by Gwyn, Peter
From the bishops’ point of view, too, there were some advantages in Wolsey’s legatine ascendancy. Of course, they were shrewd enough to appreciate that Wolsey was first and foremost the king’s man as, indeed, in many respects they were. What they wanted was protection from the Crown lawyers, from fellow clergy such as Veysey and Franciscans such as Standish, who took the Crown’s side in any jurisdictional conflict; and this they hoped someone with Wolsey’s influence with the king could achieve. Here Fox’s letter to Wolsey in January 1519 is again helpful, for after he had stressed the importance of the king’s support in carrying out reform, he went on:
As far as I can see this reformation of the clergy and religions will so abate the calumnies of the laity, so advance the honour of the clergy, and so reconcile our sovereign lord the king and his nobility to them and be the most acceptable of all sacrifices to God, that I intend to devote to its furtherance the few remaining years of my life.271
One thing that emerges from this passage – as from the position he took up in the Standish affair272 – is that, despite having been a career churchman and royal servant par excellence, he had still retained, or perhaps had developed, a strong attachment to the Church. But what matters here is that he clearly perceived that what Wolsey was about to do had some relevance to the current conflict between Church and state and, by implication at any rate, that he saw Wolsey as being on the Church’s side. It is not known whether other bishops took a similar view, but it is conceivable that they did. And if so, this would provide a further explanation of why they did not oppose Wolsey’s legatine authority with the vigour that might have been expected. Perhaps even Nix took the point in the end; he of all the bishops had suffered most from royal interference, with his officials being systematically accused of praemunire by Henry VII’s attorney-generals. In attempting to combat this interference he had looked to Warham for support, but it does not look as if his support was very effective. This did not prevent Nix from backing Warham in early 1519, when they had both tried to resist Wolsey’s legatine authority. However, what may have in the end helped both men to accept it was the realization that it might offer some protection to what they saw as a beleaguered Church.
But whatever the reasons for supporting legatine reform, there was one thing that Richard Fox at least was in no doubt about, and that was that serious reform was intended. Indeed, in a moving passage that surely exceeds the requirements of decorum, Fox described his reaction to Wolsey’s summoning of a legatine council on the subject:
This day I have truly longed for, even as Simeon in the Gospel desired to see the Messiah, the expected of men. And in reading your grace’s letter I see before me a more entire and whole reformation of the ecclesiastical hierarchy of the English people than I could have expected, or ever hoped to see completed, or even so much attempted in this age.273
Fox’s words may have been a little excessive, but they do convey a genuine excitement about Wolsey’s intentions, which, it has to be said, most historians have not shared. The bare bones of what Wolsey achieved have already been outlined: the new legatine constitutions for the secular clergy and new statutes for the Benedictine and Augustinian orders, along with some kind of legatine supervision over the remaining ones. The time has now come to try to assess the quality of these reforms. New legislation and new machinery are all very well, but did anything change for the better as a result of their introduction?
It will come as no surprise if it is admitted from the start that there are great difficulties in answering this question. These have not only to do with limitations of the evidence, but perhaps even more so with the criteria to use for judging success. To take one point about evidence: the question was raised earlier whether the legatine constitutions were widely published. The answer given was that probably they were, although only about half a dozen references to them have survived. Must one therefore conclude that they made no impact? In the end that is a judgment that everyone must make for themselves, but what must be borne in mind is that immediately after his fall, Wolsey’s legatine constitutions could only have been an embarrassment to the Church, and for this reason one would not expect to find any reference made to them in the discussions about reform in the early 1530s.274 After the ‘break with Rome’ they would have become an irrelevance. It would also be surprising to find references to them, once they had been locally published, in the diocesan archives. What a bishop and his officials required records for were particular judicial and administrative actions, and the connection between these and any set of constitutions would, in most cases, be too remote to deserve a mention. Since the lack of documentary references cannot, therefore, be taken as a measure of their success or failure the problem – and it is probably insoluble – is to find another yardstick. The verdict of the considerable amount of recent work on the activities of the early Tudor bishops and their administrations has been favourable, and certainly not one that lends support to the common notion of a Church suffering from a terminal illness.275 There were regular visitations of both parishes and monastic institutions, effective church courts, some efforts to supervise the suitability of candidates for ordination, and considerable worries about heresy – though mostly of a Lollard rather than a Lutheran variety. And a feature of the 1520s that has been particularly commented upon is the considerable degree of involvement in the health of their diocese shown by a majority of the bishops. Fisher at Rochester, Fox at Winchester, Longland at Lincoln, Nix at Norwich, Sherborne at Chichester, Veysey at Exeter, Warham at Canterbury and West at Ely, all in their differing ways were much concerned with what went on in their dioceses, and even someone like Blythe of Coventry and Lichfield, not an obvious choice as a distinguished bishop, is known to have preached three visitation sermons and in 1511-12 was actively involved in one of the largest heresy trials to have taken place in England.276 How far the publication of Wolsey’s legatine constitutions helped them in the successful administration of their dioceses, it is impossible to say. Most of them had been involved in drawing them up, and if the evidence of Fisher’s contribution to the legatine council of 1519 can be accepted, they had approached their task with a proper seriousness. At the very least the new constitutions were a statement of intent, and in this respect may have helped to create a climate in which reform and correction could more easily be carried out.
All this is very speculative. For positive evidence of Wolsey’s reforming intentions one has to turn to the monastic institutions. These, it will be remembered, had been the particular concern of the legatine commission of August 1518, the first that Wolsey had secured after throwing off any pretence of intending to further the pope’s plans for a crusade. And insofar as many of these institutions were exempt from episcopal control, they offered scope for a resident legate to make a real contribution. In addition, both the election and deprivation of the heads of monasteries and visitations were administrative and judicial actions whose proceedings were recorded; and some of the resulting documents have survived. Admittedly, Wolsey’s involvement in the choice of monastic heads had very little to do with his legatine powers. Many monastic institutions had long been entitled to ‘compromit’ – that is, to entrust the choice of a new head to whomsoever they pleased. Moreover, of the three ways of choosing a new head, that of ‘compromise’ seems to have been every bit as common as the other two: ‘acclamation’, or by way of the Holy Spirit, in which a new head was unanimously chosen by the chapter, and ‘scrutiny’, in which what would now be considered a proper election took place. Pollard’s passionate concern for democratic procedures led him to denounce the despotism of Wolsey’s intervention in monastic elections, but his onslaught was unfair and misleading.277 The medieval and early modern world did not share Pollard’s concerns, and monastic institutions were no exception. What they were ideally looking for was unanimity in the choice of a new head. Not only was election by ‘scrutiny’ an admission that this did not exist, but it was probably the best way of ensuring that none would exi
st. Furthermore, the virtues of leaving the election to members of a usually very small, inward-looking and perhaps complacent body of men do not seem quite so self-evident as Pollard considered them to be.
The real problem of interpretation should have nothing to do with the virtues of democracy as against despotism, but with whether or not Wolsey deliberately set out to use a recognized procedure by which to appoint monastic heads in order to ensure that men of high calibre were chosen. I have discovered twenty occasions, after he became legate, on which Wolsey was closely involved in a monastic election, and on all but two of these the election appears to have been actually compromitted to him.278 The number is quite large, but until much more work is done on monastic elections in the decades immediately preceding Wolsey’s ascendancy, it would be dangerous to attach too much importance to numbers alone. As bishop, at various times, of four sees, and in virtual control of two more, a large number of elections would have been compromitted to Wolsey, whatever his intentions. What we really need to know is all the circumstances surrounding the elections, because only then would it be possible to make a qualitative judgment about the people Wolsey was appointing and arrive at some conclusion about his intentions. As it is, one has to make do with rather fragmentary evidence, just enough to be worth some attention, but not such as to allow any definite conclusion to be reached.
Glastonbury Abbey was one of the oldest and wealthiest monasteries in the country. It was also one of the select number of Benedictine houses which were exempt from episcopal control. On 20 January 1525 its distinguished abbot, Richard Bere, died. Three weeks later the chapter chose William Benet, an auditor of Wolsey’s legatine court of audience, as director of the election for a new abbot, and then proceeded to compromit the choice to Wolsey, though with the proviso that the person chosen should be a member of their house.279 Although such internal appointments were frequently desired by monastic institutions, they were not necessarily in their best interests, especially if the institution was a small one with few to choose from, or if the religious life of the community was in a bad way. Neither of these things was true of Glastonbury in 1525, and Wolsey, at least, thought that in choosing Richard Whiting from amongst them he had appointed ‘an upright and religious monk, a provident and discreet man, and a priest commendable for his life, virtues, and learning’; and moreover, someone who would protect the laws and liberties of the monastery.280 And however difficult it may be to interpret the causes of Whiting’s eventual ‘martyrdom’ in 1539, there is nothing at all to suggest that Wolsey’s choice was not a good one.281 How far Glastonbury had freely delivered up their choice to Wolsey is impossible to determine. The choice of Benet as director of the election might suggest some pressure from above, especially since he played the same role at the priory of Taunton in 1523 and of Barlinch in 1524, both houses, like Glastonbury, in the diocese of Bath and Wells.282 So perhaps, although not all elections in the diocese were compromitted to Wolsey, Benet had some watching brief from Wolsey over monastic elections in the diocese.
The elections that took place at St Augustine’s, Bristol, in 1515 and 1525, are interesting if only because they help to modify Pollard’s picture of decorous democracy being blown away by Wolsey’s despotic tendencies. In the course of the first election, Richard Fox informed Wolsey, not as yet either cardinal or legate, of ‘the inordinate, heady, and unreligious dealings of the canons of St Augustine’s besides Bristol’. Because of ‘the evil example that may come thereof’, he asked Wolsey to intervene, offering various suggestions about how this could best be done.283 It is not known whether Wolsey acted on his advice, only that a Robert Eliot became the new abbot. When in 1525 Eliot died, the ensuing election resulted in just the same kind of ‘unreligious dealings’ as the previous one. According to Thomas Hannibal, the absentee bishop of Worcester’s vicar-general,284 dissension amongst the canons had reached such a pitch and ‘the laity were no less audacious’, that he had scarcely dared to enter the chapter ‘for fear of the assemblage of retainers and others’. However, in the end he persuaded the canons to compromit the election to Wolsey, together with deans of the Chapel Royal and of Canterbury, and subsequently a William Burton was chosen.285 It is clear from Hannibal’s letter to Wolsey that Wolsey had been anxious to intervene in St Augustine’s election, and the reason why is also clear: he wished to ensure that amongst all the factions jockeying for power within the monastery, activities in which important laymen were closely involved, the well-being of the abbey was not completely lost to view. There was much more to monastic elections than a few saintly men sitting down to choose from amongst themselves the most saintly, something that needs to be borne in mind when considering Wolsey’s interference.
That said, it has to be admitted that amongst the elections that Wolsey is known to have had a hand in, St Augustine’s is exceptional insofar as it is possible to demonstrate that there was a need for his interference. What can be shown in at least some of the other elections is that he was anxious to ensure a good appointment. This is true of Fountains in 1526, after the death of the eminent Marmaduke Huby, who had been not only abbot but for many years an abbot-commissary of the Cistercian order.286 Probably the election of a new abbot was not formally compromitted to Wolsey, and if it had been it would have been unusual, for it was not the practice of the Cistercians, or indeed of any order except the Augustinians and Benedictines to do so. However, the involvement in the election of Brian Higden, the resident dean of York and one of Wolsey’s most active ecclesiastical administrators – an involvement which was to be repeated at Rievaulx in 1529 at an election that was said to have been submitted to Wolsey287 – does raise the suspicion that past forms were concealing new ways. This suspicion becomes a certainty when in September 1526 we find Higden and his fellow supervisors of the election, the abbots of Rievaulx and Roche, replying to a request from Wolsey for a full report on the abbot-elect before he confirmed his appointment.288 Here is proof that Wolsey’s confirmation was not a mere formality, and that he was concerned to appoint a good abbot. What remains uncertain is why his confirmation was required. As a Cistercian abbey, Fountains was exempt from episcopal jurisdiction so that the fact that it was in the diocese of York is no explanation, though it no doubt does explain Wolsey’s interest. What gave him his legal standing in the matter must have been his legatine powers.
There is other evidence that Wolsey was concerned to see good appointments made. In 1526 the dean of York advised him to appoint as abbot of Selby someone from within the monastery: as there were four or more able candidates, he felt that the election of a stranger would only add an unnecessary complication.289 Wolsey’s reaction is not known, but what is of interest is the tone of the letter. It shows someone with a genuine concern for the interests of the abbey, that he assumed was shared by the recipient of his advice, Wolsey – and it does look as if Wolsey went ahead and made an internal appointment.290 What also emerges from the dean’s letter is that he himself had been to Selby and that it was at his suggestion that the election had been compromitted to Wolsey – evidence, perhaps, of a policy of getting monasteries to do this, at least in the diocese of York.
Further evidence for Wolsey’s concern to make good appointments survives for elections to the famous Cistercian abbey of Rievaulx,291 the Augustinian house of Haltenprice and St Bartholmew’s nunnery, Newcastle,292 but since, like Fountains and Selby, they were in dioceses of which Wolsey was bishop – Durham and York – they cannot provide compelling evidence for a national policy of interfering in monastic elections. Moreover, even as regards those elections in the diocese of Bath and Wells with which Wolsey was involved, it could be argued that there was a personal connection. He had, after all, been bishop there from 1518 to early 1523, and it has been shown already that his successor, John Clerk, was close to him. During the period in which the monastic elections there were compromitted to Wolsey, from September 1523 to March 1525, Clerk was abroad on a mission to Rome, so Wolsey’s involvement is not
altogether surprising. And, as was mentioned earlier, there were special circumstances surrounding the elections at St Augustine’s, Bristol, for not only were they unusually contentious, but the abbey was in the diocese of Worcester, and its bishops were, during this period, absentee Italians.
As regards the election in January 1528 of a new prior of Butley, an Augustinian house in the diocese of Norwich, there appear to be no special reasons for Wolsey’s involvement. According to Bishop Nix, the canons were just about to choose Sir Thomas Sudborne as their new prior, ‘per viam Spiritus Sancti’, when Wolsey’s commissaries intervened, threatening to sequester all the goods of the house if they proceeded.293 Not surprisingly, the priory decided to compromit the election to Wolsey, only for him to choose Sir Thomas Sudborne.294 In passing, it is worth mentioning, as a reminder that Wolsey was by no means the first person to intervene in monastic elections, that in 1509 Bishop Nix had secured the election to Butley of a prior who had not been the canons’ first choice.295 What may have been new, though, is the scale and scope of Wolsey’s interventions. In the case of Butley, it does look as if he was merely concerned to make a point. There was nothing seriously wrong with the religious life of Butley. The canons appear to have made a good choice. The only reason for Wolsey’s action was that he wanted to have a say in monastic elections.
The trouble with the Butley election is that it is the only one in which the evidence convincingly points to such a conclusion; and one example does not seem quite enough to conclude that Wolsey sought to control all elections, especially when so many were not compromitted to him. For instance, of the five that took place in the diocese of Winchester from the beginning of 1523 to the death of Richard Fox in October 1528, none were.296 The same is true throughout the 1520s of Rochester. The Butley case may merely be further evidence of the unhappy relationship between Wolsey and Nix, which made Wolsey take every opportunity to interfere in the affairs of the diocese of Norwich. On the other hand, the date of the Butley election may be of some significance. By January 1528 Wolsey could have felt sufficiently in control of the English Church to risk intervention of this kind. In a strong position in his own diocese or in those dioceses where there were absentee bishops, it was easy enough for him to get elections compromitted to him there; less easy where there was an active and influential bishop such as Fox at Winchester or Fisher at Rochester. Prudence and tact, both of which qualities Wolsey could use when necessary, may explain why he did not interfere in their dioceses. This need not mean that he would not have liked to have intervened more generally, and was not by the late 1520s planning to do so more often.