Transcriber's Note.
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. The use of hyphens
and of accents has been rationalised.
Italics are indicated by _underscores_ and black letter font by =equal
signs=. Small capitals have been replaced by full capitals. An "oe"
ligature has been removed.
=Twelve English Statesmen=
CARDINAL WOLSEY
[Illustration: Publisher's Mark]
CARDINAL WOLSEY
BY
MANDELL CREIGHTON
BISHOP OF LONDON
M.A. OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE, D.C.L. OF DURHAM
LL.D. OF GLASGOW AND HARVARD
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET. LONDON
1912
_First Edition April_ 1888
_Reprinted_ 1888, 1891, 1895, 1898, 1902, 1904, 1906 (_twice_), 1912
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
THE STATE OF EUROPE, 1494-1512 1
CHAPTER II
THE FRENCH ALLIANCE, 1512-1515 18
CHAPTER III
THE UNIVERSAL PEACE, 1515-1518 35
CHAPTER IV
THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD, 1518-1520 51
CHAPTER V
THE CONFERENCE OF CALAIS, 1520-1521 66
CHAPTER VI
THE IMPERIAL ALLIANCE, 1521-1523 84
CHAPTER VII
RENEWAL OF PEACE, 1523-1527 101
CHAPTER VIII
WOLSEY'S DOMESTIC POLICY 123
CHAPTER IX
THE KING'S DIVORCE, 1527-1529 150
CHAPTER X
THE FALL OF WOLSEY, 1529-1530 184
CHAPTER XI
THE WORK OF WOLSEY 211
CHAPTER I
THE STATE OF EUROPE
1494-1512
All men are to be judged by what they do, and the way in which they do
it. In the case of great statesmen there is a third consideration which
challenges our judgment--what they choose to do. This consideration only
presents itself in the case of great statesmen, and even then is not
always recognised. For the average statesman does from day to day the
business which has to be done, takes affairs as he finds them, and makes
the best of them. Many who deliberately selected the questions with
which they dealt have yet shrunk from the responsibility of their
choice, and have preferred to represent their actions as inevitable. Few
can claim the credit of choosing the sphere of their activity, of
framing a connected policy with clear and definite ends, and of applying
their ideas to every department of national organisation. In short,
statesmen are generally opportunists, or choose to represent themselves
as such; and this has been especially the case with English
statesmen--amongst whom Wolsey stands out as a notable exception. For
Wolsey claims recognition on grounds which apply to himself alone. His
name is not associated with any great achievement, he worked out no
great measure of reform, nor did he contribute any great political idea
which was fruitful in after days. He was, above all things, a practical
man, though he pursued a line of policy which few understood, and which
he did not stop to make intelligible. No very definite results came of
it immediately, and the results which came of it afterwards were not
such as Wolsey had designed. Yet, if we consider his actual
achievements, we are bound to admit that he was probably the greatest
political genius whom England has ever produced; for at a great crisis
of European history he impressed England with a sense of her own
importance, and secured for her a leading position in European affairs,
which since his days has seemed her natural right.
Thus Wolsey is to be estimated by what he chose to do rather than by
what he did. He was greater than his achievements. Yet Wolsey's
greatness did not rise beyond the conditions of his own age, and he left
no legacy of great thought or high endeavour. The age in which he lived
was not one of lofty aspirations or noble aims; but it was one of large
designs and restless energy. No designs were cast in so large a mould as
were those of Wolsey; no statesman showed such skill as he did in
weaving patiently the web of diplomatic intrigue. His resources were
small, and he husbanded them with care. He had a master who only dimly
understood his objects, and whose personal whims and caprices had always
to be conciliated. He was ill supplied with agents. His schemes often
failed in detail; but he was always ready to gather together the broken
threads and resume his work without repining. In a time of universal
restlessness and excitement Wolsey was the most plodding, the most
laborious, and the most versatile of those who laboured at statecraft.
The field of action which Wolsey deliberately chose was that of foreign
policy, and his weapons were diplomacy. The Englishmen of his time were
like the Englishmen of to-day, and had little sympathy with his objects.
Those who reaped the benefits of his policy gave him no thanks for it,
nor did they recognise what they owed to him. Those who exulted in the
course taken by the English Reformation regarded Wolsey as its bitterest
foe, and never stopped to think that Wolsey trained the hands and brains
which directed it; that Wolsey inspired England with the proud feeling
of independence which nerved her to brave the public opinion of Europe;
that Wolsey impressed Europe with such a sense of England's greatness
that she was allowed to go her own way, menaced but unassailed. The
spirit which animated the England of the sixteenth century was due in no
small degree to the splendour of Wolsey's successes, and to the way in
which he stamped upon men's imagination a belief in England's greatness.
If it is the characteristic of a patriot to believe that nothing is
beyond the power of his country to achieve, then Wolsey was the most
devoted patriot whom England ever produced.
When Wolsey came to power England was an upstart trying to claim for
herself a decent position in the august society of European states. It
was Wolsey's cleverness that set her in a place far above that which she
had any right to expect. For this purpose Wolsey schemed and intrigued;
when one plan failed he was always ready with another. It mattered
little what was the immediate object which he had in hand; it mattered
much that in pursuing it he should so act as to increase the credit of
England, and create a belief in England's power. Diplomacy can reckon
few abler practitioners than was Wolsey.
There is little that is directly ennobling in the contemplation of such
a career. It may be doubted if the career of any practical statesman can
be a really ennobling study if we have all its activity recorded in
detail. At the best it tells us of much which seems disingenuous if not
dishonest--much in which nobility of aim or the complexity of affairs
has to be urged in extenuation of shifty words and ambiguous actions.
The age in which Wolsey lived was immoral in the sense in which all
periods are immoral, when the old landmarks are disappearing and there
is no certainty about the future. Morality in individuals and in states
alike requires an orderly life, a perception of limits, a pursuit of
definite ends. When order is shattered, when limits are removed, when
all things seem possible, then political morality disappears. In such a
condition was Europe at the beginning of the sixteenth century. The old
ideas, on which the mediæval conception of Christendom depended, were
passing away. No one any longer regarded Christendom as one great
commonwealth, presided over by Pope and Emperor, who were the guardians
of international law and arbiters of international relations. The Empire
had long ceased to exercise any control, because it was destitute of
strength. The Papacy, after vainly endeavouring to unite Europe round
the old cry of a crusade against the Turk, had discovered that there was
no European power on which it could rely for support. The old ideas were
gone, the old tribunals were powerless, the old bonds of European union
were dissolved.
The first result of this decay in the mediæval state-system of Europe
was the emergence of vague plans of a universal monarchy. The Empire and
the Papacy had harmonised with the feudal conception of a regulative
supremacy over vassals who were free to act within the limits of their
obligations to their superior lord. When the old superiors were no
longer recognised, the idea of a supremacy still remained; but there was
no other basis possible for that supremacy than a basis of universal
sovereignty. It was long before any state was sufficiently powerful to
venture on such a claim; but the end of the fifteenth century saw France
and Spain united into powerful kingdoms. In France, the policy of Louis
XI. succeeded in reducing the great feudatories, and established the
power of the monarchy as the bond of union between provinces which were
conscious of like interests. In Spain, the marriage of Ferdinand and
Isabella united a warlike people who swept away the remains of the
Moorish kingdom. Germany, though nominally it recognised one ruler, had
sacrificed its national kingship to the futile claims of the Empire. The
emperor had great pretensions, but was himself powerless, and the German
princes steadily refused to lend him help to give reality to his
high-sounding claims. Unconsciously to themselves, the rulers of France
and Spain were preparing to attempt the extension of their power over
the rest of Europe.
France under Charles VIII. was the first to give expression to this new
idea of European politics. The Italian expedition of Charles VIII.
marked the end of the Middle Ages, because it put forth a scheme of
national aggrandisement which was foreign to mediæval conceptions. The
scheme sounded fantastic, and was still cast in the mould of mediæval
aspirations. The kingdom of Naples had long been in dispute between the
houses of Arragon and Anjou. As heir to the Angevin line, Charles VIII.
proposed to satisfy national pride by the conquest of Naples. Then he
appealed to the old sentiment of Christendom by proclaiming his design
of advancing against Constantinople, expelling the Turk from Europe, and
realising the ideal of mediæval Christianity by planting once more the
standard of the Cross upon the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem.
The first part of his plan succeeded with a rapidity and ease that
bewildered the rest of Europe. The French conquest of Naples awakened
men to the danger which threatened them. France, as ruler of Naples,
could overrun the rest of Italy, and as master of the Pope could use the
authority of the head of Christendom to give legitimacy to further
schemes of aggression. A sense of common danger drew the other powers of
Europe together; and a League of Spain, the Empire, the Pope, Milan, and
Venice forced Charles VIII. to retire from Naples (1495), where the
French conquests were rapidly lost. A threat of his return next year led
to an emphatic renewal of the League and an assertion of the basis on
which it rested--"the mutual preservation of states, so that the more
powerful might not oppress the less powerful, and that each should keep
what rightly belongs to him."
This League marks a new departure in European affairs. There was no
mention of the old ideas on which Europe was supposed to rest. There was
no recognition of papal or imperial supremacy; no principle of European
organisation was laid down. The existing state of things was to be
maintained, and the contracting powers were to decide amongst themselves
what rights and claims they thought fit to recognise. Such a plan might
be useful to check French preponderance at the moment, but it was fatal
to the free development of Europe. The states that were then powerful
might grow in power; those that were not yet strong were sure to be
prevented from growing stronger. Dynastic interests were set up as
against national interests. European affairs were to be settled by
combinations of powerful states.
The results of this system were rapidly seen. France, of course, was
checked for the time; but France, in its turn, could enter the League
and become a factor in European combinations. The problem now for
statesmen was how to use this concert of Europe for their own interests.
Dynastic considerations were the most obvious means of gaining powerful
alliances. Royal marriages became matters of the greatest importance,
because a lucky union of royal houses might secure a lasting
preponderance. The Emperor Maximilian married his son Philip to a
daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. Death removed the nearer heirs to
the Spanish rulers, and the son of Philip was heir to Austria, the
Netherlands, and the Spanish kingdoms. The notion of a maintenance of
European equilibrium faded away before such a prospect.
This prospect, however, was only in the future. For the present there
was an opportunity for endless scheming. The European League for the
preservation of the existing state of things resisted any expansion on
the part of smaller states, but encouraged compacts for aggression
amongst the more powerful. France, Spain, and Germany had each of them a
national existence, while Italy consisted of a number of small states.
If Italy was to survive it was necessary that she should follow the
example of her powerful neighbours, and consolidate herself as they had
done. The only state which was at that time likely to unite Italy was
Venice; and Venice, in consequence, became the object of universal
jealousy. The concert of Europe was applied to the Venetian question,
and discovered a solution of the simplest sort. Instead of allowing
Venice to unite Italy, it was judged better to divide Venice. A secret
agreement was made between Spain, France, the Emperor, and the Pope that
they would attack Venice simultaneously, deprive her of her possessions,
and divide them amongst themselves. There was no lack of claims and
titles to the possessions which were thus to be acquired. The powers of
Europe, being judges in their own cause, could easily state their
respective pleas and pronounce each other justified. The League of
Cambrai, which was published at the end of 1508, was the first great
production of the new system of administering public law in Europe.
Anything more iniquitous could scarcely be conceived. Venice deserved
well at the hands of Europe. She had developed a great system of
commerce with the East; she was the chief bulwark against the advance of
the Turkish power; she was the one refuge of Italian independence. Those
very reasons marked her out for pillage by the powers who, claiming to
act in the interests of Europe, interpreted these interests according to
their own selfishness. Each power hoped to appropriate some of the
profits of Venetian commerce; each power wished for a slice of the
domains of Italy. What the Turk did was a matter of little consequence;
he was not the object of immediate dread.
This League of Cambrai witnessed the assimilation by the new system of
the relics of the old. Imperial and papal claims were set in the
foreground. Venice was excommunicated by the Pope, because she had the
audacity to refuse to give up to him at once his share of the booty. The
iniquities of the European concert were flimsily concealed by the rags
of the old system of the public law of Europe, which only meant that the
Pope and the Emperor were foremost in joining in the general scramble.
France was first in the field against Venice, and consequently France
was the chief gainer. Pope Julius II., having won from Venice all that
he could claim, looked with alarm on the increase of the French power in
Italy. As soon as he had satisfied himself, and had reduced Venice to
abject submission, his one desire was to rid himself of his troublesome
allies. The papal authority in itself could no longer influence European
politics; but it could give a sanction to new combinations which
interested motives might bring about. With cynical frankness the Papacy,
powerless in its own resources, used its privileged position to further
its temporal objects. We cannot wonder that Louis XII. of France tried
to create a schism, and promoted the holding of a general council. We
are scarcely surprised that the fantastic brain of the Emperor
Maximilian formed a scheme of becoming the Pope's coadjutor, and finally
annexing the papal to the imperial dignity. On every side the old
landmarks of Europe were disappearing, and the future was seen to belong
to the strong hand and the adventurous wit.
During the reign of Henry VII. England had stood aloof from these
complicated intrigues. Indeed England could not hope to make her voice
heard in the affairs of Europe. The weak government of Henry VI., and
the struggles between the Yorkist and Lancastrian factions, had reduced
her to political exhaustion. While France and Spain had grown into
strong kingdoms, England had dwindled into a third-rate power. Henry
VII. had enough to do in securing his own throne against pretenders, and
in reducing the remnants of the feudal nobility to obedience. He so far
worked in accordance with the prevailing spirit that he steadily
increased the royal power. He fell in with the temper of the time, and
formed matrimonial alliances which might bear political fruits. He gave
his daughter in marriage to the King of Scotland, in the hopes of
thereby bringing the Scottish Crown into closer relation with England.
He sought for a connexion with Spain by marrying his eldest son Arthur
to Katharine, a daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, and on Arthur's
untimely death Katharine became the wife of his next son Henry. Further,
Henry VII. gave his general approval to the League of 1496; he joined
it, but would promise no armed aid nor money. In short, he did enough to
claim for England a place in the new system of the European
commonwealth, though he himself declined to take any active part in the
activity that was consequently developed. He was old before his years,
and was unequal to any additional labour. He had saved his reputation by
his cautious and skilful policy at home. The statesmen of Europe
respected him for what he had done already, but they did not expect him
to do anything more. He had secured his dynasty, reduced his lands to
order, favoured its commerce, and secured for it peace. He had lived
frugally and had saved money, which was not the fortune of the more
adventurous princes. England was looked upon with an eye of
condescending favour by the great powers of Europe. Her population was
small, about three millions and a half; her military forces had not been
trained in the new methods of European warfare; her navy was not kept up
on a war footing. She could not rank higher than a third-rate power.
So England stood when Henry VII. died, and was succeeded by his son
Henry VIII., a youth of nineteen. We may indulge ourselves, if we
choose, in speculations on the probable effects if Henry VIII. had been
content to pursue his father's policy. The picture of England, peaceful
and contented while the rest of Europe is engaged in wasteful and wicked
war, is attractive as an ideal in English politics. England in the
sixteenth century might have stood aloof from European affairs, and
might have prospered in her own fashion. But one thing is certain, that
she would never have become the England of to-day; the New World, and
the possessions of the British Empire, would have been divided between
France and Spain; the course of civilisation would have been widely
different. For good or for evil the fortunes of England were given a
decided direction by Henry VIII.'s advance into the sphere of European
politics. England took up a position from which she could not afterwards
retire.
It is scarcely worth while to inquire if Henry VIII. could by prudence
and caution have continued to keep clear of the complications of
European politics, and make England strong by husbanding its resources
and developing its commerce. Such a course of action was not deemed
possible by any one. All classes alike believed that national prosperity
followed upon the assertion of national power. The commercial interests
of England would have had little chance of being respected unless they
were connected with political interests as well. If Henry VIII. had
lived frugally like his father, and avoided adventurous schemes for
which he needed the money of his people, the English monarchy would have
become a despotism, and the royal will would have been supreme in all
internal affairs. England was not exposed to this danger. Henry VIII.,
when he ascended the throne at the age of nineteen, was fully imbued by
the spirit of his time. The story goes that when Leo X. was elected Pope
he turned to his brother and said with a smile, "Let us enjoy the
Papacy, since God has given it to us." Henry VIII. was resolved to enjoy
his kingship to the full; he wished to show Europe that he was every
inch a king, and equal to the best.
Henry VIII. in his early days had been educated with a view to high
ecclesiastical preferment, and was a youth of many accomplishments of
mind and body. His tall stalwart frame, his fair round face and
profusion of light hair, his skill in athletic exercises, made the
Venetian envoy pronounce him to be the handsomest and most capable king
in Christendom. He inherited the geniality, the physical strength, the
resoluteness of the Yorkist house, and combined them with the
self-restraint and caution of the Lancastrians. No king began his reign
with greater popularity, and the belief in the soundness of his head and
heart filled all men with hopes of a long period of just and prosperous
government. But many hoped for more than this. The reign of Henry VII.
had been successful, but inglorious. The strong character and the
generous impulses of the new ruler were not likely to be satisfied with
the cautious intrigues and petty calculations of his father. England
looked forward to a glorious and distinguished future. It believed in
its king, and clave to its belief in spite of many disappointments. Not
all the harsh doings of Henry VIII. exhausted the popularity with which
he began his reign, and in the midst of his despotism he never lost his
hold upon the people.
So Henry VIII. carried out the plan which his father had formed for him.
He married Katharine, his brother's widow, and so confirmed the alliance
with Ferdinand of Spain. He renewed the marriage treaty between his
sister Mary and Charles, Prince of Castile, heir of the Netherlands, and
eldest grandson of Ferdinand and Maximilian alike. Charles was only a
boy of nine, and had great prospects of a large heritage. England was
likely, if this arrangement were carried out, to be a useful but humble
ally to the projects of the houses of Hapsburg and Spain, useful because
of its position, which commanded the Channel, and could secure
communications between the Netherlands and Spain, humble because it had
little military reputation or capacity for diplomacy.
The alliance, however, between Ferdinand and Maximilian was by no means
close. Ferdinand by his marriage with Isabella had united the kingdoms
of Castile and Arragon; but after Isabella's death he had no claim to
the Crown of Castile, which passed to his daughter Juana. Already
Juana's husband, the Archduke Philip, had claimed the regency of
Castile, and Ferdinand was only saved by Philip's death from the peril
of seeing much of his work undone. The claim to Castile had now passed
to the young Charles, and Ferdinand was afraid lest Maximilian should at
any time revive it in behalf of his grandson. He was unwilling to help
in any way to increase Maximilian's power, and rejoiced that in the
results of the League of Cambrai little profit fell to Maximilian's
share. The Pope gained all that he wished; Ferdinand acquired without a
blow the Venetian possessions in the Neapolitan kingdom; the French arms
were triumphant in North Italy; but Venice continued to offer a stubborn
resistance to Maximilian. In vain Maximilian implored Ferdinand's help.
He was unmoved till the successes of the French awakened in his mind
serious alarm. The authors of the League of Cambrai began to be afraid
of the catastrophe which they had caused. They did not wish to see the
French supreme in Italy, but their combination had gone far to ensure
the French supremacy.
Pope Julius II. felt himself most directly threatened by the growth of
the French power. He resolved to break up the League of Cambrai, and so
undo his own work. He tried to gain support from the Swiss and from
England. He released Venice from her excommunication, and showed himself
steadfastly opposed to France. He did his utmost to induce Ferdinand and
Maximilian to renounce the League. Ferdinand was cautious, and only gave
his secret countenance to the Pope's designs. Maximilian, anxious to
make good his claims against Venice, wavered between an alliance with
France and a rupture. Louis XII. of France was embarrassed by the
hostility of the Pope, whom he tried to terrify into submission. His
troops advanced against Bologna, where Julius II. was residing. The Pope
fled, but the French forces did not pursue him. Louis was not prepared
to treat the Pope as merely a temporal sovereign, and Rome was spared a
siege. But Louis was so ill-judging as to attack the Pope on his
spiritual side. He raised the old cry of a General Council for the
reform of the Church, and drew to his side a few disaffected cardinals,
who summoned a Council to assemble at Pisa.
This half-hearted procedure was fatal to all hopes of French supremacy.
Had Louis XII. promptly dealt with Julius II. by force of arms he would
have rendered the Pope powerless to interfere with his political plans,
and no one would have interposed to help the Pope in his capacity of an
Italian prince. But when the French king showed that he was afraid of
the papal dignity in temporal matters, while he was ready to attack it
in spiritual matters, he entered upon a course of action which was
dangerous to Europe. Ferdinand was waiting for a good pretext to free
himself from further share in the policy of the League of Cambrai, and
Louis provided him with the pretext which he sought. Shocked at the
danger of a new schism, Ferdinand, in October 1511, entered into a
League with the Pope and Venice, a League which took the high-sounding
title of the Holy League, since it was formed for the protection of the
Papacy.
Of this Holy League Henry VIII. became a member in December, and so
stepped boldly into the politics of Europe. He was at first a submissive
son of King Ferdinand, whose daughter, Queen Katharine, acted as Spanish
ambassador at the English Court. Henry wished to make common cause with
his father-in-law, and trusted implicitly to him for assurances of
goodwill. He made a separate accord with Ferdinand that a combined army
should invade Guienne. If the French were defeated Ferdinand would be
able to conquer Navarre, and England would seize Guienne. The gain to
England would be great, as Guienne would be a secure refuge for English
commerce, and its possession would make the English king an important
personage in Europe, for he would stand between Spain and France.
The scheme was not fantastic or impossible, provided that Ferdinand was
in earnest. Henry believed in his good faith, but he still had the
confidence of youth. Ferdinand trusted no one, and if others were like
himself he was wise in his distrust. Every year he grew more suspicious
and fonder of crooked ways. He took no man's counsel; he made fair
professions on every side; his only object was to secure himself at the
least cost. His confiding son-in-law was soon to discover that Ferdinand
only meant to use English gold as a means for furthering his own designs
against France; he did not intend that England should have any share in
the advantage.
Unconscious of the selfishness of his ally, Henry VIII. prepared for war
in the winter of 1512. In these preparations the capacity of Thomas
Wolsey first made itself felt, and the course of the war that followed
placed Wolsey foremost in the confidence of the English king.