THE WHITE ROSE PARTY
With the leaders of the Pilgrimage died the spirit of active resistance
to Henry. The gentlemen and commons had struck their blow and failed.
There still remained the White Rose party at court. Its members had done
nothing during the rebellion. They only whispered together and exchanged
tokens and dreamed of better days. They were all under suspicion and
constantly watched by royal spies, warned against consorting together,
often in disgrace and banished from court. It was impossible that they
could be dangerous to Henry. The proof of this has already been given.
The Pilgrimage was the one good opportunity to carry out their
long-cherished plans. If the Marquis of Exeter had raised the west and
Lord Montague had raised Hampshire, the south would have been plunged
into turmoil and the northern Pilgrims would have been able to march on
London at leisure. Henry might have been forced to fly, and Mary
proclaimed queen. But, as a matter of fact, Exeter marched to join
Norfolk with all the force he could make; not one of the conservative
nobles raised a man to second the Pilgrims; and Cardinal Pole, in spite
of the Pope’s encouragement, made not the slightest effort to improve
the occasion. Their one chance slipped from the listless hands of the
White Rose party. They did not even know that it was lost.
Why was Henry so bent upon the ruin of these very inefficient
conspirators that he actually told the French ambassador that he meant
to exterminate the house of Pole[1462]? It is true that he was very
angry with Reginald Pole; he regarded with jealousy all who could lay
claim to the blood royal; and he may have believed them to be more
dangerous than they were. He was already troubled by a disease so
painful as partly to account for the savage hatred of opposition which
became little less than madness towards the end of his life. But all
this is merely to say that he was a blood-thirsty tyrant, and that,
however useful as abuse, is not a really satisfactory explanation of any
human being’s actions.
The answer to the problem is to be found in Henry’s superb belief in his
own divine right to rule. His admirers have tried to slur over the
ferocity of his treason laws by vague talk of “compelled severity” and
“temporary necessity.” It may be modestly suggested that there is
another explanation. There was no very pressing need for these laws, as
the old treason law was quite sufficiently severe, but Henry honestly
believed that they were just. To him treason was the blackest of all
crimes, not a mere political offence which might be committed by a
virtuous person with the highest motives, but a crime worse than murder
or perjury against the innocent. The man who dared to criticise the
title of Supreme Head of the Church was as guilty and as worthy of death
as those who resisted him in arms; he made no distinctions between those
who opposed him in thought, deed, or word. The catholic martyrs died for
their opinions. The Pilgrims died for maintaining their opinions with
their swords. The “Exeter Conspirators” died for a few careless
words—for a wish—for a dream of majesty.
It is surprising that Pole’s family remained in England. They might have
fled to him at Rome, where their lives at least would have been safe.
They considered flight,—they often talked of it, but apparently they
could not bring themselves to face the results. The thought of becoming
a landless exile was intolerable to most English gentlemen. Lord
Montague might have chosen it rather than death, but he would not leave
the country until the danger was imminent, and then it was too late for
flight, for Henry struck swiftly. Sir Geoffrey Pole, with less to lose,
often planned to join Reginald, but Montague and other friends dissuaded
him, on the grounds that it would put the family in a worse position
than ever. The Poles were always expecting a change of policy and a
reconciliation with Rome. If this opinion was treasonable the King would
have had to execute half the nobility to root it out. So the doomed
family awaited the event, if not in security, at least with surprising
calmness, as they were not by any means unwarned.
When Reginald Pole sent his book _De Unitate Ecclesiastica_ to Henry in
1536[1463], it was carried by an English servant who had followed his
fortunes, a man named Michael Throgmorton[1464]. He was of good family,
and a suitable person to be intrusted with such a delicate mission, as
he was both faithful and quick-witted. He did not undertake his errand
very willingly, for he had a natural fear that it would end in the Tower
rather than in his return to Italy. His apprehension was well founded.
Henry was furiously angry at Pole’s opinions and Throgmorton was
detained in London, in great danger, until January 1536–7. The country
was in open rebellion throughout the autumn, and his brother, Sir George
Throgmorton was in the Tower on a charge of spreading Aske’s
manifestos[1465].
In January came the news that Pole had been created a Cardinal[1466].
Before he set out on his journey Throgmorton had begged that if this
promotion took place it might be kept secret until he had made his
escape from England[1467], but no attempt was made at secrecy, and
Throgmorton might well feel his head unsteady on his shoulders.
Nevertheless he lived to be one of the few men who could boast of
outwitting Cromwell[1468]. He played his cards well, declaring himself
completely out of sympathy with Pole and the King’s most loyal subject.
He spoke of his influence over his master, and undertook to use every
means to bring Pole back to England and his allegiance. He even
consented to enlist in Cromwell’s secret service, and became officially
the King’s chief spy on the traitor Pole. At the cost of such “crafty
and subtle conveyance” he obtained leave to return to Rome, and by 26
January 1536–7 he was on his way thither with a light heart[1469]. He
had completely “bleared” Cromwell’s eyes, for he never had the least
intention of playing his master false.
Throgmorton arrived at Rome on 13 February. He carried letters for the
Cardinal from the Privy Council, who professed themselves unspeakably
shocked at Pole’s ingratitude. But they offered to send certain wise men
to meet him in Flanders in order to argue him into a better frame of
mind, always provided that he came as a private person, without a
commission from the Pope[1470].
Throgmorton found his master dressed in his cardinal’s robes, and
delivered the letters together with credence to the same effect. He
admitted in his first report to Cromwell that his persuasions had as yet
been useless; “great men are not lightly persuaded and he especially.”
The writing of these reports must have been a great joy to
Throgmorton[1471].
Pole had been created a papal legate on 7 February, and he was about to
set out for Flanders[1472], in spite of the fact that the King had
refused, in such a case, to send anyone to meet him[1473]. Throgmorton
represented him in this as the well-meaning tool of the scheming court
of Rome; “let them mean as they will, he means all for the best, and to
the honour of God and his Church, without dissimulation, covetousness or
ambition.”[1474] Throgmorton hoped that Cromwell would not object to his
going with his master, for although he was the King’s man, he was loth
to leave Pole on account of his rare virtues and good life. He referred
the question to Cromwell, as no man could give better counsel in such a
case, because no man had more proved the profit and comfort of true
fidelity[1475]. One of Cromwell’s genuine spies recorded that Michael
Throgmorton had an open and simple-minded manner[1476]. It must have
been a very simple manner to carry off remarks of that sort. But for
some time Cromwell did not suspect that there was anything wrong.
Cardinal Pole was about to move at last. The avowed purpose of his
legation was an attempt to help forward a general pacification, to
inquire into the spread of heresy, and to announce a general council.
Its real purpose was to arrange the affairs of England[1477]. According
to the news then current in Rome, Henry had given way to the Pilgrims,
and intended to hold a northern parliament in the spring. It was taken
for granted that this parliament would restore the Pope’s authority in
England, and it was essential that a papal legate should be present to
see that everything was done in the right way. Also it was only proper
that his Holiness should show his approval of “the manly and Christian
demonstration those people are making.” Pole never reproached himself
for his delay at the time of the insurrection. His one anxiety was to be
in time for the parliament. It was doubtful whether he would accomplish
this, as he was a very bad traveller. It occurred to him that the King
might be deceiving the Pilgrims, that he might intend no reform, but
sought only to quiet them and then to dispose of their leaders; in fact
that Henry might be doing the very thing that he was doing. Pole
suggested that if this were the case, someone, not himself, should be
sent to England to exhort the people, in the Pope’s name, to stand firm,
and that large sums of money should be ready in Flanders in case of
need[1478].
One of Pole’s last acts before starting was to answer the letter of the
Privy Council[1479]. He stated his case well, but the matter had gone
far beyond the reach of argument. Pole’s only justification was that he
was convinced he was right, and Henry’s only reply was that Pole was
hopelessly wrong. A meeting with Henry’s agents in Flanders could have
led to nothing more satisfactory, and perhaps Pole realised this when in
reply to the Council’s proposal he said that he would receive emissaries
only if they were sent to him as to a cardinal and a legate.
At length Pole set out, but he was a long time on the journey. About 16
April 1537 he was at Cambrai[1480], but he would not have reached even
that point so soon if all had gone as he hoped on the way. There was a
clause in the treaties between England and France that neither King
should receive or assist the rebel subjects of the other; in marked
contrast to the modern custom by which political offenders are
especially exempted from extradition treaties, this clause was held to
mean that a proscribed traitor who sought refuge in the other country
must be seized and given up to his own government. Francis I sent word
to Henry that Pole had entered his kingdom as legate[1481]. The French
King regarded the Pope as the Emperor’s ally, and was ready to
conciliate Henry at his expense, if he could do so without danger to
himself. Henry commanded his ambassador in France, Gardiner Bishop of
Winchester, to desire Francis to apprehend Pole and send him to England.
Gardiner obeyed, and Francis replied that Pole had entered his dominions
under safe-conduct, and that he could not arrest him, but he would send
him word to depart within ten days[1482].
Henry was not satisfied. He despatched Sir Francis Brian on 8 April to
demand Pole again and to remind Francis I that the treaty did not
recognise safe-conducts[1483]. The French King did not dare to quarrel
with Henry, but to apprehend Pole would have brought about an open
breach with the Pope. The King was with the army, and when on 10 April
Pole made his state entry as legate into Paris, he was met by a
gentleman of the King’s chamber, who informed him that he must press on
to Cambrai without seeing Francis[1484].
Henry was enraged at Pole’s escape. He blamed Gardiner and Brian for
lack of zeal and care. He bade them reproach Francis I with the legate’s
honourable reception[1485], and at the same time he sent by the hands of
John Hutton, his agent in the Netherlands, letters to the Regent of the
Netherlands, which adjured her on pain of breaking solemn treaties to
prevent Pole’s entry into the Emperor’s dominions. If he were already
over the borders, she must send him injunctions to leave within the time
specified by treaty[1486].
Pole took refuge in the independent archbishopric of Cambrai. He was
obliged to stay there all through May, though he was in considerable
danger. Henry, who had not forgiven Gardiner and Brian for the first
failure, wrote to them on 25 April: “And for as much as we would be very
glad to have the said Pole trussed up and conveyed to Calais, we desire
and pray you to consult and devise between you thereupon.” Could not
Brian secretly get together some men capable of such an enterprise?
Francis I himself suggested that his Italians might “snap up” the legate
some time when he was beyond the walls of the town[1487]. Pole was
careful to keep within the gates, for skirmishing parties were
constantly about, and he soon discovered that, in obedience to their
orders, Henry’s agents had surrounded him with “spies and
betrayers.”[1488]
The days at Cambrai must have been very bitter to Pole. The French King
had ignominiously turned him out; the Regent of the Netherlands, though
more truly his friend, dared not ignore Henry’s protests[1489]. All hope
of a peaceful and honourable return to England had vanished. The
Pilgrims were in the Tower awaiting death, and Pole was within
measurable distance of joining them. He was told that 100,000 pieces of
English gold would be given to any man who brought him to England alive
or dead[1490].
Sir Francis Brian had undertaken the mission, and that one-eyed “minion”
declared that if the Cardinal returned to France he would kill him with
his own hand[1491]. All around Cambrai was the turmoil of a great
European war. The Emperor’s host was encamped round the city. The brave
Queen of Hungary, Regent of the Netherlands, who wore over her kirtle “a
jerkin of black leather with eyelet holes to wear harness upon,” vowed
that if Francis would await her forces but fifteen days she would show
him “what God may strength a woman to do.”[1492] Pole, who had been sent
to urge peace upon the combatants, was an embarrassment to all parties.
The Regent peevishly exclaimed that her enemy had sent him simply to
trouble her[1493]. Evil days had fallen on the ambassador of the Holy
See.
It does Pole much honour that he was willing and even anxious to
persevere against all these discouragements. His chief hope was that he
might keep up the hearts of “these poor, good men” the commons of
England. He imagined that his presence near at hand might encourage them
to new endeavour. But he was too late, and the people of the north had
other and nearer sorrows to mourn than the decay of the Pope’s
authority.
At last the Cardinal’s friends in Flanders determined to help him to a
place of safety, although they were hampered by the English King’s
constant threats that if Pole crossed the borders and were not arrested,
he would consider that the treaties were broken[1494]. They replied at
length that a legate was outside such treaties, and that they had gone
as far as possible to please Henry when the Regent refused to receive
the Cardinal. The Pope had especially recommended Pole to the care of
his fellow-cardinal Erarde de la Marck, the Prince Bishop of Liége, who
was the head of the Regent’s Council[1495]. The Bishop secretly offered
Pole a safe harbour in his own see, but he suggested that Pole should
travel in disguise, to which the legate, feeling that in his person the
dignity of the Apostolic See would be compromised, could not bring
himself to consent[1496]. During the last days of May an escort was
sent, which conducted him honourably, but without all the state that was
his due, through Flanders to Liége. Here he was received with pontifical
honours, provided with money, and lodged in “the old palace.”[1497]
“They take him there for a young god,” wrote Hutton scornfully to
Cromwell.
One day a starving Englishman came to John Hutton and begged for alms.
His name was William Vaughan, and he had fled from England accused of
manslaughter. He told Hutton that he had begged for help from Henry
Phillips, an English student at Louvain who had betrayed Tyndale.
Phillips had offered to introduce Vaughan into Cardinal Pole’s service,
or rather into the service of Michael Throgmorton. Phillips said that
Throgmorton was about to sail secretly for England, carrying letters to
Pole’s friends hidden in a loaf of bread. Hutton seized this
opportunity. He gave Vaughan money, and promised him a pardon and
further reward if he would contrive to sail with Throgmorton; as soon as
they reached England Vaughan must see that Throgmorton was
arrested[1498].
Vaughan set out for Liége with an uneasy conscience, but beggars cannot
be choosers[1499]. He went to Throgmorton, who regarded him with
suspicion. It was so common, however, for one English exile to ask help
of another that Pole consented to speak to him. When Vaughan came into
his presence, the Cardinal said, “As I am informed, you be banished out
of your native country as well as I”; he added that he liked to meet a
Welshman, as his grandfather came out of Wales. Vaughan asked to be
taken into the Cardinal’s service, saying that he was destitute. Pole
answered that he had all the servants that he needed while travelling,
but if Vaughan would come to him again in Italy, he should have a place.
He gave the man a crown, and bade him go back to gather news[1500].
These newsbearers must often have been puzzled to know whose spies they
were.
On 10 June Pole wrote to Italy, still in good hopes that his mission
might prosper, although his life was in danger. He had discovered to
whom he was indebted for Vaughan’s visit[1501]. Other spies were sent by
Sir Thomas Palmer, the porter of Calais, and Pole heard that special
assassins had been despatched from England[1502]. Michael Throgmorton’s
expedition to England was abandoned, probably because the Cardinal
received news from his family about this time. The messenger was Hugh
Holland, who had formerly been in the service of Sir Geoffrey Pole, but
was now a merchant in the trade with Flanders. Some years before Holland
had secretly smuggled into France John Heliar, the vicar of East Meon
and rector of Warblington, a dependent of the Poles, who fled partly
because he wanted to study in Paris, but chiefly because he disliked the
King’s proceedings[1503]. Holland was still in communication with Heliar
and conveyed his correspondence[1504].
“After Easter” 1537 Holland heard that wheat was selling well in
Flanders, and arranged to carry a cargo across. Before he embarked Sir
Geoffrey Pole sent for him and said, “I hear say you intend to go into
Flanders. My brother, I hear say, is in those parts. Will you do me an
errand unto him?”
Holland was quite willing, and Sir Geoffrey gave him the following
message:
“I pray you commend me to my brother and show him I would I were with
him, and will come to him if he will have me; for show him the world in
England waxeth all crooked, God’s law is turned upso-down, abbeys and
churches overthrown, and he is taken for a traitor; and I think they
will cast down parish churches and all at the last. And because he shall
trust you, show him this token, and show him also that Mr Wilson and
Powell be in the Tower yet, and show him further that there be sent from
England daily to destroy him, and that much money would be given for his
head; and that the Lord Privy Seal said openly in the court that he,
speaking of the said Cardinal, should destroy himself well enough; and
that Mr Brian and Peter Mewtas was sent into France to kill him with a
hand-gun or otherwise as they should see best.”
The day before Holland sailed Sir Geoffrey sent for him again and said,
“How sayest thou, Hugh, if I go over with thee myself and see that good
fellow?”
Hugh replied, “Nay, sir, my ship is fully loaded, and the mariners be
not meet for this purpose.”
“Well then, I pray you remember what I have said unto you, and fare you
well.”
Holland sailed to Nieuport, sold his wheat, and went on to Cambrai,
where he expected to find the Cardinal, but Pole had already set out for
Liége. Holland overtook him at Alne Abbey. Throgmorton received the
messenger and questioned him. Hearing that he came from Sir Geoffrey,
Throgmorton went and told the Cardinal. After mass Holland was sent for
and found the Cardinal in the church. He delivered his message. Pole
said, “And would my Lord Privy Seal so fain kill me? Well, I trust it
shall not lie in his power. The King is not contented to bear me malice
himself, but provoketh other against me, and hath written to the French
king that he should not receive me as Cardinal or legate; but yet I was
received into Paris better than some men would.”[1505]
They talked for a little while about English matters, and then the
Cardinal gave Holland the following messages:
“Commend me to my lady my mother by the same token that she and I
looking upon a wall together read this, ‘_Spes mea in Deo est_,’[1506]
and desire her blessing for me. I trust she will be glad of mine also;
and if I wist that she were of the opinion that other be there, mother
as she is mine, I would tread upon her with my feet. Commend me to my
lord my brother by this token, ‘_In domino Confido_,’ and to my brother
Sir Geoffrey, and bid him meddle little and let all things alone.”[1507]
The Cardinal did not consider it expedient that either of his brothers
should join him. He bade them both tarry in England “and hold up yea and
nay.”[1508]
It is impossible to avoid the thought that if the Cardinal had
encouraged Geoffrey in his proposed flight, instead of snubbing him, the
coming tragedy must have been, in part prevented. Lord Montague would
probably have been put to death in any case, but England would have been
spared the worst insult to humanity,—the degradation of the miserable
Sir Geoffrey, the horror of a brother’s betrayal by a brother, the agony
of their mother. Unluckily Sir Geoffrey Pole was not a very desirable
inmate for a Cardinal’s household. He was stupid and extravagant, timid
and untrustworthy. The Cardinal acted with his usual gentle selfishness.
He refused to undertake the disagreeable responsibility, and left Lord
Montague, in addition to all his other perils, to cope with this
unsatisfactory younger brother.
Holland delivered all the messages to Sir Geoffrey Pole when he returned
to England. Sir Geoffrey forbade him to repeat them to the Countess of
Salisbury or to Lord Montague, because Montague “was out of his mind and
would show all to the Lord Privy Seal.”[1509] He did not mean that
Montague would betray the matter on purpose, but he was such a reckless
speaker that his tongue was sure to endanger the secret. This was all
the communication that Reginald Pole had with his brothers while he was
in Flanders, and it cannot be said to have seriously threatened the
throne of England.
The Cardinal stayed quietly at Liége until the Pope summoned him back to
Rome[1510]. His Holiness needed him and his present position was doing
no good, nor was it very dignified. In August Pole prepared to set out
for Rome[1511]. In all his correspondence during his stay in Flanders
there is strangely little reference to the Pilgrims. The months during
which he was so near England were the very months of the King’s
vengeance. Pole must have known the English news, for Henry was eager to
spread reports of the terrible justice that he was doing. Yet in all
Pole’s letters not one of the northern leaders is mentioned by name.
Their effort for the Faith is spoken of only in the most general terms,
and though there are vague allusions to the King’s cruelty there is no
word of their trial and death[1512].
This silence effectually disposes of the idea that Pole had any share in
encouraging the rebellion, but when it is contrasted with the
wide-spread horror at the martyrdom of More and Fisher, and with the
admiration expressed for their constancy, the feeling arises that the
Papal court and the catholic clergy generally were guilty of a snobbish
callousness to the fate of less renowned but not less worthy upholders
of their cause. The King’s faithlessness to the insurgents was perfectly
well known abroad. Laymen were not so absorbed in his attack on the
Church as to overlook his treatment of his subjects[1513], but the court
of Rome would calmly have watched Henry grind Englishmen to powder so
long as he did not interfere with the Pope’s power and dignity. The Pope
considered only his relations with the King and ignored the people,
while his one chance of triumph lay in keeping his hold upon the nation,
as was done in Ireland. There were two reasons for this indifference on
the part of the Roman Church. In the first place, many of its
supporters, Pole among them, shrank from the charge of encouraging
rebellion. In the second, European statesmen in the spring of 1537 had
little thought to spare on the internal state of England. The war
absorbed the western states; in the south the Turks were threatening
Rome itself.
Nevertheless Pole, an Englishman sent especially to watch English
affairs, might have shown more interest in the fate of the Pilgrims. On
21 July, 1537, a week after Aske was hanged at York, the Cardinal wrote
to the Pope to mention the suggestion of an English student at Louvain
that all the Church should fast and pray for the return of England to
the fold, and that certain days should be appointed for the fast. Pole
was much pleased with the thought, and believed that it would do more
good than any “censures or curses.”[1514] It would certainly be safer.
The Cardinal left Liége on 22 August, “riding solemnly through the city,
giving his benediction to the people, with a cross borne before him and
other ceremonies.”[1515] Two days before Michael Throgmorton had written
his second and last report to Cromwell. Cromwell had commanded him to
return to England, and much of the letter was filled with explanations
as to why Throgmorton did not obey the summons. He protested that he
could serve the King much better if he stayed at Rome with his master.
He described the intended prayers for the unity of the Church, and added
that if the King did not shortly repent Pole would publish his book as a
defence against the charge of treason. Throgmorton insisted that his
master sought the King’s honour and wealth, and that everyone about him
marvelled that the King did nothing but try to procure his ruin[1516].
Cromwell’s first impulse on receiving this letter was to prevent Pole’s
return to Rome. A letter to Throgmorton was drafted which contained an
offer that, though the King felt nothing but contempt for all that the
Bishop of Rome could do against him, yet “to save him whom he hath from
his cradle nourished and brought up in learning,” he would send Dr
Wilson and another of his own chaplains to confer with Pole in
Flanders[1517]. Instructions for the chaplains were drawn up[1518], but
they never started on their mission. There is nothing to show the reason
which made Cromwell change his mind. Perhaps some fresh news came, or
perhaps he merely decided on second thoughts that it was impossible to
conciliate Pole, and the wider the breach with him became the better.
Dropping his mask, he for once wrote his real mind and sent the letter
after Throgmorton. It is too long to quote in full, and no mere extract
can do it justice[1519].
Cromwell began by denouncing the treasons of Pole and the treachery of
Throgmorton, whom he had taken for a faithful subject. “I might better
have judged that so dishonest a master could have but even such servants
as you are.... You could not all this time have been a spy for the King,
but at some time your countenance should have declared your heart to be
loyal. No! you and your master have both well declared how little fear
of God resteth in you, which, led by vain promise of promotion, thus
against his laws works treason towards your natural prince and country,
to serve an enemy of God, an enemy of all honesty, an enemy of right
religion, a defender of iniquity, a merchant and occupier of all
deceits.” How foolish was Throgmorton to try to defend this “silly
cardinal” from the name of traitor. All the world knew how well he
deserved it. “Now if those that have made him thus mad can also persuade
him to print his detestable book, where one lie leapeth in every line on
another’s neck, he shall be then as much bound to them for their good
counsel as his family to him for his wise dealing. He will, I trow, have
as little joy thereof as his friends and kinsfolk are like to take
profit of it. Pity it is that the folly of one brainsick Pole, or, to
say better, of one witless fool, should be the ruin of so great a
family. Let him follow ambition as fast as he can, these that little
have offended (saving that he is of their kin) were it not for the great
mercy and benignity of the prince, should and might feel what it is to
have such a traitor to their kinsman.” Let him bring forth his book. He
is not out of reach of the King’s “justice” even in Italy. “Amongst all
your pretty news these are very pleasant, that the Bishop of Rome
intendeth to make lamentation to the world and to desire every man to
pray that his old gains may return home again.... I have done what I may
to save you. I must, I think, do what I can to see you condignly
punished. God send you both to fare as ye deserve—either shortly to come
to your allegiance, or else to a shameful death.”[1520] With this
blessing hard on his heels Pole began his journey back to Rome. His
first legation was ended.
The White Rose party in England had done nothing to help the Pilgrims.
It would have been well for them if they had said as little; and yet the
words that were afterwards objected against them were sometimes clearly
innocent, sometimes just touched with disaffection to the
government,—very seldom coming even under the most stringent treason law
ever enforced in England. At the time of the rebellion a friend went to
see Sir Geoffrey Pole at his house at Lordington, and found him
mustering men who were to march with him against the insurgents.
“I must go northwards,” said Sir Geoffrey, “but I will shift for one
well enough, if they come to fighting—I will save one.”
“Well, if you intend so,” returned his friend, “you were best to have a
good horse under you.”[1521]
It seems almost incredible that this old, old soldier’s joke about
running away at the first shot should have been interpreted by Froude as
an avowed “intention of deserting in action, if an action was
fought—real, bad, black treason.”[1522]
The Marquis of Exeter had gone northward to join Norfolk against the
Pilgrims. One day when his wife was sitting alone, Sir Edward Neville
came to her. He was an intimate friend of the family, and Lord
Montague’s brother-in-law. He greeted her with “Madam, how do you? Be
you merry?”
She answered, “How can I be merry? My lord is gone to battle and he will
be one of the foremost.”
“Madam, be not afeared of this,” said Sir Edward, “nor of the second,
but beware of the third.”
“Ah, Mr Neville, you will never leave your Welsh prophecies,” replied
the Lady Marquis, “but one day this will turn you to displeasure.”[1523]
Sir Edward’s mysterious words may have been treason, but they are even
more unintelligible now than they were to the Lady Marquis. Sir Edward
was much given to singing “merry songs”; in the Lady Marquis’s garden at
Horsley, where both Neville and Lord Montague were welcome guests, he
would sometimes add political stanzas to his songs, such as that he
“trusted knaves should be put down, and lords should reign one
day.”[1524] Perhaps it was on the same occasions that he used to abuse
the King “saying his Highness was a beast and worse than a beast.”[1525]
One day at court Sir Edward drew Sir Geoffrey Pole aside and said,
“God’s Blood! I am made a fool amongst them, but I laugh and make merry
to drive forth the time. The King keepeth a sort of knaves here that we
dare neither look nor speak; and if I were able to live, I would rather
live any life in the world than tarry in the Privy Chamber.” Another
time he said, “Master Pole, let us not be seen to speak together; we be
had in suspicion; but it forceth not, we shall do well enough one day.”
The little group of friends were constantly being warned against each
other. The King himself bade Sir Edward avoid the Marquis of Exeter. Sir
Edward told his friend, “I may no longer keep you company”; and the
Marquis quietly answered, “I pray Our Lord be with you,” and no
more[1526]. Every act of friendship among the suspected nobles was used
against them by Cromwell. A certain bearward of the Marquis was in
trouble about the end of the year 1537[1527]. He was “in prison for
treason” in the west country. His offence does not appear, but it cannot
have compromised the Marquis, as the affair was not mentioned at his
trial. The bearward was executed at Gloucester in February 1537–8[1528].
Sir Edward Neville heard of his arrest and very naturally told the
Marquis “to look to it, as it was much against his honour.”[1529] Exeter
sent to Cromwell to inquire about the matter. The result was unexpected.
Cromwell told the King and a royal messenger was sent to Exeter to
charge him on his allegiance to declare who had told him of the
bearward’s apprehension. Exeter was astonished and alarmed that so
simple a matter should be taken so seriously. The messenger found him
“the most appalled man that ever he saw.” The Marquis answered at first
that he would “liever die than to disclose his friend, for it did not
touch the King.” Afterwards he tried to smooth the matter over by
producing a servant who said that he had heard about the bearward “in
Paul’s, but of whom he could not tell.”[1530]
Exeter was a loyal friend. On another occasion, when Montague was in
trouble, he defended him in the Privy Council, and offered to be bound
“body for body” for him[1531]. The Marquis disliked the King’s policy,
but there is no proof that he ever engaged in treasonable practices. He
contented himself with grumbling occasionally to his friends, and for
the rest took things as they came. One day when Sir Geoffrey Pole was
riding to London he met the Marquis and turned back a little way to talk
to him. Exeter said that he had been compelled to give up his wardenship
of Windsor and to take abbey lands instead.
“What!” cried Sir Geoffrey, “be you come to this point to take abbey
lands now?”
“Yea,” said the Marquis, “good enough for a time; they must have all
again one day.”
Exeter had on one occasion been obliged to receive Cromwell at Horsley;
he gave his guest “a summer coat and a wood knife.” At the first
opportunity he winked at Sir Geoffrey Pole and said, “Peace! knaves rule
about the King,” and then holding up and shaking his fist, “I trust to
give them a buffet one day.”[1532] It was very distasteful to a nobleman
of the blood royal to play host to the lowborn favourite, who was also
his personal enemy.
A fortnight before Christmas 1536 a story was told at Stoke in Somerset
of a quarrel between the Lord Privy Seal and the Marquis of Exeter. It
was said that the Marquis had drawn his dagger on Cromwell, whose life
was saved only by his coat of fence. Cromwell ordered the Marquis to the
Tower, “but if he had been put there ... he would have been fetched out
again though the best of the realm had said nay.”[1533] There is no
reason to believe that this rumour had any foundation in fact; it bears
a marked resemblance to the story that Lord William Howard had
assassinated Richard Cromwell[1534]. Nevertheless it illustrates the
affection which the people of the west felt for Exeter.
The Marquis hated the new learning and his servants sometimes quoted
their master’s opinions indiscreetly. His “yeoman of the horse” used to
go to a certain goldsmith in London for the garnishing of horse harness.
Protestantism was now spreading rapidly in London, especially among the
shop-keepers, and one day the yeoman of the horse found the goldsmith’s
wife reading the New Testament in English.
“What do you with these new books of heresy in English?” he said to her.
“Well, well, there will a day come that will pay for all.”
She asked what day that might be, and he answered, “The day will come
there shall be no more wood spent upon you heretics, but you will be
tied together, sacked, and thrown into Thames.”
When she asked him who should do so, he said the Bishop of London
[Stokesley].
“We care not for the Bishop of London,” she cried, “thanked be God and
our gracious King; but would to God my lord your master would read the
Gospel in English, and suffer his servants to do the same.”
On this the man affirmed with an oath, “If my Lord know any of his
servants either to have any of these books in English or to read any of
the same, they shall never do him any longer service.”[1535]
Lord Montague was as little inclined to conspire as his friends, but he
was a careless talker. The cautious Lord Stafford, his brother-in-law,
said, “I like him not, he dare speak so largely.”[1536] It is evident
from his recorded sayings that he could not refrain from sallies against
Henry and his favourites. He was a man of boldness and wit and took
great pleasure in Sir Thomas More’s books[1537]. He thought that the
Pilgrimage had been mismanaged: “Twishe, Geoffrey ... the Lord Darcy
played the fool; he went about to pluck away the council. He should
first have begun with the head; but I beshrew them for leaving off so
soon.”[1538] He was indignant that the commons had been quieted with
false promises. “Time hath been when nothing was more surer to reckon
upon than the promise of a prince but now they count it no promise, but
a policy to blind the people, wherefore if the commons do rise again
they will trust to no fair promise nor words.”[1539] In happier
circumstances Montague thought his party might have helped the Pilgrims:
“If my lord Abergavenny (his father-in-law) were alive, he were able to
make a great number of men in Kent and Sussex.”[1540]
Others of Montague’s sayings were that “Wolsey had been an honest man
had he had an honest master”[1541]; “the King and Cromwell were both of
one nature and what became of the nobility of the whole realm they cared
not so they might live themselves at their own pleasure”; “the King
gloried with the title to be Supreme Head next God, yet he had a sore
leg that no poor man would be glad of, and that he should not live long
for all his authority next God’s”; and that “the King and his whole
issue stand accursed.”[1542]
These words and many others of the same sort were treason under the new
act. Montague “grudged” at this act, and thought that the Council should
devise a “charitable punishment” for treason “so that men should not die
therefore.” He had “seen more gentleness and benignity in times past at
the King’s hands than he doth nowadays.” Nor was it merely because the
new laws pressed hardly on his own party that he disliked them. If he
lived to see a better world, he hoped that Cromwell and the other
“knaves” should “have punishment for their offences without
cruelty.”[1543]
Montague lived on intimate terms with his brother Sir Geoffrey, but they
had one estrangement when Sir Geoffrey entered the King’s service
against the advice of his brother and the Marquis. Montague tried to
dissuade him by the argument that the King “would go so far that all the
world would mislike him.” He himself had never loved the King from
childhood, and believed that Henry would some day go mad[1544]. Moreover
nothing was so dangerous as court favour; “the King never made man but
he destroyed him again, either by displeasure or with the sword.”[1545]
Nevertheless Sir Geoffrey made suit to the King and was received into
his service. Lord Montague told him bluntly that “they were flatterers
who followed the court and none served the King but knaves.”[1546] For a
time Sir Geoffrey saw little of his friends, who no longer talked openly
before him but treated him as if he had turned his back on his own
party[1547].
The news of Reginald Pole’s arrival in Flanders and the attempts on his
life put the whole court and especially the White Rose party in a
flutter. A lady named Elizabeth Darrell, who was certainly a great
gossip, told Sir Geoffrey that Peter Mewtas had gone to Flanders to get
rid of the Cardinal[1548]. It was on this occasion that Sir Geoffrey
sent the Cardinal the above-mentioned warning by Hugh Holland[1549].
Later, forgetting their differences, he went to Lord Montague, whom he
found in his garden.
“I hear our brother beyond the sea shall be slain,” he said.
“No,” replied Montague, “he is escaped. I have letters.”[1550] These
letters must have contained news of the Cardinal’s safe retreat to
Liége. They were from someone who heard the court news, Mistress Darrell
or the Lady Marquis of Exeter.
“By God’s blood,” swore Sir Geoffrey later to Mistress Darrell, “and if
he [Mewtas] had slain him [the Cardinal] I would have thrust my dagger
in him although he had been at the King’s heels.”[1551] He was not as
yet on his old terms with Montague, or he would surely have told him of
the message from the Cardinal, however much he feared his brother’s lack
of discretion. Hugh Holland’s errand was the only definite act of
treason committed by any of the Poles, and Sir Geoffrey alone was
responsible for it. The Cardinal’s danger was discussed in Lord
Montague’s household, where the servants believed that the Cardinal
“should do them all good one day,” and that “it were a [meet] marriage
betwixt my Lady Mary and the Cardinal Pole.”[1552] One of the servants,
named Morgan Wells, said openly that he “would kill with a hand-gun
Peter Mewtas or any other whom he should know to kill the Cardinal Pole,
and that he was going overseas for that purpose.” When he told this to
Lord Montague’s chaplain, John Collins, he was bidden to “be of good
mind and make a cross in his forehead.”[1553]
In October 1537 Sir Geoffrey Pole went to court, “but the King would not
suffer him to come in.”[1554] Thus banished he went down to Bockmore,
his brother’s place in Buckinghamshire, and was received again into
Montague’s confidence. “Geoffrey, God loveth us well,” was Montague’s
greeting, “that will not suffer us to be amongst them; for none rule
about the court but knaves.”[1555]
One night Montague told Sir Geoffrey “lying in bed” that he had just
dreamt that the King was dead. “And now,” quoth he, “we shall see some
ruffling and bid Mr Cromwell good deane with all his devises.”[1556]
Later he said, “The King is not dead, but he will one day die suddenly;
his leg will kill him and then we shall have jolly stirring.”[1557] It
must have been hope of this day that kept them in England, for they were
well aware of their danger. Starkey, the King’s chaplain, who had
formerly been a great friend of Reginald’s, warned the brothers that “if
the King were not of a good nature,” Cromwell “for one Pole’s sake would
destroy all Poles.”[1558] “The King, to be revenged of Reynold, I fear
will kill us all,” Montague told his brother, and added that he wished
they were both with the Bishop of St Luke [Luik _i.e._ Liége], who was
an honest man and a friend of the Cardinal. “Marry,” said Sir Geoffrey,
“an you fear such jeopardy, let us be walking hence quickly.”[1559] But
Montague could by no means make up his mind to fly, though Geoffrey
often urged it upon him. Reginald, when Geoffrey wished to join him, had
advised them both to “tarry in England and hold up yea and nay
there.”[1560] A non-committal attitude was impossible to Montague, but
he determined to await the issue at home.
Sir Geoffrey was anxious to leave the realm for other besides political
reasons. He often urged Hugh Holland to contrive his escape, with
promises of ample reward when he reached Reginald’s friends, but Holland
was afraid to do more than he had already done and always refused[1561].
Sir Geoffrey lacked ready money, and his debts were “a great occasion
for him to flee.” In this extremity he turned for help to George
Croftes, the chancellor of Chichester Cathedral. Croftes was an
ecclesiastic of the old school. When the Supremacy Act was passed he
prepared to leave the country rather than take the oath, but Lord
Delaware, his intimate friend, persuaded him to conform[1562]. Sir
Geoffrey told Croftes that he was determined to leave England with the
next fair wind, for safeguard of his life. Croftes lent him twenty
nobles to help him on his journey.
Next morning Croftes wrote to Sir Geoffrey advising him to stay in
England, for “he had the most marvellous dream that night that ever he
had in his life, and that he thought Our Lady did appear unto him and
she wed [_i.e._ _pledged_] him that it should be the destruction of the
said Sir Geoffrey and of all his kin if he departed the realm.”[1563]
The dream must have impressed Sir Geoffrey, for he gave up his plan and
returned the twenty nobles[1564]. Croftes went to John Collins,
Montague’s chaplain, and told him the whole matter, begging him to ask
his master to pay Sir Geoffrey’s debts. “Whereupon there was a way taken
by the said Lord Montague that all his said debts amounting to a great
sum were paid.”[1565]
It is sad that this good-hearted old priest should have all unwittingly
brought their fate on the heads of the house of Pole. Dreams were the
curse of the White Rose party.
NOTES TO CHAPTER XXII
Note A. “Spes mea in Deo est” was a motto much used in the decoration of
the Countess’s house at Warblington[1566].
Note B. The letter is printed in full by Froude, op. cit. II, chap. XIV,
and by Merriman, op. cit. II, no. 218. It has so often been quoted and
is so deservedly well known that it is necessary to include only a few
quotations which are very much to the point.
Note C. Early in August 1914 a civilian was travelling in a carriage
full of young miners just embodied in their Territorial unit and in the
wildest spirits. “I suppose you’re longing to meet a German?” he asked
one of them. “By! If I meets a Garman, I’m off,” said the lad. He was
certainly avowing an intention to desert in action; but I wonder if he
did? Froude was too hard upon the unfortunate Sir Geoffrey Pole in
several respects. This was partly owing to the fact that he had not the
full evidence, arranged and dated, before him.
Note D. This speech is pieced together from three different reports of
the same words.