More met for the first time his lifelong friend, the celebrated Erasmus.
Erasmus, the most learned and witty man of his time, came over from
Holland to stay with his former pupil, lord Mountjoy, in his country
house, and while there the young lawyer was invited also to pay a visit
and to make acquaintance with the famous scholar. In spite of the ten
years difference in their ages--More was then twenty-one and Erasmus
ten years older--they took pleasure in almost exactly the same things,
and in their walks through the woods and about the neighbouring villages
would discuss merrily, in Latin of course, all manner of subjects.[1]
One day the two bent their steps to the place where Henry VII.'s younger
children were living, under the care of tutors and ladies. Princess
Margaret, the eldest, afterwards queen of Scotland, stood solemnly
beside her brother Henry, aged nine, who received them with the grand
manner he could always put on when he chose. Princess Mary, at that time
four years old, was kneeling on the floor playing with her dog, and paid
no heed to the visitors, whom she thought old and dull. Erasmus was
astonished to notice More present prince Henry with a roll on which
something, he could not tell what, was written. The prince took it with
a smile, and then looked at Erasmus, who guessed directly that a similar
offering was expected from him also; and this was confirmed by a message
sent him by Henry while the guests were dining, to say how much he hoped
to receive some remembrance of the visit of the great scholar. The
Dutchman, thus pressed, returned answer that had he dreamed his highness
would value any work from his poor pen, he would certainly have prepared
himself, but having been taken by surprise, he could only ask grace for
three days, by which time he would have composed a poem, however
unworthy.
[Footnote 1: On parting, they promised to write to each other, and many
letters passed between them in the three years that Erasmus remained in
England. Previous to his departure, they met once more in lord
Mountjoy's house, and there their walk and talks were resumed.]
The poem when written was of some length, and full of the praises of the
king, his country, and his children. It does not sound amusing, and
probably Henry, content with possessing what in these days we should
call 'Erasmus's autograph,' did not trouble himself to read much of it.
[Illustration: Erasmus was astonished to notice More present Prince
Henry with a roll.]
For three years More held his readership; then he seems to have had a
wish to become a priest, and, in his son-in-law's words, 'gave himself
to devotion and prayer in the Charterhouse of London, religiously
living there, without vow, about four years.'
Religious More remained all his life, but at the end of the four years
he felt that his place was in the world rather than in a monastery, and
this decision was largely helped by a visit he paid to master Colt in
Essex, a gentleman with three daughters. 'Albeit,' says Roper, 'his mind
most served him to the second daughter, for that he thought her the
fairest and best favoured, yet when he considered that it would be both
great grief and some shame also to the eldest to see her younger sister
preferred before her in marriage, he then, of a certain pity, framed his
fancy toward her and married her.'
This was indeed being good-natured and obliging, and one hopes that the
bride never guessed the reason why he had asked her to be his wife. The
young couple settled down in Bucklersbury in the City, and More
continued his studies at Lincoln's Inn and his attendance at
Westminster, for he had been elected a member of Parliament almost as
soon as he left the Charterhouse and before his marriage. Very early he
had given proof that he did not intend 'to pin his conscience to another
man's back' by refusing to vote for a large grant of money demanded by
Henry VII. as a dowry for his eldest daughter. Chiefly owing to More,
the grant was refused, and 'the king,' according to Roper, 'conceiving
great indignation towards him, could not be satisfied until he had in
some way revenged it. And for as much as he (Thomas) nothing having,
nothing could lose, his grace (the king) devised a causeless quarrel
against his father (the elder More), keeping him in the Tower till he
had made him pay a hundred pounds fine.'
No doubt it was very hard for the More family to raise the money, equal
to about 1,200 l. in our day, and Thomas's heart was hot with wrath. He
angrily spurned various attempts made to gain him over, and 'for some
time thought of leaving England and trying his fortune in other lands.'
In fact, he did pay a short visit both to the Low Countries and to
Paris, but he could not make up his mind to settle in either, and
decided that he could do better for his wife and small children by
continuing his practice at the Bar. The next year Henry VII. died, and
More hoped that a new era was beginning.
* * * * *
The household in Bucklersbury was as happy as any that could have been
found in London. Its mistress, Joan Colt, was, when she married, a
country girl, cleverer at making possets and drying herbs than at
reading books or playing on the viol. But More, who charmed everybody,
easily charmed his wife, and to please him she studied whatever books he
gave her, and worked hard at her music. But after five years she died,
leaving him with four babies, Margaret, Elizabeth, Cicely, and John, and
in a few months More saw himself obliged to marry again. This time he
chose a widow with a daughter of her own--a lady 'neither young nor
handsome,' as he tells Erasmus--but an excellent housekeeper, and the
best of mothers to his children.
* * * * *
More soon became known not only as an honest man above all bribery, but
as a generous one who would often refuse to take payment for pleading
the cause of a poor man or a widow. His practice at the Bar increased,
and he was made a judge, or under-sheriff, his income reaching 400 l. a
year, which would now be reckoned about 5,000 l. He needed it all, for
besides his own four children and his stepdaughter he had adopted
another girl. This girl, Margaret Gigs, afterwards married a learned
man, Dr. Clements, who lived in More's house, and probably shared with
John Harris the duties of secretary and of tutor in Greek and Latin to
the children. We must not forget either the 'fool,' Henry Patenson, or
sir Thomas's special friend and confidant, William Roper, by-and-by to
be the husband of More's favourite daughter, Margaret, and the man to
whom his heart opened more freely than to anyone else.
* * * * *
It naturally took a good deal of money to support this large household
and to save something for the children, as well as to bestow a tenth
part of his income on the poor, as was More's rule through life. His
charity did not consist in giving to everyone that asked, thereby doing
more harm than good, but he went himself to the cottage to make sure
that the tale he heard was true, and then would gladly spend what was
needed to set the family in the way of earning their own living. If they
proved to be ill, dame Alice, whose heart was soft though her words were
harsh, would bid one of the girls take them nourishing food or possets,
and often the poor pensioners would be invited to the house, to share
the family dinner. At other times the guests would be men of learning,
such as Colet, afterwards dean of St. Paul's, and founder of St. Paul's
School, now moved to Hammersmith; Linacre or Grocyn, old friends of long
ago; and of course Erasmus, if he happened to be in London. Poor dame
Alice must have had a dull time of it, for while the room rang with
merry jests in Latin, flavoured sometimes with a little Greek, and even
the children could join in the laughter, she alone was ignorant of the
matter, and felt as a deaf man feels when he watches people dancing to
music that he cannot hear. She must have welcomed the moment when they
left the table, and she could show off the skill she had gained since
her marriage on four musical instruments, on which, to please her
husband, she practised daily--for no man ever lived who was as clever
as Sir Thomas in coaxing people to do as he wished. Quite meekly, though
she had a quick temper, she bore his teasing remarks as he watched her
'binding up her hair to make her a fair large forehead, and with
strait-bracing in her body to make her middle small, both twain to her
great pain'; while she on her part was frequently vexed that he 'refused
to go forward with the best,' and had no wish 'greatly to get upward in
the world.'
* * * * *
Yet, in spite of the modesty which vexed his wife so much, More's fame
grew daily wider. The king, Henry VIII., who at this time was at his
best, had always kept an eye on him, and soon bade Wolsey seek him out.
Now More and Wolsey were so different in their ways and in their views
that they could never have become real friends, for while Wolsey was
ambitious, More was always content with what he had, and never desired
to thrust himself into notice. At first he resisted the cardinal's
advances; but rudeness was impossible to him, and as there was no means
of checking Wolsey's persistence, he had to put aside his own feelings
and appear both at the cardinal's house and at court. Indeed, such good
company did Henry find him that, as quick to take fancies as he was to
tire of them, he would hardly allow the poor man to spend an evening
alone, so sir Thomas in despair gave up being amusing, and sat silent,
though no doubt with a twinkle in his eye, resisting all the king's
efforts to make him speak, till at length everyone grew weary of him,
and his place was filled by some livelier man.
How Sir Thomas laughed, and what funny stories he told about it all,
when he had gained his object, at his own table.
[Illustration: Sir Thomas sat silent.]
So the years slipped by, and brought with them many unsought honours to
sir Thomas. Several times he was sent abroad on missions which needed
an honest man, as well as a shrewd one, to carry them through. Sometimes
he was the envoy of the citizens of London, sometimes of the king
himself, and he was present at the wonderful display of magnificence
known to history as 'The Field of the Cloth of Gold'--the meeting of
Francis of France, Henry of England, and the emperor Charles V. He had
remained in London during the fearful time of the sweating sickness, to
which people would fall victims while opening a window, playing with
their children, or even lying asleep. Death followed almost at once, and
'if the half in every town escaped it was thought great favour.' It
spared the house in Bishopsgate in which More had for some time been
living, and where he stayed till, four years later, he moved to a
country place at Chelsea.
Few men have held more dignities than sir Thomas More, or have earned
greater respect in the holding. Within eight years he was
Under-Treasurer, or, as we should say, Chancellor of the Exchequer,
Speaker of the House of Commons, and finally Lord Chancellor. Even dame
Alice must have been satisfied; but her content only lasted three years,
as by that time events had occurred which made it necessary either for
sir Thomas to resign the Great Seal always entrusted to the lord
chancellor, or else 'to tie his conscience to another man's back,' and
that back the king's.
* * * * *
In 1531 Henry had decided to divorce his wife, Katherine of Aragon, and
to marry in her stead the beautiful Anne Boleyn. His desire met with
violent opposition from almost all churchmen, and from many statesmen,
among whom was sir Thomas More. The pope, of course, entirely refused
his consent to any such violation of the law, and Henry, whom resistance
only made more obstinate, suddenly resolved to cut himself off
altogether from Rome, and declare that he, and not the pope, was the
head of the English church. This meant that he could do as he pleased
and make his own laws, and he lost no time in demanding the assent of
Parliament to his new claim, and afterwards that of the clergy. Once
these were obtained, there would be nothing to hinder him from divorcing
his first wife and marrying his second. In fact, he would be his own
pope.
* * * * *
For a year the battle raged fiercely, and More watched anxiously for the
issue. He withdrew himself as far as possible from the king, and kept as
much as might be to his own business. At length Henry was victorious.
The greater part of the clergy cast off their allegiance to the pope and
took the oath required by the king. Sir Thomas saw and understood, and
placed his resignation as lord chancellor in the hands of his sovereign.
The loss of his office left More a poor man, and to support the whole
family in Chelsea he had only an income of 1,200 l. a year. To his
great regret, he felt he could no longer lead the easy, happy life that
had been so pleasant to him. So the various married men, husbands of the
girls of the house, took away their wives and sought employment
elsewhere. Only the Ropers remained at hand.
Sir Thomas himself was glad enough to be free of his duties, and to have
time to read books and to prepare himself for the trial of faith that
was sure to come, though at present the king had only fair words for
him, and the clergy had subscribed a large sum as a proof of the esteem
in which they held him. More was much touched and pleased with this
gift, but he refused to accept it, or to allow his family to do so;
instead, he sold his plate and bade dame Alice be careful of her
household expenses.
If left to himself, Henry might perhaps have allowed sir Thomas, whom
he undoubtedly liked, to remain in peace, but his absence from her
coronation rankled deep in Anne Boleyn's heart. The late chancellor was
a man of mark in the sight of Europe, and could count famous men of all
nations among his friends. If he could not be gained over, he must be
punished, for the eyes of England were upon him, and he had but to hold
up his hand for many to follow. So he was one of the first bidden to
take the oath, swearing to put aside the claims of the princess Mary,
daughter of Katherine of Aragon, and to settle the crown on the children
of the new queen.
It was in April 1534 that More was summoned before the royal
commissioners, consisting of Audley, who had succeeded him in the
chancellorship, the abbot of Westminster, Thomas Cromwell as secretary
of state, and Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury. At More's own request,
the Act of Succession, as it was called, was given into his hand, and he
read it through. When he had finished, he informed the commissioners
that he had nothing to say as to the Act itself or to the people that
took the oath, but that he himself must refuse.
It was probably no more than they expected; but Audley replied that he
was very sorry for it, as no man before had declined to swear, and that
sir Thomas might see for himself the names of those who had already
signed, whose consciences were perhaps as tender as his own. More
glanced down the long roll unfolded before him, but only repeated his
answer, nor could any persuasions induce him to give a different one. He
was willing, it seems, to take an oath of obedience to the sovereign and
his successors, but what he would _not_ do was to swear that the king
was the head of the church, and some words declaring this had been
introduced--whether carelessly or wilfully we do not know--into the Act
of Succession, with which they had nothing to do. It was his refusal to
take this part of the oath which caused the downfall of More.
* * * * *
For four days sir Thomas remained a prisoner in the care of the abbot of
Westminster; then he was sent to the Tower. Sir Richard Southwell
conveyed him there and placed him under the custody of the lieutenant of
the Tower, sir Edmund Walsingham, an old friend of the More family. As
appears to have been the custom, his cap and outside gown were taken
from him and kept by the porter, and a man set to spy upon his actions.
This was sorely against the wishes of his gaoler, who would fain have
made More's captivity in the Beauchamp Tower as light as might be; but
at first it was needful to be very strict, lest inquiries should be
made. Later, he was for a while allowed writing materials; he went to
church in St. Peter ad Vincula, where so many famous captives lie
buried, and occasionally walked in the garden, or took exercise in the
narrow walk outside his cell. By-and-by, too, occasional visits from his
family were permitted; his stepdaughter, lady Alington, came to see him,
and so did her mother, dame Alice, More's daughter-in-law Anne, and most
frequently of all his daughter Margaret.
With these indulgences he might have been content, for all his life he
had made the best of things, but the expenses of his captivity weighed
on his soul. The barest food for himself and his servant cost him
fifteen shillings a week (over 5 l. now), and some months later, when
he was convicted of high treason and the lands granted him by the king
were taken from him, his wife was forced to sell her own clothes so that
the money might be paid. But this, we may hope, she kept from sir
Thomas, whose body was bent and broken by painful diseases, though his
spirit was as cheerful as ever. He could even 'inwardly' laugh at dame
Alice when she came to see him for complaining that she would die for
want of air if she was left all night in a locked cell, when 'he knew
full well that every night she shut her own chamber, both doors and
windows, and what was the difference if the doors were locked or not?'
But he durst not laugh aloud nor say anything to her, for, indeed, he
stood somewhat in awe of her.
Most of the hours were passed during the first months of his captivity
in writing books in English or Latin; but when pen and paper were taken
from him, and he could only scribble a few words with the end of a
charred stick, he had plenty of time to think over his life and to
recall the years that had been so happy. The harsh words that he had
written about men whose religion was different from his own did not
trouble him, nor the thought of the imprisonment to which he had
sentenced many of them. In those days everyone held his own religion to
be right, and any that differed from it to be wrong, and though sir
Thomas never would, and never did, send any man to the block for his
faith, yet he would have considered that he had failed in his duty had
he left them at liberty to teach their 'wicked opinions.' So his mind
did not dwell upon those things, but rather upon his coming death, which
he well foresaw, and upon the old days in Bishopsgate and Chelsea, when
he would examine his children in the lessons they had learned, or set
all the girls to write letters in Latin to his friend Erasmus, that he
might see which of them proved to have the most skill. From time to time
during this year efforts were made to gain him over to the side of the
king, who would have given him almost anything he asked as the price of
his conscience. Even Margaret Roper joined with the rest, and begged him
to consider whether it was not his duty to obey the Parliament, and to
remember that it was possible that he might be mistaken in his refusal,
as so many good men and true had taken the oath. But nothing would move
sir Thomas.
[Illustration: 'What now, Mother Eve?' he answered.]
'What now, Mother Eve?' he answered. 'Sit not musing with some serpent
in your breast, or some new persuasion to offer Father Adam the apple
yet once again.'
'I have sworn myself,' said she, and at this More laughed and replied:
'That was like Eve, too, for she offered Adam no worse fruit than she
had eaten herself.'
Finding that his daughter's persuasions were useless, the king and
council sent Cromwell to see if by fair words or threats he could induce
More to declare that the king was head of the church. But, try as he
might, nothing either treasonable or submissive could be wrung from the
prisoner.
'I am the king's true, faithful subject, and pray for his highness, and
all his, and all the realm,' said sir Thomas. 'I do nobody none harm, I
say none harm, I think none harm, but wish everybody good, and if this
be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith I long not to live. And
I am dying already, and have since I came here been many times in the
case that I thought to die within one hour. And therefore my poor body
is at the king's pleasure.' Then Cromwell took his leave 'full gently,'
promising to make report to the king.
Lord Cromwell having failed also, the whole council next came and put
forth all their skill, with no better result; and it was then determined
to bring sir Thomas out of the Tower, and to try him at Westminster on
the charge of treason. Neither the prisoner nor the judges had any doubt
as to what the verdict would be; but whatever his thoughts as to the
future, More must have rejoiced to be rowing once more on the Thames,
with the air and sunlight all around him, and after a year's confinement
even the sight of Westminster Hall and the assembly met together, as he
knew, to doom him would have been full of interest. He was allowed a
chair, for his legs were so swollen that he could hardly have stood; and
then began the trial which a late lord chancellor has called 'the
blackest crime under the name of the law ever committed in England.' At
the close, sentence was passed. More had been proved guilty of treason,
and was to be hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn.
The constable of the Tower, sir William Kingston, sir Thomas's 'very
dear friend,' conducted the condemned man back to prison, and so
sorrowful was the constable's face that any man would have thought that
it was he who was condemned to death. Margaret Roper was waiting on the
wharf, and as her father landed from the barge she flung herself into
his arms, 'having neither respect to herself, nor to the press of people
that were about him.' He whispered some words of comfort and gave her
his blessing, and 'the beholding thereof was to many present so
lamentable that it made them to weep.'
* * * * *
The last shame of hanging was after all not inflicted on him, and the
King decreed that his faithful servant and merry companion should be
executed on Tower Hill, like the rest of the men whose bodies lie in the
church of St. Peter ad Vincula within the Tower walls. The day before
his beheading sir Thomas wrote with a charred stick to Margaret, leaving
her the hair shirt he had always worn under his clothes, and messages
and little remembrances to the rest of the old household. Oddly enough,
his wife is never mentioned.
* * * * *
Very early in the morning of July 6 the king sent sir Thomas Pope to
tell More he was to die before the clock struck nine, and to say that
'he was not to use many words' on the scaffold, evidently fearing lest
the minds of the crowd might be stirred up to avenge his murder.
More answered that he had never meant to say anything at which the king
could be offended, and begged that his daughter Margaret might be
present at his burial. Pope replied that the king had given permission
for his wife and children and any other of his friends to be there, and
sir Thomas thanked him, and then put on a handsome dress of silk which
had been provided on purpose by the Italian Bonvisi.
But sir Thomas was not allowed to be at peace during the short walk
between the Beauchamp Tower and the block, for he was beset first by a
woman who wished to know where he had put some papers of hers when he
was sent to prison, and then by a second, upbraiding him with a judgment
he had given against her when he was chancellor.
'I remember you well, and should give judgment against you still,' said
he; but at length the crowd was kept back, and a path was kept to the
scaffold.
Roper was there, watching, and he noticed that the ladder leading to the
platform was very unsteady. Sir Thomas noticed it too, and with his foot
on the first step turned and said to the lieutenant of the Tower:
'I pray thee see me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for
myself.'
When he reached the top, he knelt down and prayed; then rising, kissed
the executioner, and said:
'Pluck up thy spirits, man, and be not afraid to do thine office. My
neck is very short, take heed therefore thou strike not awry.' As he
spoke, he drew out a handkerchief he had brought with him, and, binding
it over his eyes, he stretched himself out on the platform and laid his
head on the block.
* * * * *
Thus died sir Thomas More, because he would not tie his conscience to
another man's back, for he had no enemies save those who felt that this
courage put them to shame, and he had striven all his life to do harm to
no one. After his death, his head, as was the custom, was placed on a
stake, and shown as the head of a traitor on London Bridge for a month,
till Margaret Roper bribed a man to steal it for her, and, wrapping it
round with spices, she hid it in a safe place. It is possible that she
laid it in a vault belonging to the Roper family, in St. Dunstan's
Church in Canterbury, but she herself lies with her mother, in the old
church of Chelsea, where sir Thomas 'did mind to be buried.'
* * * * *
What the king's feelings were when he heard that the act of vengeance
had been accomplished we know not, but the emperor Charles V. spoke his
mind plainly to the English ambassador, sir Thomas Eliott.
'My Lord ambassador, we understand that the king your master hath put
his faithful servant sir Thomas More to death.'
Whereupon sir Thomas Eliott answered 'that he understood nothing
thereof.'
'Well,' said the emperor, 'it is too true; and this we will say, that
had we been master of such a servant, of whose doings ourselves have had
these many years no small experience, we would rather have lost the best
city of our dominions than such a worthy counsellor.'
THE LITTLE ABBESS
A nun!