The King's Cardinal: The Rise and Fall of Thomas Wolsey (Pimlico)

by Gwyn, Peter

  The number of citizens who sought exemption from civic office on the grounds that they could not afford the expense or face up to the responsibility of handling a town’s shaky finances might seem to support the notion of an urban crisis. But there were a number reasons for declining office, including the reluctance of successful entrepreneurs to waste their time in local politics. It looks also as if some people were asked to stand for office against their own wishes, in order that they might be persuaded to buy an exemption – which at the very least complicates any interpretation of the figures of those seeking exemption, as does the fact that there was never any serious difficulty in filling civic offices.179 Moreover, that Wolsey showed no sign of believing in an urban crisis may in itself be a reason for not believing in one, for there has so far been nothing to suggest that he was one to duck a problem – rather the opposite.

  The Tudor poor laws have been seen as important milestones on the way to the welfare state, and they have commanded a good deal of mostly sympathetic attention.180 Wolsey’s lack of involvement with any of them may, as a consequence, be held against him, especially as only a few years later Thomas Cromwell was able to grasp their importance – but then he was a very ‘modern’ man! The present writer’s scepticism of anything ‘whiggish’ will already be apparent, and the fact that these laws were largely the work of Elizabethan councillors, such as William Cecil, not otherwise noted for their modernity, does not encourage him to revise his views. Instead, the suggestion would be that the poor laws were in part a pragmatic response to a probably growing problem, and, as with enclosure and indeed with most social legislation, there was also a less rational side to them, in which the obsession with ‘order’ and ‘degree’ and an ingrained fear of those without fixed abode or employment, were the most obvious features. Again as with enclosure, the long incubation period and the way in which successive Acts built upon each other need to be stressed. Much of the theory, including that distinction between the ‘undeserving’ and ‘deserving’ poor, was around long before the 1530s, and not just in canon law. It appears in the statute of 1349 which forbade the giving of alms to able-bodied beggars, and in that of 1388, which not only provided for their punishment but also sought to control the movement of the ‘impotent poor’.181 Claims that the poor law Act of 1536, even in its draft form, was revolutionary seem a little excessive. Even the notion of some form of graduated income tax to finance schemes for setting the able-bodied poor to work may have had its origins in fifteenth-century canonists’ views that contributions to poor relief should be compulsory, and anyway this notion did not survive the passage of the bill through parliament.182 Still, in its draft form at least, it was an imaginative attempt to tackle a perennial problem, and certainly nothing like it was considered in Wolsey’s time.

  However, the absence of a poor law Act should not be taken to indicate that Wolsey and his fellow councillors showed no concern for the poor. Their efforts to do something about enclosure are alone evidence to the contrary, as are the strenuous attempts to grapple with food shortages and high prices in 1527-9. Moreover, existing poor laws, admittedly having more to do with the control of ‘vagabonds’ and ‘sturdy’ beggars than the relief of the impotent poor, were very much in force, as the proclamations of 1517 and 1527 make clear.183 More interestingly, in early 1518, when, it will be remembered, there was much worry about the Sweat, the Council was actively involved with the City authorities in measures to combat poverty in the capital. A new official was appointed with the specific duty to seek out the able-bodied ‘vagabonds and beggars’, while the ‘impotent’ beggars were to be licensed. Those suffering from the ‘great pox’, or who were in any way ‘loathsome or abhorrent to be looked at’, were to be sent to hospital. Throughout the 1520s there were frequent ‘searches’ of the City to round up ‘idle, vagrant and suspicious persons’.184 These may have had more to do with a concern for law and order than with a desire to relieve poverty, but then much the same can be said about all government intervention in social matters. What needs to be borne in mind is that there already existed elaborate, if what would now be called private or voluntary, provision for the poor. Parishes, monastic institutions, hospitals and guilds not only provided money, food, housing, medical attention and clothing, but also the means to administer these. They in turn were constantly provided with the wherewithal by the generosity of individuals, especially in their wills.185 It has been fashionable to play down the efforts of the medieval world to relieve its poor and sick. An estimate derived from the Valor Ecclesiasticus of 1535 gives only 3 per cent of monastic income as being set aside for charitable purposes; a more realistic figure might be 6.25 per cent. But even the smaller 3 per cent would still put the annual figure at about £4,000. And, when all is said and done it is not at all clear that more recent government efforts to eradicate poverty have been any more successful.186

  The point here, though, is not to mount an apology for the medieval world but to make a suggestion about the Tudor poor law. Much of medieval giving was tied up with the notion of ‘good works’ and the role these played in the process of salvation. The Reformation in England, however it is defined, attacked this notion and thereby undermined both people’s willingness to give to good causes and, perhaps more importantly in this context, the existing machinery for poor relief.187 It is, therefore, not altogether surprising that the secular state was increasingly drawn in. What may also be true is that this machinery was probably anyway proving inadequate for dealing with the ever-growing problems of poverty in the large cities. The first secular poor laws were drawn up in the large European cities such as Venice, but even in England it was in the towns rather than in the rural areas that secular measures for poor relief first appeared.188 And as the sixteenth century advanced, so the population increased and prices rose. It may be that there has been a tendency to exaggerate the harmful consequences of these trends, but it does seem likely that the poor became poorer and that there were more of them and thus the Tudor poor laws.189 But in Wolsey’s time not only were the medieval provisions for poor relief very much in place but the demographic and inflationary spirals were not yet under way, so that at the very least the need for more direct intervention by the state was not so obvious.

  So far the emphasis in this chapter has been on the social rather than the economic. To some extent this reflects the government’s greater concern with social issues, because, however much it may have regulated trade and industry, its direct participation was limited. Regulation of the coinage was more obviously an economic matter, though, as we shall see, the Crown did have other reasons for intervention. There were two aspects to this regulation, one to do with the denominations available, the gold and silver content and such like, and the other to do with the exchange rates. During the 1520s both were a preoccupation of government, and in 1526 so much action was taken that that year has been called ‘a remarkable one for English coinage’.190 The subject is highly technical, but the main point is that, compared with other European currencies, the English coinage was too pure for its own good: that is, its gold and silver content was virtually unalloyed. As European bullion prices rose, the English coinage was increasingly undervalued and, as a result, was allegedly being bought up and exported. At the same time the financing of military activity abroad, such as Suffolk’s expedition in late 1523, accelerated the flight of English money abroad. By April 1525 the Venetian ducat, which in 1522 had been given a nominal value of 4s. 6d., was fetching anything between 4s. 9d. and 5s. 2d., and in August the following year the government was forced to act.

  What it did was technically an ‘enhancement’ – that is, it raised the exchange rate without altering the gold or silver content of the coinage. As a result the ducat was valued at 4s. 8d., while the crown of the sun, in 1522 valued at 4s. 4d., rose to 4s. 6d. At the same time the value of the sovereign and noble was raised, and new coins were introduced, including the George noble, worth 6s. 8d., and the crown and half-crown. When first issu
ed in August, the crown had been worth 4s. 6d, to be the exact equivalent of the crown of the sun, but it quickly became apparent that, despite the August increases, the English coinage was still undervalued. So in November many values were raised, one consequence being that the new crown became 5s., and the half-crown, therefore, 2s. 6d., at which value it was to remain until the early 1970s, when decimalization broke this little known link with Wolsey.191

  The coins mentioned so far were all gold. Silver ones, the most common of which was the groat, worth 4d., were also causing concern, and in 1522 there was some experimentation with a new silver coinage of less weight. Initially unsuccessful, in 1526 it was made even lighter, and this seems to have done the trick: during the next four years production significantly increased, while the unsatisfactory pre-1526 silver coinage soon dropped out of circulation.192 Modern experts have on the whole been favourably impressed by Wolsey’s scheme. ‘Wolsey’s coinage’ was to have a long history, and led to an increase in the volume of coin minted, gold as well as silver. Given the talk of scarcity in 1525, this must have been a good thing. The new exchange rates were to remain unaltered until 1538. In the light of the subsequent history of currency manipulation in Henry’s reign, it needs to be stressed that the motives behind the changes of 1526 were entirely proper. Their purpose was to create a coinage whose bullion content and resulting rate of exchange made it no longer so financially attractive to export. And though the stimulation of coin production did lead to increased revenue for the royal mint, the intention was never, as it was to be later, to make a quick buck by coining debased money.

  There remains the difficult question of the extent of Wolsey’s direct involvement in the reforms. That detailed instructions were drawn up in his name does not necessarily mean that he was personally responsible for them. Despite the tendency for most royal councillors to be jacks-of-all-trades, there were some who were financial experts. Sir John Heron, treasurer of the chamber from 1492 to 1521, is an obvious example, as is Sir John Daunce, who in the autumn of 1526 chaired an important committee on monetary reform.193 But if the expertise came from others, it seems fair to assume, given his personality and leading position, that the implementation of the currency reforms owed a good deal to his support.194

  It was mentioned earlier that economic considerations were not the only reason for the Crown’s interest in the coinage. The need to have ready cash to pay for military and naval requirements was probably of greater concern to it than, for instance, any overwhelming desire to boost English exports. Indeed, an undervalued currency would have been good for exports, for it would have meant that English goods were comparatively cheap. Thus to praise Wolsey for his reform of the coinage is still not to credit him with any great interest in economic activity. Moreover, what has already emerged from the study of his foreign policy is that furthering economic prosperity was not his chief priority. But it would be wrong to conclude that economic considerations played no part. Indeed, in June 1525 that doughty champion of the Imperialist cause, Sir Robert Wingfield, not liking the pro-French direction that England’s foreign policy was taking, suspected that it arose out of a desire to please the merchants who ‘have more mind to their case and singular profit than the weal of Christendom’.195 His suspicions were ill-founded, but what is significant here is that he could have held them at all.

  Like most people, English merchants in the early sixteenth century were quite happy to make their own decisions, until, that is, they found themselves in dispute with a foreign merchant, or needed protection for their ships. Thus in September 1522 it was recorded in the minute book of the Mercers’ Company that Wolsey was to be consulted over the capture by the French of a ship called The Windsor and some compensation obtained; and in the following month the Company was seeking protection for their Zeeland fleet.196 Requests such as these must have frequently ended up on Wolsey’s table. Like any royal councillor, Wolsey would have seen it as his duty to further the interests of English merchants. This was partly because they brought in a significant proportion of the annual £30-40,000 in customs revenue. It was partly because the export trade, especially cloth, which made up three-quarters of it, provided much needed employment. And it was partly because the export trade stimulated the ship-building industry, which in turn provided ships for the royal navy. But over and above all these tangible reasons for royal concern, the king’s honour demanded that the interests of English merchants, as his subjects, were vigorously pursued. And if money, defence and honour are put together, one has what might be called a policy, one that might even pass as mercantilism. All it really means is that there were certain general considerations that governed the Crown’s attitude towards trade. It was slightly defensive. It was suspicious of foreign competition. It paid more attention to national security than to economic growth.

  Almost certainly Wolsey shared these attitudes and saw no reason for any radical departures. It is true that during the 1520s customs revenue fell, from an annual average of £42,643 during the previous decade to £35,305, and for the years 1530-8 it was to fall even further, to just over £32,000.197 It is also true that, with the disruption to trade caused by the outbreak of war with France and subsequent naval activity in the English Channel, 1522 was a particularly bad year, revenue dropping to just below the £30,000 mark for the first time since 1492. There was also going to be a temporary crisis in the first half of 1528, as a result of the albeit reluctant declaration of war against the emperor. Since wool had been the chief export when custom duties were first introduced, the duties on wool were traditionally greater than on anything else, so that as the export of wool declined, the customs revenues increasingly underestimated the volume of English trading. Thus, if instead of customs revenue, one takes as an indicator the number of cloths leaving London, a more buoyant picture emerges. In 1515 some 59,000 cloths were being exported, rising to 67,000 in 1519. There was then a drop to 50,000 in 1521, but after that there were successive rises, until in 1527 the number had reached 81,000. The 1528 declaration of war resulted in a dramatic drop, but the next year the number was still over 70,000, as, apart from 1528, it had been since 1524. One can, of course, play around with the figures endlessly, but even if the cloth trade was not quite so booming as it had been in the last years of Henry VII’s reign (and this is by no means certain) by and large it continued to flourish, and with it the rest of England’s foreign trade, this despite the efforts of a leading minister who allegedly had no interest in such things!198

  In most circumstances Wolsey did his best to further the interests of English merchants, but there were occasions when these conflicted with other concerns. Then the other concerns were quite often given priority, though any such generalization oversimplifies an often very complicated picture. To begin with the merchant community itself was very heterogeneous, with, for instance, those in the outports such as Bristol and Exeter having quite different interests from those in London, and increasingly it was the last, especially members of the Merchant Adventurers’ Company with its virtual monopoly of the cloth trade, that dominated government thinking. And if we turn to a particular episode, the picture becomes no less complicated. The well known disagreement between Henry and Wolsey in 1521 over whether the English merchants should sail to Bordeaux for the autumn shipment of wine is an example of a conflict of interest, and one in which the king may be said to have taken the merchants’ part against his chief minister. At any rate, at a time of increasing international tension he was very reluctant to let them run the risk of sequestration by the French. Wolsey, however, took the view that to prevent them sailing would alert the French to his deception during the lengthy Calais and Bruges negotiations. His priority was for everything to appear as normal, and to this end he was prepared to jeopardize the merchants’ ships, though he never considered the risk of sequestration to be very great.199

  On this occasion it was an anti-French alliance with the emperor that was being negotiated behind Francis I’s back. A pro-French
alliance would be more damaging to England’s foreign trade because of its strong bias towards the Low Countries, particularly Antwerp, and insofar as Wolsey was pursuing such a policy from 1525 onwards it could be seen as a much more significant example of his lack of interest in mere trade. But on closer inspection it is not nearly so obvious that this is so. It so happens that when, in January 1528, war was formally declared between Henry and the emperor, England was also facing serious economic and and social problems at home, largely the consequence of the disastrous harvest in 1527 followed by two more with low yields. This combination of difficulties provides an excellent opportunity for studying Wolsey, the promoter of the common weal, in action, and of arriving at some final assessment of his performance.