by Gwyn, Peter
Someone who gave Pace a good deal of trouble in these years was Sir Robert Wingfield, the English ambassador to Maximilian; Wingfield even devoted part of a report he wrote in June 1516 to explaining why he thought Pace was a bad choice as royal secretary.43 Wingfield comes quite close to being that figure it was denied then existed, the career diplomat, and, ironically, he also appears to have been the weak link in the diplomatic chain. First sent on a mission to the Emperor Maximilian by Henry VII in 1508, he remained with him on and off until the summer of 1517, all the time, as he himself remarked, gathering white hairs in the cold snowy mountains of Germany.44 One has some sympathy with Wingfield, chasing around Europe after that most peripatetic of emperors. But as a colleague his sense of his own importance must have been tiresome, and he showed no capacity to analyse or evaluate the man he was paid to report on. Violently anti-French,45 he considered that all Maximilian’s deeds and thoughts proceeded ex Spiritu Sancto46 – despite all the evidence to the contrary.
Someone with as great an experience of diplomacy as Wingfield but from a very different background, was Thomas Spinelly. He belongs to that rather special category of foreigners, often Italian, who made a career for themselves acting for states other than their own.47 Originally a Florentine merchant based in Flanders, he came to act as Henry VII’s agent at the court of Margaret of Austria – then regent in the Low Countries – and continued in that post under Henry VIII.48 In 1513 he was knighted. Spinelly’s contacts at Margaret’s court appear to be very close, so much so that at one stage Wolsey feared that he might be passing on English secrets to the new regents. In fact, his mistrust probably arose just because Spinelly’s reports were so accurate and well informed, and anyway it soon passed.49
The last diplomat to deserve special mention is William Knight. In 1512 he had taken part in the ill-starred expedition to Guienne, from whence he had reported to Wolsey the inadequacies of the English commanders. In May 1515 he had been accredited to the court of the Duke Charles. He returned in February 1516, only to be sent back in the January of the following year, along with Worcester, this time with the specific task of negotiating with Maximilian. This was never easy, but Knight very quickly got the measure of the emperor, and it was he who in February reported the well-known words of Maximilian to Charles: ‘Mon fils vous allez tromper les Français; et moi, je vais tromper les Anglais.’ At the same time Knight strongly recommended to Wolsey that the policy of trying to build up an anti-French alliance should cease, as being a waste of money.50 Knight was always very ready with advice, but then in early 1517 so were most of England’s diplomats.
A major source of information for all governments was the Roman Curia, if only because it was necessary for all the powers of Europe to have some kind of representation there. There was all the routine ecclesiastical business to be dealt with: provisions, annates, appeals, dispensations. But much of it was not routine. The monarchs of Europe were always wanting particular favours from the papacy, whether it was the granting of the cardinal’s hat to a royal favourite, or permission to raise a clerical tenth. Then again, quite apart from any more general European significance the spiritual headship of Europe gave it, Italy had for some time been the most contentious area in Europe, and there the papacy was a leading temporal power. Thus, for one reason or another, everybody wanted papal support, and Rome had become the diplomatic centre of Europe. It is, therefore, surprising, especially given the usual picture of a Wolsey only too anxious to please the papacy, that during the years 1515-18 there was no English diplomat resident in Rome. Instead, Wolsey relied on foreign churchmen with close connections at the Curia, in particular Cardinal Adriano Castellessi, bishop of Bath and Wells, and Silvestro Gigli, bishop of Worcester. As these two men spent most of their time fighting each other, at least until the summer of 1517 when Cardinal Adriano became involved in a plot to overthrow the pope and had to flee from Rome, English representation was particularly unsatisfactory. However, this does not appear to have prevented reasonably accurate accounts of Leo X’s intentions from reaching Wolsey.51
English diplomats and agents were not the only sources of information. Robert Wingfield’s brother, Richard, as lord deputy of Calais,52 and successive governors of Tournai were also well placed to gather news and, of course, in their exposed positions it was important that they did so, especially any news of French troop movements. It was they who were most involved in the organization of the English spy network.53 This was concentrated not only on Francis I’s movements and intentions, but also on those of the White Rose, Richard de la Pole, the last survivor of a family whose claim to the English throne had caused Henry VII, and indeed to some extent his son, so much anxiety. De la Pole was at this time resident in the Imperial city of Metz, where he had been banished in 1514 by Louis XII as part of the peace treaty with England. There English spies were constantly sent to infiltrate his household, not only in order to collect information but also to attempt, though without success, his assassination.54
Yet another source of information was the foreign ambassadors in England, whether they were resident or sent on particular missions. The reports that they sent back home are also a major source for the historian, especially at this time those of the Venetian ambassador, Sebastian Giustinian. Arriving in April 1515, he sent back a vivid account of the running battle that he conducted with Wolsey during the next four years, from which both emerge with some credit. Giustinian was in a difficult position. Venice had no real quarrel with England but, as an ally of France and the chief enemy of England’s ally Maximilian, her relationship with England could not be easy. Giustinian tried to avoid an open breach, while at the same time putting in a good word for France. Wolsey’s chief aim was to separate Venice from France, and to this end he used every means at his disposal. Affable, charming, conciliatory, conspiratorial – or on the other hand aggressive, insolent, rabid, almost violent – he could be all these things in turn, but the historian must be careful, just as Giustinian was, to take into account the element of calculation in these changing moods.55
Moreover Wolsey had a second purpose, almost as important as the first. He wanted to use Giustinian to pass messages and warnings, via the Venetian ambassador in France, to the French king.56 This obviously makes the interpretation of Giustinian’s reports all the more difficult. For instance, when in the summer of 1515 Henry and Wolsey boasted – and the assumption throughout this study is that in their dealings, as with everything else, king and minister worked very closely together57 – that Francis I would do whatever England told him to, this was not mere arrogance or presumption.58 Rather their intention was first to warn Venice that it was England who was the real power on the European scene. Secondly, with the string of complaints that inevitably followed, they were hoping that England’s worries about Francis’s activity would be passed on to the French king, and that he would take the hint. All this comes out quite clearly in a report of an after-dinner conversation with Wolsey that Giustinian sent back to Venice in July 1515. First came the boast. Francis would not cross the Alps into Italy this year, unless Henry allowed him to. Then came the complaints, and they were many: ‘He never writes hither; he does not communicate any of his secrets; he treats all Englishmen as enemies …; he has sent the Duke of Albany into Scotland.’ Wolsey then mentioned that Henry had offered his services in reconciling the French and the Swiss after the Swiss defeat at Marignano, but instead of thanks he had got no reply at all.
Think, sir ambassadors [the out-going ambassador was with Giustinian during the conversation], whether this to be borne, and say if these are the fashions of confederates. Per Deum, Rex noster decrevit servare honorem at existimationem suam. This, indeed, I tell you, that should he alter his style, this King will change his mind; let King Francis evince regard and esteem and trust in him, communicating his affairs, treating his Majesty’s subjects well, and not attacking our ships; in this case the King will keep the covenant agreed on, and not swerve thence unless goaded by l
egitimate causes.
Wolsey followed this up with one of his favourite ploys, which was to stress that friendship with France was opposed by everyone in England except himself, and thus that he could maintain it only if the French did what he told them to. His final throw was another boast – that the pope would do what he and Henry wanted him to do – which was, of course, quite untrue. But merely to suggest that this was the case would put pressure on the ambassador because there was just the outside possibility that Wolsey was right, or knew something that the ambassador did not. And in this kind of way the ambassador was put at a disadvantage.59
‘Pressure diplomacy’ was the name of the game, and throughout his four years in London Giustinian was being either cajoled, or threatened, or, most dangerous of all, given helpful advice by a master in the art of negotiation. But if sometimes Wolsey’s purpose was to use him to put pressure on Venice’s ally, France, his principal objective was that already referred to, the breaking of their alliance – and he was unscrupulous about the methods he employed. His favourite gambit was to suggest that he had reason to believe that France was playing a double game, even to the extent of secretly negotiating with Venice’s arch-enemy, Maximilian.60 This warning would be uttered as if Wolsey was conferring a special favour: I am only giving you this information out of my great regard for you, and what is more you should believe it because a cardinal would not lie.61 It should be said at once that Giustinian was never really fooled – as he once informed the Doge, ‘his right reverend lordship never says what he means’62 – but, nonetheless, everything Wolsey said was reported back. Wolsey did not succeed in destroying Venice’s faith in France but it must have given her much cause for thought. And as regards this particular piece of ‘advice’,63 there was good reason for taking it seriously. At Cambrai in March 1517 an elaborate plan was worked out for dividing up Northern Italy between Maximilian, Charles and Francis, under which Venice would have been divided between the first two.64 Wolsey got wind of this,65 but he had used the possibility of something similar happening long before Cambrai. Thus, on most occasions when he suggested to Giustinian that France was conspiring against Venice, he was indulging in what might be called a diplomatic lie, but one that could not easily be ignored. This made life difficult for Giustinian, and it continues to make life difficult for the historian who is always having to decide what was or was not a diplomatic lie.
There are other problems. An ambassador would not be human if, in his reports home, he did not try and present his own conduct in the most favourable light, often by stressing the difficulties he faced. There was also a strong temptation to flatter his superiors. These two things combined in Giustinian to produce this recurrent scenario: everybody in England loves Venice, and indeed myself, with the one great exception, Wolsey. He, unfortunately, has managed to gain control of the government. But do not despair. There is plenty of opposition to him, and very soon all will be well.66 In this kind of way, Giustinian exaggerated the extent of opposition to policies or people that his government was opposed to, and it was a tendency that all ambassadors shared.67 Furthermore, they were not as well informed as a superficial reading of their reports might indicate. It must never be forgotten that they were not privy to the inner workings of the government’s mind, and, as has been shown in Giustinian’s dealings with Wolsey, for the most part they had to rely on what was being deliberately fed to them, which was not always the truth. For all these reasons their reports are the most difficult evidence to evaluate, which, nevertheless, does not prevent Giustinian’s from providing the most complete picture of Wolsey at work that has survived.
One more episode described by Giustinian will serve to bring out some of these points. On 10 February 1517 he reported interviews with both Henry and Wolsey at which he had informed them of Venice’s recovery of Verona from Maximilian.68 This news, he wrote, had been received by both men with astonishment. If Giustinian was right, then their conduct of foreign policy must be considered very incompetent indeed: the English diplomatic machinery should have got wind of such an important matter before Henry and Wolsey were told about it by the Venetian ambassador. Even if they did not know about it, they should have been sufficiently aware of the possibility to contain their astonishment. In fact, the truth is rather different. For at least the previous six weeks news had been reaching England of Maximilian’s negotiations with the French, despite the fact that on 8 December he had confirmed his earlier treaty with England.69 It is true that to begin with Wolsey did not believe the news; or rather, because he was aware that the emperor might be tempted to ‘play on both hands, using the nature of a participle which taketh partem a nomine et partem a verbo’, he wanted it closely checked. This he asked to be done in a letter written on Christmas day, well over a month before the interview with Giustinian.70 In the meantime, though there was little hard information to be had – not surprisingly as Maximilian was doing every thing possible to confuse the issue – the drift of the reports coming in to Wolsey was that Maximilian had indeed done a deal with the French. Confirmation was provided by a letter from Cardinal Schinner of 4 February – essentially an apologia for Maximilian’s surrender of Verona.71 This may or may not have reached England before the 10th – four to five days was about the average time letters took from the Low Countries, where Schinner was – but the point is that neither Henry nor Wolsey would have needed that letter to alert them that Maximilian’s ‘sale’ of Verona was on the cards.
Why, then, did they show ‘astonishment’? Of course, Giustinian may have exaggerated. The recovery of Verona was a great coup for Venice, and one, what is more, which Wolsey had always maintained would not take place. Not surprisingly, therefore, Giustinian was in the mood to enjoy his moment of glory, and to share that enjoyment with his superiors. But it is unlikely that he would have wholly invented Henry’s and Wolsey’s reaction, so the question remains. The answer is probably that by playing dumb they gave nothing away and hoped to gain more information. In particular, even after Schinner’s letter they were anxious to ascertain whether the report was true. They had heard so many rumours, but nothing definite, and it was definite information that they wanted and obtained from Giustinian. That they were play-acting is suggested by Henry’s remark that if the surrender of Verona had taken place with the consent of the emperor, then he was content; and furthermore he rejoiced at whatever proved to be for the welfare and prosperity of Venice. In fact, of course, Maximilian’s agreement with France was a body blow to English plans. Henry’s assertions that it did not matter can only be evidence that, throughout the interview, he was well in control of his feelings because he had been well prepared for the news.
This has been a long story to make a small point, but it is, unfortunately, on such points that an interpretation of Wolsey’s foreign policy has to rest. If Giustinian’s reports of his interviews with Wolsey and Henry are taken at their face value, then a very misleading view of the conduct of foreign policy at this time results. If treated with care, much can be revealed. Meanwhile they have distracted from the general point being made, that in the conduct of foreign policy Wolsey did not fly blind. From the reports of his own ambassadors and other royal officials resident abroad, from his spy network, and from his conversations with foreign ambassadors, he kept himself fully informed about what was going on in Europe, so that ignorance cannot be the excuse for the apparent failure of his policy. But it has been suggested that his policy ran counter to the information and expert advice that he was receiving – and this suggestion needs to be looked at more closely.
On the central issue of Maximilian’s trustworthiness Wolsey hardly required much new information, for he had had plenty of experience in dealing with him in 1513. But Pace’s letters during 1516 and early 1517 were a never-ending stream of abuse about the emperor. He blamed him for the débâcle in front of Milan; he blamed him for taking money intended for the Swiss; and he blamed him for a general unwillingness to co-operate with the Swiss.72 In January 1517
he reported that in Switzerland it was common knowledge that Francis I and Maximilian were about to meet, and he warned Wolsey to be on his guard because ‘Judas [Maximilian] does not sleep’.73 And as ‘Judas’ moved to the Low Countries and news of him became the responsibility of other English ambassadors, they took up the same refrain. We have already seen that they were predicting the ‘sale’ of Verona long before it happened. They were also quick to point out that though Maximilian had promised to remove the regents, he showed no sign of doing so.74 Their removal was vital to the success of Wolsey’s policy. Yet the English diplomats clearly thought that there was no hope of Maximilian ever doing it, and by March 1517 they were suggesting that they should no longer be asked to push the issue, since such efforts were bound to be counter-productive.75 In fact, William Knight had already made this point when he wrote from Brussels on 16 February, saying that he would have liked to prevent the earl of Worcester from making any overture to Maximilian about removing the regents, because, since the emperor was getting on so well with them, they were bound to hear from him of Wolsey’s plan!76 Worcester, of course, was acting under Wolsey’s instructions, so that Knight’s comments ran completely counter to what Wolsey was trying to achieve.
Knight’s despatch of 16 February was in effect a critique of Wolsey’s handling of affairs, but, as he explained to him, if he was not ‘so plain’, he would be deceiving ‘the king and your grace, which I will never do during my life’.77 And apparently his fellow ambassadors were just as anxious not to deceive! Only four days earlier Worcester and Tunstall were advising Henry to shut his purse,78 while on 18 February Tunstall pointed out that it was foolish to think that Charles would ever confirm the league with Maximilian and Henry so long as the clause containing English financial claims on France remained; far better not to go pushing for its inclusion because to do so would only result in ‘strangers’ taking the bridle of English affairs. Henry should draw his foot out of the affair gently as if he perceived it not, giving good words for good words, ‘which yet they give us, thinking our heads to be so gross that we perceive not their abuses.’79 Shortly afterwards Tunstall was instructed to continue to push for the confirmation of the league, though a complicated compromise over the controversial clause, involving Maximilian’s arbitration, was grudgingly suggested.80 Tunstall remained unconvinced, as his joint letter with Worcester of 6 March addressed to Henry made clear: