nay to, for methougbthe did bid me very heartily: and most especially because I would speak to him for my father. And when I saw my time, I did desire him, as humbly as I could, that he would (as I have heard say he had been) be still good lord unto my father. First, he answered me, that he would be as glad to do for him, as for his own father, and that, he said, did very well appear when the matter of the nun was laid to his charge. And as for this other matter, he marvelled that my father is so obstinate in his own conceit, in that every body went forth withal, save only the blind bishop and he. And, in good faith, said my Lord, I am very glad that I have no learning, but in a few of iEsop's fables, of the which 1 shall tell you one. There was a country in which there were almost none but fools, saving a few who were wise, and they by their wisdom knew that there should fall a great rain, the which should make all them fools that were wet there- with. They, seeing that, made them a cave under the ground till the rain was passed. Then came they forth, thinking to make the fools do what they HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 279 list, and to rule them as they would. But the fools would none of that, and would have the rule them- selves for all their craft. And when the wise men saw that they could not obtain their purpose, they wished they had been in the rain, and had wet their clothes with them. When this tale was told, my Lord did laugh very merrily. Then I said to him, that, for all his merry fable, I put no doubt that he would be good Lord unto my father, when he saw his time. He said, I would not have your father so scrupulous of his conscience. And then he told me another fable of a Lion, an Ass, and a Wolf, and of their confession. First, the Lion con- fessed that he had devoured all the beasts he could come by. His confessor assoiled [absolved] him, because he was a king, and also it was his nature so to do. Then came the poor Ass, and said that he took but one straw out of his master's shoe for hunger, by means whereof he thought that his mas- ter did take cold. His confessor could not assoil this great trespass, but by and by he sent him to the bishop. Then came the Wolf and made his confession, and he was straitly commanded that he should not pass sixpence at a meal. But when the said Wolf had used this but a little while, he waxed very hungry, insomuch that on a day when he saw a cow with her calf come by him, he said to him- self, I am very hungry, and fain would I eat, but that I am bound by my ghostly father. Notwith- standing that, my conscience shall judge me; and if that be so, then shall my conscience be thus — that the cow doth seem to me but worth a groat; and if the cow be but worth a groat, then is the calf but worth sixpence. So did the Wolf eat both the cow and the calf. Now, my good sister, hath not my Lord told me two pretty fables'? In good faith, they pleased me nothing, for I wist not what to say, and I was abashed of this answer. And I see no better suit than to Almighty God, for he is the comforter of all sorrows, and will not fail his servants when they have most need. Thus, fare 080 SIR THOMAS MORE, ye well, my own g'ood sister. Written the Monday after St. Lawrence, [August 13th,] in haste Your sister ALICE ALINGTON. Margaret Roper to Alice Alington. Sister Alington: — When I came next unto my father, methought it both convenient and necessary to show him your letter; convenient, that he might see your loving labor taken for him; necessary, since he might perceive thereby, that if he stood still in this scruple of his conscience, (so at least it is called by many that are his friends, and by his wife,) all his friends that seem most able to do him good, either shall finally forsake him, or, per- adventure, not be able indeed to do him any good at all. For these causes, at my next being with him, after your letter received, when I had awhile talked with him, first of his diseases, both of his breast of old, and of his reins anew, and of the cramp also that diverse nights grieveth him in the legs, and that T found by his words they were not much in-^ creased, but continued after the manner that they did before, sometimes very sore, and sometimes little grief, and as at that time I found him out of pain, and, as one in his case might, meetly well-minded, after our Seven Psalms and the Litany said, to sit and talk, and be merry, beginning first with other things, of the good comfort of my mother, and the good order of my brother and all my sisters, dispose ing themselves every day, more by more, to set little by the world, and draw more and more to God; and that his household, his neighbors, and other good friends abroad, diligently remembered him in their prayers, I added: 1 pray God, good father, that their prayers, and ours, and your own there- with, may purchase of God the grace, that you may in this great matter (for which you stand in this trouble, and for your trouble, all we also that love you) take such a way by time, as, standing with the pleasure of God, may content and please the king, ■vyhom ye have gilways found so singularly gracious HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 281 unto you, that, if we were stiffly to refuse to do the thing that were his pleasure, which, God not displeased, you might do (as many great, wise, and well-learned men say, that, in this thing, you may), it would both be a great blot in your worship in every wise man's opinion, and as myself have heard some say, whom yourselfhave always taken for well-learn- ed and good, a peril unto your soul also. But as for that point, farther I will not be bold to dispute upon, since, I trust in God, and your good mind, that you will look surely thereto; and your learn- ing I know for such, that I w^ot well you can. But, one thing is there which I, and other your friends perceive abroad, which, if it be not shown you, you may, peradventure, to your great peril mistake, and I hope shall be likely to fall to 5rou for less harm, than I sore fear me, for, as for good, I wot well that in this world, of this matter at least, ye look for none. I tell you, father, that I have received a letter of late from my sister Alington, by which T see well, that, if ye change not your mind, ye are likely to lose all those friends that are about to do you any good. Or if ye leese [lose] not their good will, you shall at least leese the effect thereof, for any good that they shall be able to do you. With this my father smiled upon me and said: What! mistress Eve, — as I called you when you came _^r5^ [on a former occasion], hath vay daughter Alington played the serpent with you, and with a letter set you a work to com.e tempt your father again: and for the favor that you bear him, labor to make him swear against his conscience, and to send him to the devil? And after that he looked sadly again, and earnestly said to me; Daughter Margaret, we two have talked this thing over twice or thrice; and the same tale in effect that you tell me now, and the same fears too, have you twice told me before, and I have twice answered you, that, if in this matter it were possible for me to content the king's grace, and God therewith not offended, there hath no man taken this oath already more gladly than I would do; 24# 282 SIR THOMAS MORE, as one that reckoneth himself more deeply bounden than any other to the kinof's highness, for his singu- lar bounty many ways showed to me. But since, standing my conscience, I can in no wise do it, and that for instructing my conscience in this matter I have not slightly considered, but many years advised and studied, and never yet could see nor hear the thing, nor I think ever shall, that could induce my mind to think otherwise, 1 have no manner of re- miedy; God hath placed me in this strait, that either I must deadly displease him, or abide any worldly harm that, for any other sins, he shall, UU' der the name of this thing, suffer to fall upon me. Which thing, as I have before told you, I have ere I came here, not left unbethought or unconsidered the very worst and uttermost that can by possibility befal. And albeit that I know my own frailty full well and the natural faintness of my own heart, yet, if I had not trusted that God would give me strength rather to endure all things than offend him by swearing ungodly against my conscience, you may be very sure I should not have come here. And as in this matter I look only to God, it concerns me but little though men call it as it please them, and say it is no conscience, but a foolish scruple. A t this word, I took a good occasion, and said to him thus: In good faith, father, for my part, I neither do, nor would it become me to mistrust your good mind, or your learning. But as you say that some call it but a scruple, 1 assure you that I see in my sister's letter, one of the highest estates in this realm; and a man learned too, as I dare say yourself shall think when you know him, and whom you have already effectually proved for your tender friend and very special good lord, accounteth your conscience, in this matter, for a right simple scruple. And you may be sure he saith it of good mind, and layeth no little cause therein; for he saith, where you say your con- science moveth you, all the nobles of this realm, and almost all other men too, go boldly forth with the contrary, and none stick thereat, save only yourself HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 283 and one other man; who, though he be right good and very learned, yet mean I that few that love you, give you the counsel, against all other men to cleave to his mind alone. And at this word I gave him your letter that he might see my words were not feigned but spoken by him, whom he loveth and esteemeth highly. Thereupon he read over your letter. And when he came to the end, he began it afresh, and read it over again; and in the reading he made no manner of haste, butadvised it leisurely and pointed every word. And after that he paused, and then he said: Forsooth, daughter Margaret, I find my daughter Alington such as I have ever found her, and I trust ever shall, as naturally minding of me as you that are mine own. Howbeit, her take '^ verily for mine own too, since I have married her mother, and brought her up from a child, as I have brought up you, in other things and in learning both, .wherein 1 thank God, she findeth now some fruit, and bringeth her son up very virtuously and well. Therefore God, I thank him, hath sent her good store, our Lord preserve them, and send her much joy of them, and my good son, her gentle husband too, and have mercy on the soul of mine other good son, her first. I am daily a beadsman, and so write her, for them all. In this matter she hath used herself like herself — wisely, and like a very daugh- ter towards me, and at the end of the letter giveth as good counsel as any man, that wit hath, could wish. God give me grace to follow it, and God reward her for it. Now, daughter Margaret, as for my lord, I not only think, but have also found, that he is undoubtedly my singular good lord. And in my other business concerning the silly nun, as my cause was good and clear, so was he my good lord therein, and master secretary my good master too. For this I shall never cease to be faithful beadsman for them both, and daily do I, by my troth, pray for them, as I pray for myself. And whenever it shall happen, — which I trust in God shall never happen, that I be found other than a true man to my 284 SIR THOMAS MORE, prince, let them never favor me neither of them, nor, in troth, could it become them so to do. But in this matter, Meg-, to tell the truth between thee and me, my lord's JSsop's fables do not greatly move me. But as his wisdom for his pastime merely told them to mine own daughter, so shall I for my pastime answer them to thee, Meg, for mine. The first fable of the rain that washed away all their wits, that stood abroad when it fell, I have heard oft ere this, it being a tale so often told among the king's council by my lord cardinal, when his grace was chancellor, that I cannot lightly forget it. In times past, when variance began to fall between the em- peror and the French king, so that they fell together at war, there were in the council sundry opinions, in which some thought it wisdom that we should sit still, and let them alone; but evermore against this my lord used the fable of the wise men. And so said his grace, if we like them, would be so wise as to sit in peace, while the fools fought, they could not fail after to make peace and agree, and fall at length altogether upon us. I will nevermore dispute upon his grace's counsel, and I trust we never made war but as reason would. But, yet this did, in his days, help the king and the realm to spend many a fair penny. But that gear is passed, and his grace is gone, our lord assoil his soul! Howbeit daughter Roper, whom my lord here taketh for the wise men, and whom for the fools, I cannot very well guess; I cannot very well read such riddles; I may say, you wot well, non sum (Edipus^ sed\ Morus — which word, what it signifieth in Greek, I need not tell you. But I trust my lord reckoneth me among the fools, as my name in Greek would import. But surely among those that long to be rulers, God and my conscience know, that no man can reckon me. It is well known that the king of his goodness made me a ruler in this noble realm, and that, at my own great labor, I was by his goodness discharged. But whomsoever my lord mean by the fools and the wise, I beseech our lord to make us all so wise, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 285 that we may, every man, rule ourselves wisely in this time of tears, this vale of miseries, this simple wretched world, that when we shall hence in haste, to meet the great spouse, we be not taken as sleep- ers, nor for lack of light in our lamps be shut out of heaven among the foolish virgins. As to the second fable, I see not how that can well be j^sop's as the matter turns on confession. But what matter who made if? Yet surely is it some- what too subtle for me. By the foolish scrupulous ass, his lordship's other words show that he meant me. He thinketh the thing but a trifle, and as you told me, Margaret, right now, so think many, as well spiritual as temporal, and that even of those whom for their learning and virtue I not a little esteem. And yet believe I not very surely that every man so thinketh that so saith. But though they did, daughter, that would not make much to me, not though I should see my lord of Rochester say the same, and swear the oath himself before me. For, whereas you told me right now, that such as love me, would not advise me, against all other men, to lean upon his mind alone; verily, daughter, no more I do. For albeit of very truth, I have him in that reverend estimation, that I reckon in this realm no one man, in wisdom, learning, and long approved virtue, meet to be matched with him, yet, that in this matter I was not led by him, plainly ap- peareth both in that I refused the oath before it was offered him, and also that his lordship was content to have sworn to that oath either somewhat more, or in some other manner than ever I minded to do. Verily, daughter, I never intended to pin my soul to another man's back, not even the best man that 1 know this day living, for I know not whither he may happen to carry it. There is no man living of whom, while he liveth, I may make myself sure. Some may act through favor, and some through fear, and so might they carry my soul some wrong way. And some may happen to frame himself a conscience. 286 SIR THOMAS MORE, and think, that, while he did it for fear, God would forgive it. And some may, peradventure, think that they will repent and be shriven thereof, and that so shall God remit it them. And some may, peradven- ture, be of the mind, that if they say one thing, and think the while the contrary, God more regardeth their heart than their tongue, and therefore that their oath goeth upon that they think, and not upon that they say: as a woman reasoned once, I trow, daugh- ter, you being by. But, in good faith, Margaret, I can use no such ways in so great a matter; but as if mine own conscience served me, I would not let [hesitate] to do it, though other men refused, so, though others do it, I dare not, my own conscience standing against it. If I had, as I told you, looked but lightly on the matter, 1 should have cause to fear; but now have I so looked on it so long, that, I purpose at least to have no less regard unto my soul, than had once a poor honest man of the country called Cumpany. And with tliis he told me a tale, which I ween I can scant tell you again, because it hangeth upon some turns and ceremonies of the law. But as far as I can call it to mind, it was this. There is a court belonging to every fair, to do jus- tice in such things as happen within the same. This court had a pretty fond name, but I cannot happen on it; but it beginneth with a pie, and the remnant goeth much like the name of a knight that 1 have known, I wis, and you too, I trow, for he hath been at my father's oft, at such time as you were there, a meetly tall black man; his name was Sir William Pounder.* Now the matter was this. Upon a time, at such a court holden in Bartholemew fair, there was an escheator of London that had arrested a man that was outlawed, and had seized his goods, that he had brought into the fair, tolling him out of the fair by a train. The man that was arrested and his * Margaret has a dro'l Hiid very rniindabntit way in getting at the court of Pic Powder. Whodoes not recojrnise in iVlarga- ret's manner and churaitcr, a true chip of the old block? HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 287 goods seized, was a northern man; who by his friends caused the escheator to be arrested in the fair, upon some action, I wot not what, and so was he brought before the judge of the court of pie Sir "William Pounder. At last the matter came to a certain ceremony to be tried by a quest of twelve men, ajary, as I remember they call it, or else a perjury. Now had the northern man, by friendship of the officers, found means to have almost all the quest made of northern men, such as had their booths there standing in the fair. Now in the afternoon, the twelve men having heard both the parties and their counsel tell their tales at the bar, were irom the bar had into a place to talk in common and agree upon this sentence. Nay, let me speak better in my terms yet, I trow the judge giveth the sentence, and the quest's tale is called a verdict. They were scant come together, when the northern men were agreed to cast our London escheator. They thought there needed no more to prove that he did wrong, than even the name of his bare office alone. But then, as the devil would have it, there was among them an honest man of another quarter, who was called Cumpany. And because the fellow seemed but a poor soul that sat still and said nothing, they made no reckoning of him, but said: " Well, we be agreed now; come let us go give our verdict." Then when the poor fellow saw that they made such haste, and his mind nothing gave him the way that these did, he prayed them to tarry and talk over the mat- ter, and tell him such reasons therein that he might think as they did; that when he so should do, he would be glad to say with them, or else he said they must pardon him; for since he had a soul of his own to save, as they had, he must say as he thought for his, as they must for theirs. When they heard this, they were half angry with him. " What! good fellow," quoth one of the northern men, whence wonnest thou [what wouldst thou be about]! Be not we eleven here, and thou but one, and all we agreed! Wherefore shouldst thou stick! What is 288 SIR THOMAS MORE, thy name, good fellow?" — "Masters," quoth he, my name is Cumpany." "Company!" quoth they; now by thy troth, play then the good companion, come forth with us and pass for good company.''^ " Would to God, good masters," quoth the man again, " that there lay no more weight thereon. But now, when we shall hence, and come before God, and that he shall send you to heaven for doing ac- cording to your conscience, and me to the devil for doing against mine, in passing here at your request for good company. Nov/ tell me, master Dickon- son, (that was one of the northern men's names), if I were to say to you, and all of you, masters, I went once for good company with you, which is the cause that I now go to hell; now play you the good- fellows with me, and as I then went for good com- pany with you, so do you come now for good com- pany with me. Would ye go, master Dickenson'? nay, nay, by our lady, never a one of you. And therefore must ye pardon me from passing as you pass. The passing of my soul to Heaven passeth all good company." And when my father had told me this tale, he said: I prithee now, good Margaret, tell me this; wouldst thou wish thy poor father, being at least somewhat learned, less to regard the peril of his soul, than did that honest unlearned man? I med-*- die not, you wot well, with the conscience of any man that hath sworn; nor do I take upon me to be their judge. Now, if I were in like case with the good man Cumpany, and were so to reason with such and such a lord, yea, and with such and such a bishop too, as I love best: by my truth, Margaret, I may say to thee in secret, here between us twain, (but let it go no farther I beseech thee heartily), I find the friendship of this wretched world so fickle, that, for anything I could pray, not one among them all, I wean, would go to the devil with me for fellowship's sake. Then, by heaven, Margaret, if there were twice as many more of them than there be, I must first have respect to mine own soul.— Surely, father, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 289 without any scruple at all, you may be bold, I dare say, to swear that. But, father, they that think you should not refuse to swear the thing-, that you see so many good men and learned swear before you, meant not that you should swear to bear them fel- lowship, nor to pass with them for good company; but that the credence that you may, with reason, give to their persons for the aforesaid qualities, should well m.ove you to think the oath such of it- self, that every man may well swear thereto with- out peril of his soul, if his own private conscience to the contrary be not the let [hindrance]; and that ye well ought, and have good cause to change your own conscience, by conforming it to the conscience of so many others, being such as you know they be. And since it is also by a law made by the parlia- ment, commanded, they think that you be, upon the peril of your soul, bound to change and reform your conscience, and conform it to other men's. — Marry! Margaret, quoth my father again, for the part that you play, you play it not much amiss. But, Margaret, first as for the law of the land, thouffh every man born and inhabiting therein, is bound to the keeping it, in every case, upon some temporal pain, and in many cases upon pain of God's displeasure too, yet is there no man bound to swear that every law is well made, nor bound upon the pain of God's displeasure to perform any such point of the law, as were indeed unlawful. Of which kind, that there may such happen to be niade in any part of Christendom, I suppose no man doubteth, the general council of the whole body of Christendom, evermore in that point except. But, as after the determination of a well assembled general council, every man is bound to give credence that way, and to conform his own opinion to the deter- mination of the council generally, and then all they that held the contrary before, were for that holding out of blame; so, if before such decision, a man had, against his own conscience, sworn to maintain and defend the other side, he had not failed to oflfend 25 290 SIR THOMAS MORE, God very sore. But, marry! if, on the other side a man would in a matter take a way by himself, upon his own mind alone, or with some few, or with ne- ver so many, against an evident truth, appearing by the common faith of Christendom, this conscience is very damnable. Yea, even if it be not so fully plain and evident, yet if he see himself, with far the greater part, think one way against far the greater part of as well learned and as good men, as those are that affirm the thing that he thinketh, thinking and affirming the contrary, and that such folks as he had no reasonable cause to doubt, this is, in truth, a good occasion to move him, and yet not to compel him to conform his mind and conscience to theirs. But, Margaret, for what causes I refuse the oath, that thing, as I have often told you, I will never show you, neither you nor any body else, except the king's highness should like to command me; which, if his grace did, I have before told you how obedi- ently I should. But, surely, daughter, I have re- fused it, and do, for more causes than one; and for what cause soever I refuse it, this am I sure — that it is well known, that of those who have sworn it, and they too the best, learned, before the oath given them said and plainly affirmed the contrary of some such things as they have now sworn in the oath, and that, upon their truth and their learning, and not in haste nor suddenly, but after great diligence done to find out the truth. — That might be, father, quoth I, and yet since then they may have seen more. — I will not, quoth,he, dispute, daughter Margaret, against that, nor misjudge any other man's conscience which lieth in their own breast, far out of my sight. But this will I sajj", that I myself never heard the cause of their change, by any new further thing found of authority, than, as far as I perceive, they had looked on, and as I suppose, very well weighed before. Now, if of the self same things that they saw before, some seem otherwise unto them now than they did be- fore, I am for their sake the gladder a great deal. But, as for any thing that ever I saw before, at this HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 291 day it seems to me as it did before. Yet, though they may do othervvise than once they might, yet, daughter, I may not. As for such things as some men would haply say, that I might with reason the less regard their change, considering that the keep- ing of the prince's pleasure, and the avoiding of his in- tiignation, thefear of their losing of their worldly sub- stance, and of the discomforture of theirkindred and friends, might haply make some men either swear otherwise than they think, or frame their conscience afresh to think otherwise than they thought, any such opinion as this will I not conceive of them. I have better hope of their goodness, than to think of them so. For had such things turned them, the same things had been likely to affect me: for, in faith, I know few so faint-hearted as myself. There- fore will I, Margaret, think no worse of other folks in the thing that I know not, than of that I find in m 'Self. But as I know well that mine owm conscience causeth me to refuse the oath, so will 1 trust in Grod, that, according to their conscience, they have re- ceived and sworn it. But whereas, you think, Mar- garet, that there are so many more on the other side, than on the side that think in this thing as I think, surely, for your own comfort, must I disabuse you of that thought, which maketh you conclude that your father casteth himself away like a fool, jeo- parding the loss of his substance, and peradventure his body too, without any cause why he so should, for peril of his soul, but rather his soul in peril there- by too; to this shall I say to thee, Margaret, that in some of my reasons, I nothing doubt at all, that though not in this realm, yet in Christendom, those well-learned and virtuous men still living, who are of my opinion, are not the fev/er part. But for the conclusion, daughter Margaret, of all this matter;' I tell you again, as I have often told you, that I take not upon me to define or dispute in these matters, nor do I rebuke or repugn any other man's deed; nor have I ever written, nor so much as spoken in any company any word of re» 292 SIR THOMAS MORE, proach regarding' any thing that the parliament had passed, nor meddled I with the conscience of any man, that either thinketh or saith he thinketh con- trary unto mine. But as concerning mine own self, for thy comfort shall I say to thee, daughter, that my own conscience in this matter is such as may well stand with mine own salvation; thereof am I, Meg, as sure as there is a God in heaven. And, therefore, as for all the rest — goods, lands, and life itself (if the chance should so fortune,) since this conscience is sure for me, I verily trust in God, that he shall rather strengthen me to bear the loss, than against this conscience to swear, and put my soul in peril. — When he saw me sit at this very sad — as I promise you, sister, my heart was full heavy for the peril of his person, for in faith, I fear not for his soul — he smiled upon me, and said: Why, how now, daughter Margaret? how now, mother Eve, where is your mind now? Sit you not musing with some serpent in your breast upon some pew persua- sion, to offer Father Adam the apple once again? — In good faith, father, quoth I, I can no farther go. I am, as I trow Cresside saith in Chaucer, comen to Dulcarno, even at rny wit's end. For since the example of so many wise men cannot in this mat- ter move you, 1 see not what more to say; except I should look to persuade you with the reasoning that Master Harry Paterson made. For he met one of our men one day, and when he had asked where you were, and heard that you were in the Tower still, he waxed even angry with you and said: Why? what aileth him that he will not swear? Wherefore should he stick to swear — I have sworn the oath! And so, father, I can, in faith go no far- ther, not even if after the many wise men whom ye lake for no sample, I should say with Master Harry, why should you refuse to swear, father, for I have sworn myself? At this he laughed and said; That v/ord was like Eve too, for she oifered Adam no w^orse fruit than she had eaten herself. — But yet, father, quoth I, I fear me very sore, that this mat- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 293 ter will bring you into marvellous heavy trouble. You well know, as I showed you, that Master Sec- retary sent you word, as your very friend, to remem- ber that the Parliament lasteth yet,' — Margaret, quoth my father, I thank him right heartily. But I must show you again, that I left not this gear un- thoughton. And albeit, I know well, that if they were to make a law to do me any harm, that law could never be lawful. But God shall, I trust, keep me in that grace, that, concerning my duty to m.y prince, no man shall do me harm, except he do me wrong. And then, as I told you, (this is like a rid- dle) that there is a case in which a man may lose his head, and have no harm. " And notwithstanding also, I have good ho])e, that God shall neversuffer so good and wise a prince, in such way to requite the long service of his true faithful servant; yet, since there is nothing impos- sible to fall, I forget not in this matter the counsel of Christ in the gospel, that ere I should begin to build this castle, for the safeguard of mine own soul, I should sit and reckon, what the charge should be. 1 counted, Margaret, full surely many a restless night, while my wife slept, and weighed, ere 1 slept, what peril might befal me: so far forth, that I am sure there came no care above mine. And in devis- ing thereupon, daughter, I had a full heavy heart. But, yet, I thank our Lord, that, for all that, I never thought to change, though the very uttermost should happen to me that my fears run upon. No, father, quoth I, it is not like to think upon a thing that may be, and to see a thing that shall be, as ye should (our Lord save you!) if the chance should so fortune. And then should you, peradventure, think, what you think not now, and yet then, peradventnre, it would be too late. — Too late, Margaret! quoth my father; I beseech our Lord, that, if ever I make such a charge, it may be too late indeed. For well I wot the change cannot be good for my soul; that change, I say, that should grow but by fear. 25* 294 SIR THOMAS MORE, And, therefore, I pray God, that, in this world, I may never have g-ood of such change. For as much as I take harm here, I shall at least have the less thereof when I am hence. And if it so were, that I wist well now that I should faint and fall, and, through fear, swear hereafter, yet would I wish to take harm by the refusing first, for so should I have the better hope for grace to rise again. And albeit, Margaret, that I wot well my lewdness hath been such, that I know myself well worthy that God should let me slip, yet can I not but trust in his merciful goodness, that, as his grace hath strength- ened me hitherto, and made me content in my heart, to lose goods, lands, and life too, rather than to swear against my conscience, and hath also put in the king towards me that good and gracious mind, that, as yet, he hath taken from me nothing but my liberty; and herein, so help me God, His Highness hath done me so great good by the spi- ritual profit that, I trust, I take thereby, that among all his great benefits heaped upon me so thick, I reckon upon njy imprisonment even as the very chief. I cannot, I say, therefore, mistrust the grace of God, but that either he shall preserve and keep the king in that gracious mind still to do me no hurt, or else, if his pleasure be, that, for mine other sins, I shall suffer in such a cause as I shall not deserve, his grace shall give me strength to take it patiently, and peradveniure, somewhat gladly too, whereby his High Goodness shall, through the merits of his bitter passion, make it serve for a re- lease of the pain in purgatory, and over that for increase of some reward in heaven. Mistrust him, Meg, will I not, though I should feel me faint. Yea, and though I should feel my fear even at point to overthrow me too, yet shall I remember how St. Peter with a blast of wind began to sink for his faint faith, and shall do as he did, call upon Christ, and pray him to help. And, then, I trust, he shall set his holy hand upon me, and in the stormy seas hold me up froni drowning. Yea, and HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 295 if he suffer me to play St. Peter farther, and to fall to the ground, and swear and forswear him too (which our Lord of his tender passion keep me from, and let me lose if it so fall, and never win thereby!) yet after shall I trust that his goodness will cast upon me a tender and piteous eye, as he did upon the fallen apostle, and make me stand up again, and confess the truth of my conscience afresh, and abide the shame and the harm of my fault here. And finally, Margaret, this wot I very well, that without my fault he will not let me be lost. I shall, therefore, with good hope commit myself wholly to him. And if he suffer me for my faults to perish, yet shall I then serve for a praise of his justice. But in good faith, Meg, I trust that his tender pity shall keep my poor soul safe, and make me com- mend his mercy. And, therefore, mine own good daughter, never trouble thy mind for any thing that shall happen to me in this world. No- thing can come, but what God will; and I make me very sure, whatsoever that be, in sight seem it never so bad, it shall in deed be the best. And with this, my good child, I pray you heartily, be you, and all your sisters, and my sons too, comfort- able and serviceable to your good mother, my wife. And of your good husbands' minds I have no man- ner of doubt. Commend me to them all, and to my good daughter Alington, and to all my other friends, sisters, nieces, nephews, and all; and unto all our servants, man, woman, and child, and to all my good neighbors, and our acquaintance abroad. And I right heartily pray both you and them to serve God, and be merry and rejoice in him. And if any thing happen to me, that you would be loath, pray to God for me, but trouble not yourself. Pray for me as heartily as I shall pray for all of us, that we may meet together once in heaven, where we shall make merry for ever, and never have trouble more. Your sister, MARGARET ROPER. 296 SIR THOMAS MORE, More's wife and family, with the exception of Marg-aret, seem rarely to have been admitted to visit him; to her almost freedom of access appears to have been granted, in the treacherous hope that her intercourse with a father with whom she held so much influence, would tend to soften him into com- pliance with the royal wish. That some little things that passed in the inter- views between More and his daughter transpired, probably by means of the warden of the prison, is clear from the following passages in Cresacre. *' Now, whereas the oath of the Supremacy and Marriage, was comprised in few words, in tlie first statute, the lord chancellor and oar secretary did, of their own heads, add more words to it, to make it seem more plausible; and this oath, so amplified, they had exhibited to Sir Thomas and others. Re- specting this deed of theirs, Sir Thomas said to his daughter; " T may tell thee, Meg, that they who have committed me hither, for refusing an oath, not agreeable to their own statute, are not able by their own law to justify my imprisonment. Pity it is, that any Christian prince should be drawn to follow his affections and flexible counsel, and by a weak clergy, lacking grace; for want of which they stand weakly to their learning, and so shamefully self- abuse themselves." VV hich words coming to the councils ears, they, espying their oversight, caused another statute to be enacted, with all these condi- tions.* We shall see by the interrogatories hereafter put to Sir^Thomas, that he had found means "by di- * In the session wliich begnn on the 3d of November [1534] , an act was passed (26. H. VIII c. 2.J which ratifii-s aud pro f esses to recite the form of oath promulgated on the day of ttie prorower, it may, as you affirm, be evi- dently gathered that we evidemly conspired in this matter. I reply that this answer was but condition- al on my part. I said in either case there was dan- ger, whether I approved or disapproved the law: and therefore it was like a two edged-sword, which wielded cutteth both ways; and it seemed a hard thing thai it should be extended to myself who had never contradicted it by word or deed. These were my words: how the bishop answered I know not. If his answer was like mine, it proceeded not from any conspiracy of ours, but from an analogy arising from our similar minds and pursuits. " To conclude, I unfeignediy avouch that I never spoke a word against this law to any mortal living; although, perhaps, reports to the contrary may have been made to the king's most merciful majesty." Though no further answer was made to Sir Tho- mas by the king's attorney, the word malice, says Cresacre, was in the mouth of the whole court, but no man could produce either word or deed to prove it. The evidence, indeed, of any circumstances at- 322 SIR THOMAS MORE. tendant on the refusal in question, strong enough to aggravate it into an act of treason, must have been felt to be defective; for the prosecutors were reduced to the necessity of examining Rich, the solicitor general to prove circumstances of which he could have had no knowledge, without the foulest treach- ery on his part. Rich had the hardihood to declare, upon oath, that, on occasion of his proceeding, by orders, to the Tower, to take possession of More's books, papers, &c., and while Sir Richard South- well and Mr. Palmer were engaged in packing up the same, that he had asked More, in the way of familiar conversation, if an act of parliament had made Rich king. More would not acknowledge him. Sir Thomas said, "Yes, sir, that I would." — "If they declared me pope, would you acknowledge me?" — "In the first case, I have no doubt about temporal governments; but suppose the parliament should make a law that God should not be God, would you then, Mr. Rich, say that God should not be GodT' — " No," says Rich, " no parliament could make such a lavv^." Rich went on to swear, that Sir Thomas More added, " No more could the par- liament make the king supreme head of the church." More denied the latter part of Rich's evidence alto- gether; which is, indeed, inconsistent with the whole tenor of his language. Roper has preserved the answer of More on this occasion in his very words, as reported to him by credible eye-witnesses. After looking for a mo- ment upon Rich, "with a countenance more in pity than in anger," he turned to the bench, and stretch- ing forth his arm, said in a tone of much earnest- ness:— " My Lords and Gentlemen, if I were a man who did not regard an oath, I need not, as is well known, stand in this place; nor appear at this time, nor in this case, as an accused person. And if this oath of yours, Mr. Rich, be true, then do I pray that I may never see God in theface^ which, were it other- wise, I would not say, were it to win the whole world!" HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 323 Here More gave the court the true account of his conversation with Rich in the Tower; and feeling warmed by the interests of truth, he seemed, for a moment, to forego the habitual gentleness of his nature, and exposed the profligacy of Rich in words of memorable severity. " In good faith, Mr. Rich, I am far sorrier for your perjury, than for mine own peril. And this under- stand — that neither I nor any man else to my know- ledge, ever took you to be a man of such credit, that, in any matter of importance, either I, or any other, would at any time vouchsafe to communicate with you. I, as you know, have for no small while been acquainted with you and your conversation, having known you from your youth hitherto, for we long dwelt together in one parish, where, as your- self can tell — I am sorry you compel me so to say it —you were esteemed very light of your tongue,* a great dicer, and of no commendable fame. And so, in your house at the Temple, where hath been your chief bringing-up, were you likewise ac- counted. " Can it, therefore, seem likely to your honora- ble Lordships,-' said More, turning to the bench, for during the latter address he had kept his eye rivet- ted upon Rich, " can it seem likely that I would, in so weighty a matter, so unadvisedly overshoot my- self, as to trust Mr. Rich (a man ever reputed by me of but little truth, as your Lordships have just heard) so far above my sovereign Lord the King, or any of his noble counsellors, that to him I would utter the secrets of my conscience touching the king's supremacy — the especial point and only mark at my hands so long sought for; a thing which I never did, nor ever would, after the statute thereof made, reveal unto the king's highness himself, or to any of his honorable counsellors, as is not unknown * The following observation of More will apply here: " ^len rarely begin to lie a little, but they end by lying too much: a man's first lie he can hide in his sleeve, but his last is too great for the largest cloak to cover." — Answer to Tindall. 324 SIR THOMAS MORE, unto your honors, who were at sundry times sent from his own person to the Tower to me for none other purpose. And what I have kept from you, should J. have reserved for him! Can this, in your judgment, my Lords, seem true, or even likely] "And yet, supposing I had so done, my Lords, as Mr. Rich hath sworn, seeing it was spoken but in secret familiar talk, nothing affirming, and only putting of cases, without other disj)leasant circum- stances, can that justify its being taken as spoken maliciously? But, where there is no malice, there can be no offence. And as to this, I can never think, my Lords, that so many worthy bishops, so many honorable personages, and so many other worsliip- ful, virtuous, wise, and learned men, as at the making of that law were in parliament assembled, ever meant to have any man punished by death, in W'hom there could be found no malice— taking ma- litia for Tnalevolentia: for if malitia be merely taken for sm, then is there no man can excuse himself; for if ive say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. "Besides this, the manifold goodness of the' King's Highness himself, who hath been so many ways my singular good Lord, and who hath so dearly loved and trusted me, vouchsafing to admit me, even at my very first coming into his honorable service, to the dignity of his honorable privy coun-» cil, and most liberally advancing me to offices of great credit and worship; and finally, with the weighty room [place] of his grace's high chancel-- lor, next to his own royal person the higliest officer in this noble realm, so far above my qualities or me- rits honoring and exalting me; and for the space of twenty years and more showing me his continual favor; and (until at my own poor suit it pleased His Highness to discharge and disburthen me, giv- ing me power to bestow the residue of my life for providing for my soul) continuing most benignly to heap more and more honors upon me; — surely, all this, I say, His Highness' goodness continually ex- HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 325 tended towards me, were matter sufficient to con- vict the slanderous surmise by this man so wrong- fully imagined against me." An address so spirited could not fail to produce its impression. The credit of Rich was so deeply wounded, that he was compelled to call Sir Richard Southwell and Mr. Palmer, who were present at the conversation, to prop his tottering evidence. The dignity of More's manner, the solemnity of the mo- ment, and the remnant of honesty that had survived the debasement of the courtier, awoke in them a sense of shame and repentance. They made an awkward excuse to Rich, and left the miscreant in his utmost need. Palmer said that " he really was so busy in the thrusting up of Sir Thomas's books into a sack, that he took no heed to their talk." — Southwell declared that, "'as he was appointed only to look to the conveying of the books, he gave no heed to what passed." And after this, continues Cresacre, Sir Thomas alleged many other reasons in his own defence, to the utter discredit of Rich's aforesaid evidence, and in proof of the clearness of his own conscience. But all would not do. The reader who has marked the character of Henry's reign, will already have anticipated the result of the trial — if indeed this mockery of the forms of justice may be dignified by such a name. He need not be told that this prince made his will a rule for judges and jury; that he sported with law and justice, and that his parliament so long followed his caprices with servility, that, by degrees, they, as well as himself, were lost to all sense of shame. Lord Herbert, who has painted this reign in as favorable colors as he was able, tells us that " Henry and his parliament agreed so well in every thing, that it plainly appears by their fre- quent prorogations, that he had no mind to part with them." These men, the following year, were not ashamed to choose this same Rich for their speaker, and he repaid the compliment by re-echoing their flattery and subserviency to Henry. In his speech 28 326 SIR THOMAS MORE, addressed to the throne, " he took occasion to praise the king for his wonderful gifts of grace and nature; he compared him for prudence and justice to Solo- mon; for strength and fortitude to Sampson; and for beauty and comeliness to Absalom." In reply to his confession that he was utterly unfit for that office — possibly the only truth the man ever spoke, the king orders the chancellor to reply, that he knoius him to have all the necessary qualifications. It is no un- equivocal sign of these times, that, instead of being hooted from society, this miscreant was created Lord Rich, and some few years later filled the chancel- lor's seat! Surely the great Bacon had this fact in view, when he was heard to exclaim:—" If this it is to be a chancellor, I think if the great seal lay upon Hounslow Heath, nobody would pick it upl" But we digress. The jury speedily returned vv^ith a verdict of Guilty. Cresacre's words are: "they stayed scarce one quarter of an hour, for they knew what the king would have them do in this case." The chancellor, More's immediate successor, wa& proceeding, as chief commissioner, with no less hasty servility to pronounce judgment upon him, when the knight, in a dignified but courteous man- ner, observed: " That in Ms time, it was customary in such a case, to ask the prisoner, before judgment, if he had aught to say why judgment should not proceed against him." The rebuke of the ex-chan- cellor was not unfelt; and Audley, " arresting his sentence, wherein he had already partly proceeded," demanded of Sir Thomas, what he was able to say in this instance to the contrary! and More, accord- ing to Roper, spoke as follows: " Forasmuch, my Lords, as this indictment is grounded upon an act of parliament directly repug- nant to the laws of God and of his Holy Church, the supreme government of which, or of any part thereof, no temporal prince may, by any law, pre- sume to take upon him, as rightfully belonging to the See of Rome, as a special prerogative granted by the mouth of Christ himself to St. Peter, and HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 327 the Bishops of Rome his successors, during- the time that our Saviour sojourned here upon earth — it is, therefore, among Catholic Christians insuffi- cient in law, to charge any Christian man to obey it." The chancellor here repeated his favorite objec- tion, on which he had laid so much stress in the examinations in the Tower, that, since the bishops, universities, and men the best learned had subscribed to this act, it was wonderful that he alone should oppose them all, and argue so vehemently against it. " If the number of bishops and universities be so material, as your lordship seems to make it, that very circumstance is a cause why I should make no change in my conscience, for I doubt not that in the number of learned and virtuous in the world, (I speak not of this realm only, but of all Christendom), there are ten to one who are of my mind in this matter. But should I speak of those who are dead and gone, of the learned Doctors and virtuous Fathers, and of the many Saints that are in heaven, sure am I that their number is far greater, and who, all the while they lived, thought in this case as 1 now think. And therefore, my lord, I think myself not bound to conform my conscience to the council of one realm, against the general consent of all Christendom." The chancellor "having bethought himself, and being loth to have the whole burthen of the con- demnation lie upon himself," asked the opinion of the chief-justice Fitz-James, who, with his self- sufficient air, and backing his words as he usually did with an oath, replied: " My lords all, by St. Gillian! I must needs confess, that, if the act of parliament be not unlawful, then, in my conscience, is the indictment not insufficient." An answer upon which Roper remarks, that it resembled that of the Scribes and Pharisees to Pilate : If this man were not a malefactor, we would never have delivered him unto you. The chancellor then pronounced the savage sen- 328 SIR THOMAS MORE, tence of the law in cases of treason — hanging', drawing, and quartering. And now did this champion of upright principles exhibit a trait of character, which will be ever me- morable. Being, as he had before expressed it, " dead in law," he felt that he had no longer any measures to keep, and, therefore, with a bold and fearless countenance, he spoke as follows: " Well, seeing lam now condemned, God knows how justly, I- will freely speak out, for the disbur- thening of my conscience, and utter my opinion concerning this law. When I perceived that the king's pleasure was to sift out from whence the pope's authority was derived, I confess I studied seven years together to Jfind out the truth thereof. But I could not read in any one Doctor's writings, approved by the church, any one saying that avoucheth that a layman was, or ever could be, head of the church. And, as the city of London could not make a law against an act of parliament which bound the whole realm, neither could this realm make a particular law, incompatible with the gene- ral law of Christ's Universal Catholic Church. Nay, that it was contrary to the unrepealed statutes of the country, for, by Magna-Charta, it was de- clared: Ecdesia Jlnglicana libera sit, et haheat omnia jura iniegra, et libertates suas illoesas — let the Eng- lish Church be free, and have all its rights entire, and its liberties untouched. In a word, it is con- trary to that sacred oath which the king's highness, and every other Christian prince, has taken with so much solemnity at his coronation. There is no one Doctor's writings to vouch for all this." Here again the chancellor remarked, that the knight arrogated to himself to be more wise, and of more sincere conscience than the whole realm beside. To which Sir Thomas replied; "lam able to produce against one bishop that you can bring forth on your side, one hundred for my opinion; and against one realm, the consent of all Christendom for more than a thousand years." Here the Duke of Norfolk exclaimed; " Now, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 329, Sir Thomas, you show yourself to be of an obsti- nate and malicious mind." " Noble Sir," returned More, " it is no obstinacy or malice that causes me to say this, but the just necessity of the cause, for the disrharg-e of my conscience. God be my witness, that nothing but this hath moved me hereunto." Here the chief justice informed him, that, in con- sideration of the high offices he had filled, the king was graciously pleased to commute his sentence to simple decapitation. Solemn as such a moment would have Ijeen to ordinary men, this mitigation of punishment afforded the knight a subject for his irrepressible humor. " I thank the King for his kindness: but I pray God to preserve all my friends from favors such as these." The commissioners once more offered him a fa- vourable hearing, if he had any further matters to propose. "My Lords," said he, "I have no more to say, but that, as the blessed Apostle St. Paul was present and consented to the death of St. Stephen, and held the clothes of those who stoned him to death, and they are both now saints in heaven and shall continue there friends for ever; — so do I verily trust, and shall, therefore, right heartily pray, that, though your Lordships have now, here on earth, been judges to my condemnation, we may, never- theless, hereafter meet in heaven merrily together to our everlasting salvation. Once again, God pre- serve you all, and guard and bless with length of days my sovereign Lord the King, and grant him faithful counsellors."* * Thero is an admirable simplicity in the manner in which More conducted his defence, in no part of which is there tlie slightest approach to theatricaF manner, or ostentatious defi- ance; and, instead of provokinghis judges to violence, he seem- ed by his example wiling to teach them the decorum and mild- ness uf the judgment-seat. He used all the just means of de- fence, whicli law or fact afforded, as earnestly as if he had ex- pected justice. Throughout his sufferings, he tiretrayed no need of the base aids from pride and passion, which often bestow counterfeit fortitude on a public death." — Sir J. Mackintosh. " Burnet should have blushed to excuse, by absurd and un- worthy sophistry, the punishment of those who refused to swear to the king's supremacy." — Elallam. Constitu. Hist. I. 39. 28* 330 SIR THOMAS MORE, Roper had attended the trial, and the moment it was concluded, he hastened round to the door by which his father-in-law w^ould be conducted on his way back to the Tower. After waiting a short time, More was brought forth guarded, when Roper, rush- ing forward through the crowd, threw himself on his knees before the man whom he had already learned to venerate as a martyr, and earnestly beg- ged his blessing. Sir Thomas stopped for a mo- ment to pronounce a benediction upon the petitioner, and then was hurried on to the barge that was wait- ing to convey him to the'Tower. After the exhaus- tion of the trial, and the heat and suffocation of a crowded court, it was refreshing to breathe the fresh air of the river, and Sir Thomas soon recovered his spirits again, and conversed freely with Sir William Kingston, the constable of the Tower, "his very dear friend." When More saw the tears stealing down his cheeks, he endeavored to assuage his sorrows by the consolations of religion, and then fell into familiar talk upon the objects of the scene around. Kingston afterwards said to Roper — " In- deed, bat I was ashamed of myself when I found my heart so feeble, and his so strong." When they reached the Tower wharf. More had entirely reco- vered his usual cheerful tone, and stepped out of the barge with alacrity: but here his feelings were to be put severely to the proof. Scarcely had he set his foot upon the wharf, where the Tower guards were drawn up to receive him, when a person made her way through the assembled throng, arrested the procession, and in an instant clung around his neck. It was his Margaret, his good angel, who had been eagerly watching for his landing, her heart having told her that this would be the last opportunity of seeing her dear father in this world. No sooner had she caught a glance of him, and saw the axe borne before, with the edge towards him — the certain sign of what was to follow — than she rushed forward, "and without care for herself, passing through the midst of the guard, who with bills and halberts HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 331 compassed him around, there openly in the sight of them all embraced him, took him about the neck, and kissed him, unable to utter any other word than " Oh my father! Oh my father!" Before the face of his judges, More had stood calm, cheerful, triumph- ant; but this was an appeal to the tenderest feel- ings of his heart for which he was little prepared. But, "pleased with her most natural and dear af- fection toward him, he gave her his fatherly bless- ing, telling her that God's holy will must be done; that she knew full well all the secrets of his heart, and that, like him, she must conform to the decrees of heaven and be patient." They parted. But " scarcely had she gone ten steps, when, not satis- fied with the former farewell, like one who had for- gotten herself, ravished with the entire love of so worthy a father, she again rushed through the clos- ing guards, hung about his neck, and divers times kissed him." More's philosophy was not proof against this second attack; he spoke not a word, but the tears streamed from his eyes.* These sorrows were infectious: "Yea, there were very few in all the crowd, who could refrain from weeping at this ^ight; no, not the guards themselves." In so trying a moment. More realised the full force of that admonition of the Psalmist: CaM thy burthen upon the Lord, and He will support thee! Nor had Margaret come unattended to fulfil this melancholy office of love. She was accompanied by her brother, and by Margaret More's ward, who imitated Mrs. Roper's example, and embraced their father, friend, and protector; as also did Margaret's " faithful maid servant, Dorothy Colley," of whose * Whom to leave, AlOTie is bitter to me; and, in dying. Go with me, like good angels, to my end. And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. And lift my soul to heaven. Shakspeare, Henry VIIL 332 SIR THOMAS MORE, testimony of affection More afterwards observed, " that it was homely, but very lovingly done." History has recorded few things so affecting as this last interview between More and his daughter. As we read, and remember the blameless, and even lofty character of their domestic life, the school, the playful and unreserved intercourse of the father and his children, their severer studies, their religious exercises, the truly moral feeling which regulated the employments of every hour, the charity to others, and the perfect union among themselves: — as we recollect all this, we are led to see how far the taking counsel with things impure can stifle in the heart the sense of justice and humanity, and are enabled to estimate the amount of selfishness, in- sensibility, and crime, chargeable to the monarch who could deprive his people of examples so pure, so generous, so ennobling.* The publication of the " State Papers" has put us in possession of two interesting documents, from which we learn the important fact, that a fortnight after Sir Thomas's trial and condemnation, he was once more examined, in the Tower, by four civilians, in the hope to shake his constancy, and gain him over to the royal pleasure. •'Interrogatories ministered to Sir Thomas More, Knight, the 14th day of June, Anno Regni Regis Henrici Octavi 27°, within the Tower of London, * What a noble subject this for the pencil of a Wilkie! More might figure in a picture of that artist, but he will nor do iu Hurdiss Trasjedy. Shakspeare has shown m.>re tact. Wolsey and Cruinweil figure in his Henry the Eighth: bur More has no place there. The two former bear in their characters the nia- leri^ils for the tragic muse, but only think of More strutting in the buskin! he wlio had not a particle of trickery or romance about him, or, as Dr. Johnson has it, "exhibited no sallies of poetical lamentation, no throes of tumultuous misery." It is not loo much to say of More, that he reversed the old remark, that "no man is a hero to his valet de chambre." iNothing could be more admirable than the ease with which he wore his greatness. He claimed no less resprct in his undress, than when decked in his robes of office, and preceded by his chancellor's mace. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 333 on the behalf of the King's Highness, before Mr. Bedle, Mr. Doctor Aldridge, Mr. Doctor Lay- ton, Mr. Doctor Curwen, in the presence of Pol- stede, Whalley, and Rice aforesaid. 1. First, whether he had any communication, reasoning, or consultation with any man or person, since he came to the Tower, touching the Acts of Succession, the Act of Supreme Head, wherein speaking of certain words by the King's Highness is made treason, or no] and if he say, yes; then be he asked when, how oft, with whom, and to what effect? 2. liem^ whether he received any letters of any man, or consulted any man, or wrote any letters to other men, since he came to the Tower, touching the said acts, or any of them, or any other business or affairs concerning the King's Highness, his suc- cession, or this his realm? and if he say, yes; then be he inquired, how many, of whom, and to whom, when, and of what tenor or effect! 3. J/em, whether the same letters be forth com- ming or not? and if he say no; then be he asked, why, and to what intent they were done away, and by whose means'? 4. Item^ whether any man of this realm, or without this realm, did send unto him any let- ters or message, counselling or exhorting him to continue and persist in the opinion, that he is ml If he say, yes; than be he inquired, how many they were, of whom, and to what effect] Answers of Sir Thomas More, Knight, made to the above interrogatories. To the first he answereth, that he never had any communicacion, or consultation, touching any of the acts or matters specified in this interrogatory, since he came to the Tovt^er, with any person, as he saith. To the second interrogatory he saith, that since be came to the Tower, he wrote divers scrolls or let- 334 SIR THOMAS MORE, ters to Mr. Doctor Fisher, and received from him some others again; whereof the most part (as he saith) contained nothing else, but comforting words from either to other, and declaration of the state that they were in, in their bodies, and giving of thanks for such meat or drink, that the one had sent to the other. But he saith, that he remem- bereth, that upon a quarter of a year, to his remem- brance, after the coming of this deponent to the Tower, this respondent wrote a letter to Dr. Fisher, wherein he certified him that this examinant had refused the oath of succession; and never showed the Council, nor intended ever to show any other cause, wherefore he did so refuse the same. And the said Dr. Fisher made him answer by another letter again, wherein he declared what answer he had made to the Council, and remembereth that this was part of the contents thereof: 'how he had not refused to swear to the succession.' And saith, that there went no other letters between them, that any thing touched the King's business, laws, or affairs, till the Council came hither, first of all, to examine this deponent upon the Act of Supreme Head. After which examination, this examinant re- ceived a letter from Dr. Fisher, of this effect, viz. ' How he was desirous to know of this respondent, what answer he had made to the Council.' And thereupon this respondent answered him by another letter, as thus: 'My Lord, I am determined to meddle of no thing, but only to give my mind un- to God, and the sum of my whole study shall be, to think upon the Passion of Christ, and my passage out of this world, with the dependences thereupon ;— or else thus: ' My Lord, my answer was this, that I was determined to meddle with no thing,' &c , as above: he cannot well remember, whether of both the said ways he wrote the same letter. Then within a while after, he saith, he re- ceived another letter from the said Dr. Fisher, of this effect: ' That he was informed that there was a word in the statute, [26 Hen. VIH. cap. 13.] HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 335 " Maliciously;" and if it were so, that he thought thereby, that a man, speaking nothing of malice, did not offend the statute; and desired this respondent to show him, whether he saw aught otherwise in it.' And this respondent answered him again, by another letter, shortly after, to this effect, viz. ' How this examinant took it to his thinking, as he did; but the understanding or interpretation of the said statute would neither be taken after his mind, nor after this deponent's mind; and therefore it was not good for any man to trust unto any such thing.' And saith farther, that other in this last letter, or in another mean letter between this and the first, he wrote never. This examinant confesseth how he had spoken to the Council, that he would meddle with nothing, but would think on the Pas- sion of Christ, and his passage out of the world, and that he had written the same words to Dr. Fisher; and fearing, lest it might happen him to speak the same words, or like, in his answer to the Council, this examinant desired him to make his answer according to his own mind, and to meddle with no such thing as he had written unto him, lest he should give the Council occasion to ween, that there was some confederacy between them both. Also, saith, that since the last examination of him, this examinant did send Dr. Fisher word, by a let- ter, that Mr. Solicitor [Rich] had shewed him, that it was all one not to answer, and to say against the statute what a man would, as all the learned men of England would justify, as he said then; and there- fore he said, he could reckon upon nothing else but upon the uttermost: wherefore he prayed him to pray for this examinant, and he would again pray for him. Also, he saith, that he, considering how it would come to his daughter's ear, Mr. Roper's wife, that the Council had been with him, and should hear things abroad of him thereupon, that might put her to a sudden flight; and fearing lest she^ be- 336 SIR THOMAS MORE, ing- (as he thoug-ht) with child,* should take some harm by that sudden flight, and therefore minding to prepare her before, to take well aworth whatso- ever thing should betide of him, better or worse; did send unto her, both after the first examina- tion, and also after the last, letters, by the which he did signify unto her, how that the Council had been to examine him, and had asked him certain questions touching the King's statutes, and that he had answered them, that he would meddle with nothing, but would serve God: and what the end thereof should be, he could not tell; but what- soever it were, better or worse, he desired her to take it patiently, and take no thought therefor, but only pray for him. And saith, that she had writ- ten unto him, before, divers letters, to exhort him and advertise him to accommodate himself to the King's pleasure; and specially, in the last letter, she used great vehemence and obsecration, to per- suade this examinant to incline to the King's de- sire. And other letters, than those before touched, he neither sent, nor received, to or from any person, since he came to the Tower, to his remembrance; and saith that George, the Lieutenant's servant, did carry the said letters to and fro. To the third interrogatory he saith, that there is none of the said letters forthcoming, whereof he knoweth; but this examinant would have had George to keep them, and George always said, that there was no better keeper than the Are, and so burned them. And whan he saw, that he could not per- suade George to keep them, he would have had George to show them, first to some trusty friend of his, that could read, and if he saw that there were any matter of importance in them, that he should carry the same to the Council, and get the thanks himself, first of any man therefor: and * The circumstance mentioned in the text serves to give an additional interest to the scene on Tower-whaif. Margaret was true to her character, merging the feelings of the mother in the deeper solicitudes of the daughter. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 337 if there were none such matters in them, that he should deliver them where he be directed. Yet the said Georg-e feared so (as he always said) his master, the Lieutenant, which had charged him highly that he should meddle with no such matters, lest he would have been extremely displeased with him if he had seen that he had done any thing, were it never of so small importance, against his commandment; and therefore he would needs burn them. To the fourth interrogatory he answereth, nay. Examined further, to what intent he did send the said letters to the said Mr. Doctor Fisher? saith, that considering they were both in one prison, and for one cause, he was glad to send unto him, and to hear from him again. (Signed) J. (^Notarial Mark) R. Interrogatories, ministered, on the King's behalf, unto Sir Thomas More, Knight, the day, year, and place above recited, by the Council before- named, and in the presence of the said witnesses; with his answers unto the same. First, whether he would obey the King's High- ness, as Supreme Head on earth, immediately under Christ, of the Church of England, and him so repute, take, accept, and recognise, according unto the statute in that behalf made? To the which interrogatory he saith, that he can make no answer. Item. Whether he will consent and approve the King's Highness' marriage with the most noble Queen Anne, that now is, to be good and lawful; and affirm that the marriage between the King's said Highness, and the Lady Catherine, Princess Dowager, pretensed, was and is unjust and unlaw- ful; or no] To the same he saith, that he did never speak nor meddle against the same, nor thereunto can make answer. 29 338 SIR THOMAS MORE, Item. Where it was objected unto him, that by the said statute, he, being one of the King's sub- jects, is bound to answer to the said question, and to recognise the King's Highness to be Supreme Head, as is aforesaid, as all other his said sub- jects are bound to recognise, according unto the said statute. To the same, he saith, that he can make no an- swer. (Signed) J. {Notarial Mark) R. State Papers, Hen. VKI. vol. i. p. 432.* It is evident that these interrogatories, into which some terms peculiarly objectionable to More were now, for the first time, inserted, were contrived for the sole purpose of reducing the illustrious victim to the option of uttering a lie, or of suffering death. The conspirators against him might, perhaps, have a faint idea that they had at length broken his spi- rit. If he persisted, they hoped that he might be represented as bringing destruction on himself by his own obstinacy. Such, however, was his calm and well-ordered mind, that he said and did nothing to provoke his fate. Had he given affirmative answers, he would have sworn falsely: he was the martyr of veracity. | * Turner has the singular taste to dislike More, though, to be sure, it is only in the inverse ratio of his love for Henry, and his admiration of his virtues and aniability He has la- bored hard tn 8"u-ess at sovneihing like a case against the Ex- rjiancelliir; but it is a very lame attempt. It all results in this: — ■' It is clear that this refus-al [to acknowledge the mar- riage and the >^upreinacv] did not constitute the high treason of which More was accused, of which he was convicted, and for which he suffered, whatever they may have beev!" Jt is to be hiiped that the above documents will have the eflfect of setting Mr. Turner's doubts at rest. •j- Servant of God, well done!— well hast thou fought The belter fight, who single hast maintain'd, Against revolted miiliitudes, the cause Of Truth, and, for Truth's testimony, borne Universal reproach, far worse to bear Than violence : for this was all thy care :— To stand approv'd in sight of God, though worlds Judg'd thee perverse. Parad. Lost, B. VI. 29—36. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 339 Instead of being- moved by these attempts to prac- tise upon his presumed weakness, "he was arming himself by prayer, meditation, and many holy mor- tifications, f'or the day of his martyrdom." Among his memoranda, or points for meditation, we find the following, which show the workings of his spirit in those trying moments: — " To set my mind fast upon God, and not to hang upon the blasts of men's mouths. " To be content to be solitary, and rid my mind of all business. " By little and little, utterly to cast off the world. "To think my greatest enemies my very best friends. "To eschew light foolish mirth and gladness, and to cut off all unnecessary recreations." Some of his occasional ejaculations, as he paced thoughtfully about his prison-chamber, are also left us: — " Who would save his life to displease his God? Jf thou so savedst thy life, how deadly wouldst thou hate it on the morrow, and feel heavy at heart, that thou hadst not died the day before! "Cause hast thou none, pardie! to fear that for to-morrow, which thou knowest right well had in a few days fallen. " If the trouble thou sufferest be according to the will of God, then cheerfully commit thy soul into his hands: He is trusty, and will not deceive thee. " If thou hast been with Christ at the wine-feast of Galilee, shrink not to stand with him before the judgment-seat of Pilate. The moment approaches that thou shalt rejoice with him in the revelation of his glory." 'I'he following are of a deeper and more impressive cast: they sound the solemn note of preparation for another and a better order of things. " Give me thy grace, O God, to set the world at nought, and to be gladly thinking of Thee. " To call upon Thee piteously for thy help; to 340 SIR THOMAS MORE, lean upon thy comforts; and busily to labor to love Thee. " To humble myself under the mighty hand of God, and to bewail my sins past. " For the purging of them, patiently to sniffer ad- versity; to be joyful of tribulation. Gladly to bear my purgatory here. "To walk the narrow way thatleadeth to life; to bear the cross with Christ. " To pray for pardon before the judge come. To have continually in mind the passion that Christ suffered forme. For all his benefits unceasingly to give Him thanks. " Ever to have the last things in remembrance. To make Death no stranger to me. To have him ever before my eyes, who is ever so near at hand."* A few days previous to his death, Sir Thomas wrote, with his usual material of coal, an affection- ate letter to Mr. Antonio Bonvisi, a rich Italian merchant of Lucca, who had been for some time a resident in London, and to whose liberality More and his family appear to have been deeply indebted in the season of their distress. We shall shortly have occasion to see that the handsome silk gown in which Sir Thomas intended to appear on the scaffold, was a gift of this worthy man. The letter in question is in Latin; there is something very touching in the kind of postscript appended to Sir Thomas's signature; " Most faithful and best be- loved of my friends, and as I used to call you in old times ' pupil of my eye,' fare thee well. "THOMAS MORE." " Frustra fecero si adjiciam tuus, nam hoc jam nescire non potes quam tot beneficiis emeris, nee ego nunc talis sum ut referat cujus sim''' — It were unnecessary to add thine, of that you cannot be ig- norant, having purchased it by so many benefits; and such am I now, that it is of little consequence whose I am. * It was no wonder to hear rumor tell Tliat who so oft had died, once died so well. Q^uarles. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 341 Monday, July 5th. — On this, the very day before his execution, he wrote the following letter to his beloved Margaret, which breathes the very soul of paternal tenderness. My good daughter: Our Lord bless you, my good daughter, and your good husband, and your little boy, and all yours, and all my children, and all my god- children, and all our friends. Recommend me when 3''e may, to my good daughter Cecily, whom I be- seech Our Lord to comfort. And I send her my blessing, and to all her children, and beg her to pray for me. I send her a handkerchief; and God comfort my good son, her husband. My good daughter Daunce hath the picture in parchment, that you delivered me from my lady Conyers; her name is on the back of it. Shew her that i heartily pray her, that you may send it in my name to her again, for a token from me to pray for me. I like especially well Dorothy Colly; I pray you be good unto her, I would xuit [know] whether that be she you wrote me of; if not, yet I pray you be good to the other as you may, in her aMiction, and to my good daughter Joan Aleyn too. Give her, I pray you, some kind answer, for she sued hither to me this day, to pray you to be good to her. I cumber you, good Margaret, much, and I should be sorry if it were to be any longer than to-morrow; for it is St. Thomas' even, and the uias [vigil] of St. Pe- ter; and therefore to-morrow long 1 to go to God: it were a day very meet and convenient for me. — I never liked your manner towards me better, than when you kissed me last,* for I like when daughter- ly love and dear charity have no leisure to look to Vv^orldly courtesy. Farewell, my dear child, and pray for me, and I shall for you, and for all your friends, that we may merrily meet in heavon. I thank you for your great cost. 1 send now to my * Here, as below, when speaking of liis son, he alludes to the affecting scene on Tower-wharf. 29* 342 SIR THOMAS MORE, good daughter Clement her algorism stone,* and send her and my godson, and all hers, God's bless- ing and mine. I pray you, at time convenient, re- commend me to my good son, John More; I liked well his natural fashion. Our Lord bless him, and his good wife, my loving daughter, to whom 1 pray him to be good, as he hath great cause; and if the land of mine come to his hand, he break not my will concerning his sister Daunce. And Our Lord bless Thomas and Austen, and all that they shall have. "More got such little pieces of paper," says Cresacre, "as he could obtain by stealth, onw^hich he wrote with a coal. Of these," he adds, " my father left me the one which was to his wife, and which he had drawn over with ink: I account it a precious jewel." Well might he set such value on a relic, hallowed by recollections so tender and en- nobling, for, in all probability, the letter was the one we have just read, traced by More's dying hand. f From Cresacre we also gather the following in- teresting particulars. Together with the letter we have just cited, he also sent Margaret his hair-shirt and his discipline, unwilling that they should be found upon his person at the time of his death, " as one that was loth to have the world know that he used such austerity." There is a touching pathos in the observations that follow: " During his whole life-time, he had cunningly contrived, with his mirth and gaiety, to hide from the eyes of others his se- vere mortifications; and having now finished the good * An algorism stone was a device nsed for learning arith- metic, snniet[iiii<5 in iha nature of the multiplication table. More's protegee, Margaret Giggs, had married Dr. Clement, of whom mention lias been made in the early part of this volume. ■f An autograph of Margaret Roper, accompanying a letter in cyphers, is in the possession of the writer of these pages. It was the gift of the descendant of a noble Catholic family, connected by marriage with a branch of that of the illustrious chancellor. Would I could apply to this lady the words of one of More's contemporaries: Moro vita fides; nam dummanetilla, manebat, Stante fide, stabat.— ifere. Holland. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 343 JIgkt, he sent away the weapons of Ms spiritual combat.^^ For the reasons assigned in the above letter, it was probably at More's particular request, that the following day was fixed upon for his execution. Early on the morning' of Tuesday, July 6th, (St. Thomas's eve), 1535, More's "singular good friend," Sir Thomas Pope, came to him with a message from the king and council, to say that be was to die before nine o'clock of the same morning, and that he should prepare himself accordingly. " Mr. Pope," said Sir Thomas, " for your good tidings I heartily thank you. I have always been muchbounden to the king's highness for the benefits that, from time to time, he hath most bounteously pressed upon me; and yet more bounden am 1 to his grace for putting me here, where I have had con- venient time and space to have remembrance of my end. And, so God help me! most of all, Mr. Pope, am I bounden to his highness, that it pleaseth him so shortly to rid me from the miseries of this wretched world. And therefore will I not fail earnestly to pray for his grace, both here and in the world to come." " The king's pleasure is farther," added Pope, " that, at your execution, you shall not use many words." " Mr. Pope," replied More, "you do well to give me warning of his grace's pleasure; for otherwise, at that time, I had purposed somewhat to have spoken, but of no matter where- with his grace, or any, should have had cause to be offended. Nevertheless, whatever I might have in- tended, I am ready obediently to conform myself to his grace's commands. But this I beseech you, good Mr. Pope, to intercede with his highness, that my daughter Margaret may be at my burial." — " The king is content already," said Pope, " that your wife, and children, and other your friends, shall have liberty to be present thereat." It was not without reason that Henry accompanied the message of death, with a command " not to use many words." He was not ignorant of More's ability 344 SIR THOMAS MORE, as a public speaker, and knew how greatly he was beloved by the people, arid more especially by the citizens, among- whom he had spent so many years of his life. He was sensible of his injustice to More, and judging of other men's hearts by his own, feared that he should be met by vindictive feelings on the part of the man he was pursuing with outrage and wrong. Pope now took leave of More, and could not re- frain from weeping: "Nay, nay, quiet yourself, good Mr. Pope," said Sir Thomas, " and be not discomforted, for 1 trust we shall soon see each other full merrily in heaven, where we shall live and love together in eternal bliss." When he was gone, says Cresacre, Sir Thomas, as one that had been invited to a solemn banquet, changed himself into his best apparel, and put on the silken camlet gown, which his " entire friend," Mr. Antonio Bonvisi had given him since he had been in the Tower. He then knelt down, and be- took himself earnestly to his devotions, The fol- lowing prayer, the very effusion of his gentle spirit, was found among other papers, written with a coal. It is inscribed as '' composed before he was put to death," and no doubt it was his prayer at this mo- ment. A DEVOUT PRAYER. Pater-noster, Jlve-Maria^ Credo. Hoi}'' Trinity, Father, Son, and H^oly Ghost, three equal and co- eternal persons in one Almighty God, have merc}?^ on me, a poor miserable sinner, meekly acknowledging' before thy high Majesiy, my whole sinful life, even from my childhood hitherto. {Self-examination.') And now, good and gracious Lord, as Thou hast given me thy grace to know and acknowledge my sins, so give me thy grace, not in word only, but in contrition of heart, to repent, and utterly forsake them. Forgive me these sins, and those also which my reason, blinded by the senses, cannot discern for HrS LIFE AND TIMES. 345 sins. Illuminate, good Lord, this heart of mine, and give me thy grace to know and repent all my sins; forgive me such as I have negligently forgot- ten, and bring them to my mind, with grace purely to confess them before Thee. Glorious God, give me grace, with little respect to the world, so firmly to set my heart upon Thee, that I may say with the blessed apostle St. Paul, *' The world is crucified to me, and I to the world. To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. I long to be dissolved and to be with Christ." O Almighty Father, teach me to do thy will. Make me to run in the way of thy sweetness. Take me by the right hand, and lead me in the right way for mine enemies' sake; for I have said, I will re- strain my tongue as with a bridle. O glorious God, all sinful fear, all sinful sorrow and pensiveness, all sinful hope, all sinful mirth and gladness, take from me; and on the other hand, as to such fear, such sorrow, such heaviness, such comfort, consolation, and gladness, as may be pro- fitable to my soul, " Do unto me, O Lord, according to thy great kindness." Good Lord, give me the grace, in all my fear and agony, to have recourse to that great fear and won- derful agony, that Thou, my sweet Saviour, hadst on the mount of Olivet, before thy most bitter passion; and in the meditation thereof, to conceive comfort and consolation profitable to my soul. Almighty God, take from me all vain-glorious mind, all appetite of praise; all envy, covetousness, sloth; all appetite of revenge, all desire or delight of other folks' harm, all pleasure in provoking any to wrath and anger, all delight in exprobation or insultation against any person in calamity or afflic- tion. Give me, good Lord, a humble, lowly, quiet, peaceable, patient, charitable, tender, and pitiful heart; and may all my works, my words, my thoughts, have the taste of thy blessed Spirit. Give me, good Lord, a full faith, a firm hope, and 346 SIR THOMAS MORE, a fervent charity; a love to Thee, good Lord, in- comparably above the love to myself, and that I love nothing- to thy displeasure, but all things in order to Thee. Give me, good Lord, a longing to be with Thee, not for the avoiding of the calamities of this wretch- ed world, not for the avoiding the pains of purga- tory, nor even the pains of hell, nor for attaining to the joys of heaven, nor for any interest of mine, but only for the very love of Thee. And bear me, good Lord, thy love and favor, which my love to thee-ward, were it ever so great, could not deserve. Pardon me, good Lord, that 1 am so bold to make so high a petition, being so vile and sinful, and so unworthy to attain the lowest. But yet, good Lord, such they be, as I am bounden to wish, and should be nearer the effectual desire of, did not my manifold sins prevent me; from v^hich, glorious Saviour, vouchsafe of thy good- ness to wash me with that blessed blood that issued from thy sacred side, in the diverse torments of thy most bitter passion. Take from me, good Lord, this luke-warm fash- ion, or rather this clay-cold manner of meditation, and this dulness of prayer unto Thee. Give me delight, warmth, and quickness in thinking upon Thee; and give me thy grace to long for thine holy sacraments, and especially to rejoice in the presence of thy ever-blessed Body, to thank Thee for thy gracious visitation therewith, and virtually to be participant of the same this day, that I may be made a lively member of thy holy mystical body, the Catholic church. Almighty God, have mercy on N. and iV., with especial commemoiation of every friend, as goodly affection and occasion require. Almighty God, have mercy on N. and iV"., and on all that bear me evil-will and wish me harm. Their faults and mine together, by such easy, tender, and merciful means, as thine Infinite Wisdom best can devise, vouchsafe to amend and redress, and make us re- HIS LIFE AKD TIMES. 347 deemed sonls in heaven together, where we may ever love Thee, and live with Thee and thy blessed saints. Grant this, O glorious Trinity, for the bit- ter passion of our sweet Saviour, Jesus Christ. Give me patience in tribulation, and grace to con- form my will in all things to thine. The things, good Lord, that I pray for, give me grace to labor for. Vonchsafe, O Lord, to keep me this day without sin. Have mercy on me, O Lord, according to thy great mercy. Let thy mercy be upon us, Lord, as we have hoped in Thee. In Thee, Lord, have I trusted, let me never be con- founded ! When the lieutenant of the Tower entered, at the appointed hour, he found him prepared for his com- ing, but, seeing the handsome silk gown which he had put on, he advised him to take them off again, "for," said he, "he who will get it is a mere javell fa worthless fellow]." " What, Mr. Lieutenant," said the knight, " shall I account him a javell, who is to do me this day so singular a service] Nay, were it cloth of gold, I should think it well-bestowed on him, as St. Cy- prian did, who gave his executioner thirty pieces of gold." More, however, yielded to the lieuten- ant's persuasions, "loth, for friendship's sake, to deny him so small a matter, [for the prisoner's clothes were his perquisite of office,] and so he put on a gown of frieze." Yet, of the little money which was left him, he sent his executioner an angel.* At the appointed hour of nine, he was conducted from his prison, by the lieutenant of the Tower, to the place of execution, which was on Tower-hill. His grandson thus describes his appearance: " His beard was long, his face pale and emaciated, but * This was a gold coin, of the value of about ten shillings. It is supposed to have received its name from the well-known anecdote of Pope Gregory, angli and angeli, in reference to the Anglo-Saxon captives. 348 SIR THOMAS MORE, his eye had all its former vivacity. He bore in his hands a red cross, and was often seen to cast his eyes towards heaven." On reaching the foot of the scaffold, he surveyed it steadily, and, as it appeared somewhat too slight for the occasion, leaning his hand upon the shoulder of the lieutenant, he said to him with a smile: "I pray you. Sir, see me safe up; as for my coming down, 1 may shift for my- self." When on the scaffold, he began a short address to the people, " who were in great troops there to see and hear him," but he was interrupted by the sheriff. Therefore, he briefly desired all the people to pray for him, and to bear witness, that he there died in, and for the faith of, the Holy Catholic Church, a loyal servant both of God and the King. This said, he knelt down, and pronounced, with fervent devotion; the Miserere psalm. He then rose cheerfully, and, the executioner coming forward, and asking his forgiveness, More kissed him and said: "Nay, thou wilt do me this day a greater benefit than any other mortal man is able to do. Pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thy office. You see," he added with a smile, "that my neck is but short, take heed, therefore, that thou strike not awry for the saving of thy honesty [credit]." When the executioner would have covered his eyes, he said: "Hold, I will do that myself;" and he did so with a kerchief that he had brought with him for the purpose. He then knelt, and adjusted his neck upon the block ; but, after a moment's space, he again raised his head, and removing aside his beard, was heard to say: "That, at least, has committed no treason." With such alacrity and spiritual joy, adds his grandson, did he receive the fatal blow, which had no sooner severed the head from the body, than his soul was carried by angels into everlasting glory, where a crown of martyrdom was placed upon him, which can never fade nor decay. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 349 Old Camden, with all his prejudices, is forced to acknowledge, that " More's behavior in this last act, was not unbecoming- the primitive age of the Christian church." Speaking of his serenity in these trying moments, another writer beautifully observes; " How cheerfully did he undress himself for his spiritual repose!" " Suffering virtue," says Father Southwell, "is like the precious Arabian gum, more fragrant when crushed and consumed!" More has been censured by some for levity in these awful moments. It is a censorious cavil, v/hich would be worthy of little notice had it not occasioned some sentences of as noble reflection, and beautiful composition, as the English language can boast. " The innocent mirth, which had been so conspicuous in his life, did not forsake him to the last. His death was of a piece with his life; there was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the severing of his head from his body as a circumstance whish ought to produce any change in the disposition of his mind; and as he died in a fixed and settled hope of immortality, he thought any unusual degree of sorrow and concern impro- per." {Spectator, No, 349.) According to the barbarous practice of laws which vainly struggle to carry their cruelty beyond the grave, the head of Sir Thomas More was placed on London bridge.* His darling daughter, Margaret, had the courage to procure the head to be taken down, that she might exercise her affection by con- * A poet of that period has the following lines on this sub- ject, which are simple and pathetic: Q,uod capiti quondam Ciceronis rostra fuere, Hoc est pons capiti. More diserte, tuo: Ducentes Angli suspiria pectore, dicunt; "Doctior et melior nullus in orbe fuitl" As Tally's bleeding head the rostrum bore, See on yon bridge the head of martyred More. Men cry, recoiling from the sight with pain; " When shall we look upon his like again!' ' W. 30 350 SIR THOMAS MORE, tinuing to look on a head so dear. Carrying her love beyond the grave, she desired that it might be buried with her when she died, which was about nine years after the fate of her father. The remains of this precious relic, are said to have been since observed in the burial place, lying on what had been her bosom. We learn from Cresacre, that More's headless body was, by order, interred in St. Peter's Chapel within the Tower, "near to the body of the holy martyr. Bishop Fisher, who being put to death just a fortnight before, had small respect done him all this while." Hall says he was interred in the same grave with his friend and fellow-sufferer,* who, like More, had appointed himselfatombinhis lifetime, which his body never occupied. We quote w^ith pleasure the eloquent eulogy pro- nounced on Sir Thomas by the learned and liberal Mackintosh. " Of all men nearly perfect. Sir Thomas More had, perhaps, the clearest marks of individual cha- racter. His peculiarities, though distinguishing him from all others, were yet withheld from growing into moral faults. It is not enough to say of him that he was unaffected, that he was natural, that he was simple; so the larger part of truly great men have been. But there is something homespun in More, which is common to him with scarcely any other, and which gives to all his faculties and quali- ties the appearance of being the native growth of the soil. The homeliness of his pleasantry purifies it * There is a rare engraving of a double portrait of More and Fisher, with the follovviiig inscription: Anglia vos quondam, communis patria, junxit, Sed niagis innexuit relligionis amor; Oh! quum carnificis vos percutit una securis, Unaque nex binis, unaque causa necis. ' Whom England, common country, joined before. Religion's holy bond but bound the more; The self-same axe ennobles either name, The same your death, and cause of death the same. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 351 from show. He walks on the scaffold clad only in his household goodness. The unrefined benignity with which he ruled his patriarchal dwellino- at Chelsea, enabled him to look on the axe without being disturbed by any feeling of hatred for the ty- rant. This quality bound together his genius and learning, his eloquence and fame, with his homely and daily duties, bestowing a genuineness on alibis good qualities, a dignity on the most ordinary offices of life, and an accessible familiarity on the virtues of the hero and the martyr, which silences every suspicion that his excellences were magnified. " He thus simply performed great acts, and ut- tered great thoughts, because they were familiar to his great soul. The charm of this inborn and home- bred character seems as if it would have been taken off by polish. It is this household character which relieves our notion of him from vagueness, and di- vests perfection of that generality and coldness, to which the attempt to paint a perfect man is so liable. " It will naturally, and very strongly, excite the regret of the good in every age, that the life of this best of men should have been in the power of him who was rarely surpassed in wickedness. But the execrable Henry was the means of drawing forth the magnanimity, the fortitude, and the meekness of More. Had Henry been a just and merciful mo- narch, we should not have known the degree of ex- cellence to which human nature is capable of as- cending. Catholics ought to see in More, that mildness and candor are the true ornaments of all modes of faith. Protestants ought to be taught hu- mility and charity from this instance of the wisest and best of men falling into, what they deem, fatal errors. All men, in the fierce contests of contend- ing factions, should, from such an example, learn the wisdom to fear lest, in their most hated antago- nist, they may strike down a Sir Thomas More; for assuredly virtue is not so narrow as to be confined to any party; and we have in the case of More, a 352 SIR THOMAS MORE, signal example, that the nearest approach to per- fect excellence does not exempt men from mistakes. " It is a pregnant proof that we should beware of hating men for their opinions, or of adopting their doctrines, merely because we love and venerate their virtues." HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 353 CHAPTER IX. OPINIONS RESPECTING MORE. Erasmus and Cardinal Pole on More's death— Impressions pro- duced abroad by Henry's cruelty— Seiitiiiients of Charles V. aud Francis I. on that subject— CruiuweH'sinstructions to the English ambassador in Paris— Flattery of Henry's courtiers — Conduct of the King when Mores execution is announced to him — His tri-atment of More's family — Margaret Roper — Q,ueen Catherine, More's attachment to her to the last — More's character — His piety— His humor— fJis singularity in dress— Description of his person — His tastes— Tribute to his memory. We have ample testimony remaining- to us, that the sacrifice of More made an impression far beyond the limits of his own country, and of a deeper stamp than it has often been in the power of an individual to leave, who, like More, had been conspicuous, chiefly by his virtue in civil life. When Erasmus learned the sad tidings of the fate of his earliest and most constant friend, he could not suppress his emotion: "More is dead!" cried he; " More, whose breast was purer than snow, and whose genius was excellent beyond all of his nation. His goodness has so engraven him in men's hearts, that all lament his death, as if it were that of a father or a brother. 1 have seen tears flow from eyes that never saw him — from men who never received the slighest benefit from him — yea, while I am penning- these lines, tears gush from my own eyes against my wall." He terminates this burst of feeling with a little phrase of touching- pathos: "In Moro mihi videor extinctus." — I seem to have died with More. Cardinal Pole bewailed the death of his friend with elegance and feeling. After comparing his death to that of Socrates, he adds: " 1 have seen even 30* 354 SIR THOMAS MORE, the greatest strangers, men who never knew him, never shared a favor at his hands, so much affected by his death, that, in reading the history of it, they could not withhold their tears: they wept at the mere fame of his fate. And I, at this distance, when writing of his death, although I was not bound to him by any private ties, but loved and esteemed him rather for his virtue and probity, and from the sense I had of the important services he had ren- dered to my country, yet God is my witness that I shed involuntary tears, which so impede my pen, and blot what I write, that with difficulty do I pro- ceed in my task." So great was the impression produced on the con- tinent by these tragedies, as to inspire with caution all those who had transactions with the country. The reformers, Melancthon and Bucer, being about to proceed to London on a mission from the Pro- testant Princes of Germany, felt no relish for the honor of martyrdom, and relinquished all immediate intention of their journey; and Erasmus emphatic- ally describes the situation of the country, by stating that the most intimate friends were fearful .of cor- responding with each other.* It filled Italy, the most cultivated portion of Europe, with horror. Paulo Jovio, the historian, called Henry a second Phalaris, " though," says Mackintosh, " in vain do we look in that, or any other history of a tyrant, real or imaginary, for a victim worthy of being com- pared to More." The English ministers through- out Europe were regarded with averted eyes as the agents of a monster. The Catholic zeal of Spain, and the resentment of the Spanish people against the oppression of Catherine, quickened their sym- pathy with More, and aggravated their detestation of Henry. Mason, the English agent in Spain, writes with strong feeling of the horror which he sees manifested around him at these deeds of blood. * "The men who were hitrhest in Henry's favor, had their heads the nearest to danger." — Cardinal Pole, HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 355 *' What end," he exclaims, " this tragedy will have God only knows, if that indeed may be called a trag-edy which began in a wedding!" Harvey, the resident in Venice, reports the indignation of the citizens at the destruction of men of such honor and virtue, in defiance of the laws both of God and man. He ends by declaring that all he hears disgusts him with public life, and disposes him to retire from such scenes. The Emperor Charles V., on the ar- rival of these tidings, senffor Sir Thomas Elliot, the English ambassador, and said to him: "Sir, we understand that the king your master has put his faithful servant and wise counsellor. Sir Thomas More, to death." Elliot replied that he knew no- thing of the m.atter. " Well," said the emperor, " it is too true. And this will we say, that had we been master of such a servant, of whose doings our- selves have had these many years no small experi- ence, we would rather have lost the best city of our dominions than such a counsellor." This anec- dote, adds Roper, was reported to myself, my wife, and other friends, by Sir Thomas Elliot himself. The King of France also spoke to the English ambassador of these executions with great severity, and gave it as his advice that Henry should banish such offenders, rather than put them to death. To counteract these unfavorable impressions, Crum- well addressed the following letter of instructions to Sir John Wallop, the King's ambassador in Paris. After discussing some minor matters, the letter con- tinues as follows: ''And concerning the executions done, you shall say to the French king, that the same were not so marvellous extreme as he al- legeth; for touching Master More and the Bishop of Rochester, with such others as were executed here, their treasons, conspiracies, and practices, secretly practised, as well within the realm as with- out, to move and stir dissension, and to sow sedi- tion, intending thereby not only the destruction of the king, but also the whole subversion of his highness's realm, being explained and declared, 356 SIR THOMAS MORE, and so manifestly proved before thenm, that they could not avoid nor deny it; and they, therefore, openly detected and lawfully convicted, judged, and condemned of high treason by the due order of the lava's of this realm, it shall and may well appear to all the world, that they, having such malice rooted in their hearts against their prince and sovereign, and the total destruction of the commonweal of this realm, were well worthy, if they had had a thou- sand lives, to have suffered ten times a more terrible death and execution than any of them did suffer. — ■ And touching such words as the French King spoke unto you, concerning how P>Iaster More died, and what he said to his daughter going to his judgment, and also w^hat exliortations he should give unto the king's subjects to be true and obedient to his grace, I assure you there was no such thing. And the king's pleasure is, that you should say unto the said French king, that his highness cannot otherwise take it, but very unkindly, that the French king, or any of his council, at whose hands he hath so much merited, and to whom he hath ministered so many great benefits, pleasures, and commodities, should so lightly give ear, faith, and credence to any such vain bruits and flying tales, not having first know- ledge or advertisement from the king here and his council, of their verity and truth: affirming it to be the office of a friend, hearing any such tales of so noble a prince, rather to have compressed the bearers thereof to silence, or, at the least, not to have per- mitted them to divulge the same until such time as the king's majesty, being so dear a friend, had been advertised thereof, and the truth known, before he should so lightly believe or allege any such re- port. This ingrate and unkind demeanor of the said French king, used in this behalf, argueth plainly, that there do not remain in his breast that integrity of heart and sincere amity towards the king and his proceedings, as his highness always heretofore hath expected and looked for. Which thing you may HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 357 propose and allege unto the said French king and the grand master, or to one of them, with such modesty and soberness as that you think they may perceive that the king's highness hath good and just cause on his part, somewhat to take their light credence unkindly. And thus making an end, I pray you to use your discretion in the proposing of the premises to the French king and the grand mas- ter, or the one or both of them; using the same as a medicine, and after such sort, that, as near as ye can, it may be not displeasantly taken. And so for this time I bid you most heartily farewell. At Thornbury, the 23d day of August, 1535. Your assured friend, THOMAS CRUMWELL.* The direct and unblushing contempt of truth dis- played in this letter, and its flat contradictions of facts that had passed but a few days before under the very eyes of astonished Europe, need no com- ment here, but naturally lead us to reflect upon the character of the council of which Crumwell was the head. In order to form a just estimate of the virtues and vices of an individual, the circumstances of his age, and the character of his contemporaries, should be taken into consideration. Strype, anxious as he is on all occasions to save Henry's character, is obliged to acknowledge "how mortally the king was hated in Italy, and railed at in all societies abroad." There were, however, sycophants at home who strove to neutralise the effect of this by a larger close of flattery. Listen to Sir R. Morryson: •' Quis tarn barbarus, ut in principis serenissimo ore, clementissimi regis signa non videatT Quis potuit unquam frontem illam vel procul vidisse, et non agnovisse clementiae se- deral"! « Sti-ype's Memorials, p. J66. t Who so barbarous as not to recognise in that serenost of countenances the livitig iuipjess of the most clement of kings? 358 SIR THOMAS MORE, And Sir Thos. Chaloner thus pens in heroics an excuse for his little peccadillioes: Q,uominiis id minim est, si fortiinatior et vex Indulsil genio, adniittens qiiandoqiie prnteiva, Atnon immani veniam superanlia facto.* It will place the virtue of More in stronger relief to contrast it with the weakness and vices of the lead- ing men of the age in which he lived. They are thus described by a masterly and impartial pen: "They yielded to every mandate of his [Henry's] impe- rious will; they bent with every breath of his ca- pricious humor; they are responsible for the illegal trial, for the iniquitous attainder, for the sanguinary statute, for the tyranny which they sanctioned by law, and for that which they permitted to subsist without law. Nor was this selfish and pusillanimous subserviency more characteristic of the minions of Henry's favor, the Crumwells, the Riders, the Pa- gets, the Russells, and the Pauletts, than of the representatives of ancient and honorable names, the Norfolks, the Arundels, the Shrewsburys. We trace these noble statesmen concurring in all the inconsistencies of this reign, and supporting all the changes of religion; constant only in the rapacious acquisition of estates and honors from whatever source, and in adherence to the present power.'^ — (Hallam. Constitu. Hist. I. 51.) In a book called " The Politic Glass," printed about this period, is the following picture of the courtiers of this reign: " Many in the court pull off their caps to thee, who would be glad to see thy head from thy shoulders; such men bow the knee Who could gaze on that bmw, even from a distance, and not hail it as the throne of clemency? " The grossest libel upon worn-out cruelty, is to Aowesfif with the title of clemency."— S?> Thos. Oi-^erbury. ■^ Wiiat wonder if a highly favor'd king Should now and then commit a naughty thing, Indulging, as he may, a royal taste: Venial in him what others had disgrac'd. HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 359 to do thee reverence, as would as soon they had broken their leg to carry thee to thy grave. There is always, I know not what, nor how, nor who, but so it is, that incessantly one cornplaineth, another murrnureth, another changeth, another hateth and despiseth. When those who dwell here come to old age, knowest thou what they bring from thence] gray heads, feet full of gout, the mouth toothless, the back full of pain, the heart full of sorrowful thoughts, and the soul full of sin." While in foreign countries the news of Henry's cruelty was received v;ith loud and general execra- tion, in England the intelligence of what had passed in the capital was listened to with deep but silent sorrow. When it was recollected that the deed was perpetrated against one who had been familiarly ad- mitted to the unreserve of his domestic hours, who had shared with him in the tranquil studies of the closet and the observatory, with whom he had taken sweet counsel, and in whose playful withe had found a relaxation from the cares of his kingly office, men were filled with amazement, and unable to furnish a solution to a mystery so incomprehensible. Some of those who durst think for themselves, no doubt concluded, with a writer of our own day, that " in this direful deed, Henry perhaps approached as nearly to the ideal standard of perfect wickedness as the infirmities of human nature will allow." — (Mackintosh Hist. Eng. chap. VH.) And yet the king is said to have put on the decent air of regret for the act he had committed. It is stated that when he received the report of More's execution, he was playing at draughts, while Anne Boleyn was looking on. Casting his eyes fiercely on the wretched woman, who in a few months was to expiate her indiscretions, if not her crimes, upon the scaffold, he exclaimed: " Thou art the cause of this man's death!" and abruptly breaking oflf the game, he betook himself to his chamber, and fell 360 . SIR THOMAS MORE, into a fit of melancholy.* But here the expression of Henry's regret terminated, and the family of his victim were still the objects of his unm.anly ven- geance. The small wreck of More's fortune, which had been wasted in the public service, was seized as a forfeiture to the crown, although the anxious father had endeavored to secure it to his unhappy family, by executing conveyances previous to his condem- nation for treason: and in such abject misery were they left, that they were unable even to purchase a winding-sheet for his remains. It was supplied by the liberality of a friend. His family was driven from his favorite residence at Chelsea, which passed into the hands of a court favorite. | Henry, how- ever, with a kingly generosity, allowed his widow a pittance of twenty pounds a year! His son, John More, a man remarkable for the innocency of his manners, had nearly shared the same fate with him- self. Condemned for refusing the oath of supre- macy, he was, however, afterwards pardoned by an act of royal clemency; " because," adds Cresacre, " they had sufficiently fleeced him before, and could get nothing further by his death. My aunt Roper," continues the same faithful chronicler, " because she was a woman, was not so hardly dealt with, but only threatened very sore, both because she kept her father's head as a relic, and that she meant to put her father's works in print; yet, for all that, she was thrown into prison, where, after a short con- * In one of his elegant elegies on More, Johannes Secundum has these verses: Insomnem interea infestat torva umbra tyrannum Semper, et ante oculos sanguinolenta volat. Before his sleepless eyes thy ghost is found, Still pointing to the fresh and gory wound. We fear that the poet has given Henry credit for more sus- ceptibility than remained in his altered nature. It was but a flash of feeling, buried at once in the returning gloom. t " The fate of this house would seem to correspond with the fortunes of its master, having known a variety of changes. By Henry it was granted to Sir William Paulet, afterwards Mar- quis of Winchester, and Lord High Treasurer. From this fanii ly it successively passed into the hands of Lord Dacre, the famous HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 361 This admirable woman died in 1544, nine years after her father, and was buried in the family vault in St. Dunstan's church, in the suburbs of Canterbury. It was her dying request, that the head of her be- loved father, which had been preserved with reli- gious care, should be placed within her arms: a re- quest which was faithfully complied with. She had two sons and three daughters, on whose educa- tion she had bestowed the same care that had been taken of her own. The famous scholar, Roger As- cham, afterwards preceptor and Latin Secretary to Queen Elizabeth, informs us that she was very de- sirous of having him for her children's tutor in the classical languages, but as his other duties prevented him from accepting the engagement, he recommend- ed Dr. Cole, and Dr. Christopherson, afterwards Bishop of Chichester, both known for their skill in the Greek language. Aschain styles the eldest of Margaret's daughters, who married a lawyer of the name of Clarke, an elegant ornament of her sex, and of Queen Mary's court. Margaret's second daugh- ter, who married Mr. Basset, was one of the gentle- women of Queen Mary's privy chamber, and transla- ted into English a part of her grandfather's " Exposi- tion of the Passion;" and is said to have so faithful- ly imitated Sir Thomas' style, that many were led to think it his. The firmness with which More upheld to the last the cause of his early friend and patroness, the vir- Lord Burleigh, his son the Earl of Salisbury, the Earl of Lincoln, Sir Anthony Gorges, the Earl of Middlesex, Villiers Duke of Buckingham, Sir Bulstrode Whitlocke, one of Cromwell's knights, the witty and profligate Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Bristol, the Duke of Beaufort, and finally of Sir Hans Sloane, in 1738, who pulled it down two years afterwards. The choice of so many noble possessors, if it be a testimony to the laste of More, in the selection of the site, and the disposition of the grounds, is no less a satire on the president of the Royal So- ciety, who, amidst all his professions of fine taste and regard for antiquities, levelled this ancient mansion with the ground, and made a present of the beautiful gateway added by Inigo Jones, to some friend, for the ornament of an unknown villa." Macdiarmid, Lives of Brit. Statesmen, p. 118. 31 362 SIR THOMAS MORE, tuous and high-minded Catharine, is honorable to his memory. That More continued his affectionate re- gard, and good offices, not only to her, but also to her daughter the Princess Mary, we gather from Rastell's dedication of More's works to the latter, in which he says; " Sir Thomas More, while he lived, did bear towards your highness a special zeal, an entire affection, and reverent devotion; and, on the other side, your grace, as is well known, had to- wards him, in his lifetime, a benevolent mind and singular favor, not only for his great learning, but also for his much virtue. And I am fully per- suaded that your highness's good affection, towards him, is no wit diminished now after his death, but rather by his worthy works and goodly end more and more increased, who, now being with Almighty God, and living in heaven with him, with much greater zeal and devotion towards your majesty, than he had while here on earth, ceaseth not to pray for the king's majesty, for your highness, your sub- jects, your realms and dominions, and for the com- monwealth and Catholic religion of the same, and for all Christian realms also." To attempt the eulogium of such a man as More, would surely be a work of supererrogation. — " Praise Hercules!" said the honest Spartan; " who ever thought of blaming Hercules'?" All we shall do is to enlarge a little upon More's character. He was not only warmly attached to the faith of his fathers, but a zealous observer of all the rites and ceremonies of the church. We have already seen instances of this feeling of his, at which modern in- difference would doubtless be disposed to smile. We may be allowed to add another, which we find in Roper, the faithful recorder of his minutest actions. " In the public processions, also, such as on the feast of Corpus Christi, and other festivals of note, he would carry the cross before the rest, thinking him- self happy, if he could, in any way, show his love of God, and his ready zeal in his service." But this attention to outward observances, was but the HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 363 effect of that religion of the heart, which urged him to make rapid advances in the path of Christian per- fection. " Though," says Roper, who never quit- ted his father-in-law's side, for nearly the last twen- ty years of his life, and knew his inmost heart, " Though he would appear like other men in his apparel and outward behaviour, yet was he singu- larly wise in deceiving the world with his mortifi- cations; content with the knowledge that God had of his actions, and well aware that ' the Father who seeth in secret would render to him openly.' Yet in the midst of the duties of his public station, at the bar, on the bench, and in his embassies a- foreign courts, he continued to practise the mortifications of a reluse; and when forced, in his office of chancel- lor, to mingle more frequently amidst the corruptions of the court, he did but redouble these practices of devotion,* From the eye of the world these aus- teritius were scrupuously concealed; they were among the secrets of which his beloved daughter Margaret was the sole depository. She was in the habit of washing with her own hands the hair- shirt which he habitually wore, and which we have seen carefully conveyed to her on the eve of his execution. Even Dr. Wordsworth is so condescending as to allow, that no where has he " found popery associ- ated with greater piety and heavenly-mindedness than in Sir Thomas More." — Eccks. Biog. Pref. xviii. Even Burnet, though he represents More as " su- perstitiously devoted to the interests and passions of the clergy, serving them when in authority, and assisting them in all their cruelties," yet is obliged to confess, that he is "one of the glories of the na- tion for probity and learning; and for justice, con- tempt of money, humility, and a true generosity of * We may apply to More what was happily paid of anoiher jllustrsous character; " He was one of those divine men, who, Jikeachapel iti a palace, remain unprofaned, while all around is disorder and corruption." 364 SIR THOMAS MORE, mind, he was an example to the age in which he lived."— (p. 356.) A moralist has said, that " to be a good man and a disagreeable one, is a kind of treason against vir- tue:" and yet there are those who would fain have good men, if not disagreeable, at least austere and morose. Thus Old Hall describes More as " a man well-learned in the tongues, and also in the common law, whose wit was fine, and fall of imaginations, by reason whereof he was much given to mocking, which was to his gravity a great blemish." In an- other place this most solemn of historians remarks: " I cannot tell whether 1 should call him a foolish wise-man, or a wise-foolish man;* for undoubtedly, besides his learning, he had a great wit, but it was so mingled with taunting and mocking, that it seem- ed to those that best knew him, that he thought no- thing to be well spoken, except he had ministered some mock in the communication." The court-his- torian is particularly displeased with the "mock- ing" in the following instance: — " Even when go- ing to liis death, at the Tower gate, a poor woman asked him for certain evidences of hers, in the time he was in office, which, after he was apprehended, she could not come by. He answered: ' My good woman, have patience but a little while longer; for the king is so good to me, that, within this half hour or so, he will discharge me of all business, and help thee himself.' " Herbert says of him: " His jests were thought to have too much levity in them; he might have resign- ed his dignity without using such sarcasms, and have betaken himself to a more retired and quiet * This ill natured antithesis called forth the following well- turned epigram : — H £/ot£ fx.ei}^Qa-0(pov y.sv &v ejttoi? « cro.— Re- turns to London, and studies the law, 19. — His inclination for a religious life, ib. — Deli- vers a course of lectures, 21. — Chooses the celebrated i/ean Colet for his spiritual director, ib.—Uis letter to Colet, 22— He marries, 24. — Is elected to the house of commons, 25. — In- stance of his early patriotism, 2tj. — Incurs the displeasure of Henry VII., 27.— More's first production, 28 —His poverty, ib. — Is made under-sheriff of London, 33. — Anecdote, 34. — He marries a second time, 37. His History of Richaid, III., 39. — Got^s i)n a mission to Bruges, 40, — The friendships he forms there, 42. — Composes his Utopia, 43.— His letter on the same to Archbishop Warham, ib. — Distinguishes himself by pleading a cause for the Pope, 57 — Is knighted, and made mas- ter of the Requests, i6.— Anec- dote, 48. — His residence at Chel- sea, 51 —Improvements made by him there, 52. — Kconomy of his establishment, ift. — His cha- rities, 62. — His devotional ex- ercises, 57.— Conduct to his son- in-law, Roper, 59.— The educa- tion of his children, 61. — Let- ters to hit! children, 63. — His son John, 68. — His favorite daughter, Margaret, 69 —His correspondence, 71. — His family fool, 73. — More at court, 77. — lixerts his influence in quelling a popular commntjon in the city, 79.— His letter to the Uni- versity of Oxford, 80.— Is made treasurer of the exchequer, 84. — Acts as orator on occasion of Francis l.'s first visit to Lon- 381 don, 85.— His intimacy with Henry, ib. — His second mission to Bruges, 87.— Pronounces an oration on the visit of Charles V. to London, 89.- Anecdote, 93 —Writes against Luther, 97. — Is chosen speaker of the com- mons, 98 — His reply on the oc- casion, i& — His political oppo- sition to Wolsey, 102.— His per- sonal friendship with him, 107. He is made chancellor of the Imchy of Lancaster, 120.— Is consulted by Henry on the sub- ject of the divorce, 119.— Ac- companies Wolsey in his em- bassy to France, 121. — On his return, devotes himself to con- troversy, 132.— His religio-po- {itical profession of faith, 134. — Anecdotes, 137. — His solici- tude for the life of his daughter Margaret, 143.— His third em- bassy to the Netherlands, 145 Anecdote, 145. — His family dis- aster, and letter on the occa- sion, 26— More is raised to the CHANCELLORSHIP, 166. — Hi stalmnnt, speech of the Duke of Norfolk, and More's reply. 167. — < 'ontrast of Morels simplicity with the pomp of his predeces- sor, 174. — His reforms in the court of Chancery, 176 —His speech on the opening of par- liament, 177.— Evades the soli- citations of Henry on the sub- ject of the divorce, 181.— Solicits permission to retire from office, 193.— Anecdotes, 191-194.-His retirement to Chelsea, 197.— Anecdote, 198. — Composes a monumental inscription for himself and family, 201.— His poverty, 203.— The offering of the clergy, which he refuses, 204 — Accused by his enemies of having been bribc^d, 206.— His new domestic arrangements, 207.— He devotes his leisure to controversy, 211.— specimens of his polemic talents, 212.— He is invited to attend the corona- tion of Anne Baleyn, but re- fuses, 222.— Is accused of hav- ing written against a work on the divorce, published by au- thority, 227.— Clears himself of the imputation in a letter to Crumvvell, 227. — An attempt to implicate More with Bishop Fisher in the affair of the Nun of Kent, 234.— His letter on this subject to Crumvvell, 237.— To the king. 241. — Is summoned to take the oath, 255.— His house is searched, 2.56.— Bids his fami- ly farewell, 257.— His examina- tion before the commissioners, 251.— Refuses to take the oath, and is committed to the Tower, 2.59. — Writes to Margaret on this subject, ib. — Anecdotes, 266. — His firmness and resigna- tion, 268.— His letter to Marga- ret, 271. — His first interview with her, 272. — Is twice visited in the Tower by the commis- sioners, 299. — Describes the scene to Margaret, 300-303.— His observation on Anne Bo- leyn,308. — Works composed by him in prison, 309. — His cor- respondet;ce discovered, 309. — Is deprived of writing mate- rials, and obliged to scrawl on scraps of paper with a coal, 310. —Is betrayed by Ricli, 311.— His " Reflections" in the Tow- er, 312.- Anecdotes, 313.— His prison recreations, 314 —Note to Margaret, 315 — Sees the three prisoners led toexecution, 316.— Is brought to trial, 317.— His reply, 318. — His reproof of Rich's treachery, 322 —He is pronounced guilty, 326. — His exposition of his principles, 327. — Touching scene on Tower vt^harf, 330 —Interrogatories to \Iore after his condemnation, 332.— Preparations for his end, ^39. — Last letter to Margaret, 341.— His prayer in the Tower, 244— Is led forth to execution, M7.— His last moments. 348.— His character, 350 — Sentiments on his death, 353. — His piety, 364.— His humor, 3(54— His per- son, dress, habits of life, 367. More, John, Sir Thomas's son, account of, 68. 382 Morton, Cardinal, receives More into his family, 15. — An- ecdotes, ]7. Mountjoy, Lord, anecdote of, 30. JVorfolk, Duke of, his speech on More's instalment in the chancellorship, 167. Roper, William, his relapse, and reconciliation to the Church, 59.— Anecdotes of, 19J, 223, 256, Roper, Margaret, superintends her father's charities, 52. — Her correspondence with her father, 64, 66, 69.— Is restored to health hy his prayers, 142.— Letter to him in the Tower, 262. — Project for obtaining access to him, 270.— Letter from him on the subject, 271. — Her first inter- view with him in the Tower, 293,— Letter to Mrs. Alington, 230. — Her last interview with her father, 330. — Last letter from him, 341.— Anecdotes, 342, 3til. Tindall, More's controversy with him, 132, 212. Tiinstall, Bishop of Durham, More's embassy with him, 40. — More's eulogium of, 42. Warham, Archbishop, resigns the chancellorship, 43. — More's letter to, 43. — Anecdotes of, 145. Wilson, Dr., More's fellow- prisoner, 297. — More's letters to him, 298. Winn, Charles, Esq., the pre- sent representative of the Cres- acres, 72. IVolsey, Cardinal, his ac- quaintance with More at Col- lege, 18. — Recommends him to Henry, 40.— His early efforts in the cause of education, 83. — Goes in procession to St. Paul's, and burns the books of Luther, 94. — Is opposed by More in par- liament, 102.— His friendly of- fices to More. 107.— Sketch of Wolsey, 108.— His fruitless op- position to Henry's marriage with Anne Boleyn, 118. — His embassy to France, 121. — His conduct on the trial of Cathe- rine, 153. — First symptoms of his disgrace, 160. — Anne Bo- leyn's doings, 162. — He is at- tainted, and his goods confis- cated, 163.— The state of dis- tress to which he is reduced, 164.