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

by Gwyn, Peter

  That Wolsey’s arrest was the result of Norfolk’s and his supporters’ fear that he might make a come-back was an explanation put forward, though not with any great conviction, by both Chapuys and the Milanese ambassador.148 For Cavendish there was no uncertainty:

  My lord’s accustomed enemies in the court about the king had now my lord in more doubt than they had before his fall, considering the continual favour that the king bare him; [they] thought at length the king might call him home again and, if he so did, they supposed that he would rather imagine against them than remit or forget their cruelty which they most unjustly imagined against him. Wherefore they compassed in their heads that they would either by some means dispatch him by some sinister accusation of treason, or to bring him into the king’s high indignation by some other ways.149

  And if this was Cavendish’s mature assessment, it was no doubt based, in part at least, on his recollection of Wolsey’s own words to Walter Walsh immediately after his arrest:

  I doubt not for my part but I shall prove and clear myself to be a true man against the expectation of all my cruel enemies. I have an understanding whereupon all this matter groweth … Put therefore the king’s commission and your authority in execution, in God’s name, and spare not, and I will obey the king’s will and pleasure. For I fear more the cruelty of my unmerciful enemies than I do my truth and allegiance.150

  In Cavendish’s account, Wolsey probably meant by his ‘enemies’ the Boleyns, especially a certain ‘serpentine enemy … (I mean the night crow)’,151 alias Anne, rather than Norfolk; and Chapuys too at one point placed the emphasis upon ‘the lady’, whom he reported as threatening to leave Henry if he ever allowed Wolsey to return.152 . As most accounts assume that the Boleyns and Norfolk were still at this stage as one, this multiplication of Wolsey’s enemies hardly matters; essentially it is the old aristocratic faction back to its dirty tricks again. What, of course, does complicate matters is the argument of the previous chapter that this faction had not existed: its alleged members were in no sense committed enemies of Wolsey’s, and even if they had been, they lacked the necessary skill and determination to bring him down. Above all, and despite the king’s all too obvious infatuation for Anne, they were never the king’s masters.

  How to get over this problem? On the one hand, there is the particular evidence of a paranoid Norfolk and a ‘serpentine’ Anne’s determination to prevent any come-back by Wolsey. On the other, there are the conclusions already reached concerning those who were supposedly Wolsey’s enemies, which suggest that they would have been neither able nor especially anxious to prevent his return. One oddity about the particular evidence has already been pointed out: that Norfolk by his own account was in full command of all the facts about Wolsey’s alleged conspiracy by mid-July, but that no action was taken about it until early November. Another is that he was willing to tell a foreign ambassador about it, especially one who was known to have been in contact with Wolsey and whose master was supposedly involved in the plotting. And why did he talk in the rather aggressive way that he did about Wolsey’s continuing political ambitions to someone like Arundel, who was almost certainly going to report what he was saying back to Wolsey? It was all very indiscreet, not to say downright foolish, for it makes no sense to tip off one’s political opponent just before destroying him. If, on the other hand, he is not much of a threat, and one is not about to destroy him, it might make more sense and in two ways. First, it could be a way of obtaining information. Secondly, it could be a way of conveying messages. What Wolsey was up to had to be of concern to Norfolk, not because Wolsey was a lifelong enemy whom he was determined to do down at all costs, but because as a leading royal servant it was Norfolk’s job to keep his eye on all potential troublemakers, which as a recently disgraced minister of the Crown Wolsey had to be. His contacts with foreign governments were known about, as was his popularity in the North. Probably all this was quite harmless, but it was worth monitoring from time to time. By mentioning a conspiracy, or by making some provocative remark about Wolsey’s continuing ambitions, Norfolk would have hoped to elicit a reaction from his listener which might be informative. It would also be a gentle way of warning everybody concerned that the government was not stupid, and that therefore they should resist any temptation to do anything silly.

  There are further reasons for doubting whether this evidence adds up to much. Norfolk’s mention of Wolsey’s plotting occurred very much en passant in the course of a long interview with Chapuys. What happened was that the role that the French, and in particular the bishop of Tarbes, might play in furthering the divorce had come up, and this had given Norfolk the opportunity to launch an attack on the bishop’s remarks on his and his fellow councillors’ competence to the effect that they were not a patch on the former lord chancellor. Moreover, Chapuys had been stirring things up by suggesting that at any moment Wolsey would return courtesy of the French, a suggestion given some credibility by the cardinal’s close relationship with the French while in power. Wolsey’s presence in the wings undoubtedly made life more difficult for Norfolk because it could be made use of by foreign powers and not only for Norfolk. It did not do Henry’s reputation much good either for rumours to be circulating that he was so in the pocket of the French king that he was likely to recall a disgraced minister at their request. Little wonder that Norfolk was anxious to scotch all such rumours: not only was Wolsey not going to return to power, but all his secret negotiations with the French were already known to the government, who could put an end to them whenever it liked. This is what Norfolk told Chapuys,153 but in doing so it is highly unlikely that he was disclosing information of any great significance concerning a serious threat to Henry’s throne, masterminded by Wolsey. Rather, he was simply making use of the continuing contact between Wolsey and Joachim, which it should be remembered the government had authorized, to try to put an end to harmful diplomatic gossip. And that this is how Chapuys perceived it is suggested by the fact that he made no further comment to the emperor about Wolsey’s plotting, which if he had ever taken it seriously, he surely would have done. And as a coda it is worth pointing out that however suspicious Norfolk had shown himself to be to Arundel about Wolsey’s continuing political ambitions, it had not prevented him from promising that ‘in all reasonable causes’ he would be as good a friend to Wolsey as Arundel could desire.154

  As was suggested in the previous chapter, most interpretations of Norfolk’s role in Wolsey’s destruction derive from preconceptions about his relationship with Wolsey which should probably be dispensed with. Moreover, whatever Norfolk’s personal views about Wolsey, it is highly unlikely that they would have figured uppermost in his day-to-day conduct of Henry’s business, or that he would have gone out of his way to tell Chapuys, or indeed Arundel, about them; the conduct of the king’s affairs was a rather more serious business than that. First and foremost, Wolsey was for Norfolk but one factor in the conduct of the king’s affairs, and it is in this light that one should evaluate the evidence of what he said about Wolsey in the months before his arrest. And if this is done, the evidence will be seen to lend little weight to the theory that the arrest was a pre-emptive strike to prevent the cardinal’s return to power.

  It will have been noticed that in arriving at this conclusion the question of whether or not there was a conspiracy led by Wolsey could not be kept out. This is not surprising, since everything in this chapter turns on the answer. If there was a conspiracy, then the interpretation of Wolsey’s last months is relatively straightforward. Interesting problems would be raised about the motivation of all those involved. There would remain some worries about its extent, and whether it was precisely as the Crown alleged. But that Henry was forced to move against his former lord chancellor, who had repaid his generous treatment by plotting with various foreign powers against him, would provide the bare bones of a simple story. But although it is a story that clearly Henry wanted everyone to believe, and for which the greatest amount of evide
nce has survived, here it has been rejected. So, also, has the ‘sensible view’, which has it that there was no conspiracy by anybody, just a good deal of mutual suspicion and misunderstanding. It may be felt that not enough attention has been paid to this view, but once Wolsey is freed from suspicion it is hard to take a benign view of Henry. After all, if there was no conspiracy, then the case that he made against Wolsey to Bryan was a pack of lies,155 in support of which he had been prepared to bribe and bully a former confidant of Wolsey’s into providing false evidence. There was nothing naïve or muddled in all this, nor indeed should one expect it. By insisting against all the odds on marrying Anne, and in the process changing his kingdom’s religious practice and beliefs, Henry took enormous risks. That he succeeded in getting his way suggests that he was a ruthless and skilful political operator, not at all a man to have overlooked the dangers inherent in allowing Wolsey to take up his duties as archbishop of York, or, once he had allowed this, to have been easily panicked into having him arrested. To accept the ‘sensible view’ one would have to revise completely the picture of Henry that has so far been drawn, and the evidence in its favour by no means calls for such a revision.

  We are left with the second possibility, that it was Henry who conspired against Wolsey, as the only credible interpretation, despite the fact that the evidence is almost entirely circumstantial. The reasons for believing in it are, nevertheless, strong. Given the continuing unhappiness about, not to say opposition to, his desire for a divorce both at Rome and amongst his leading subjects, both lay and clerical, it would have been remarkable if Henry had not tried to make some use of a cardinal archbishop with whom he could do more or less as he wanted. That the story as put out by Henry could belong only to the world of Walter Mitty merely increases the suspicion that he did precisely that. But for those who like their evidence cut and dried it will not convince. And Wolsey’s death before Henry’s intentions could be revealed makes any interpretation more than usually provisional. Still, it would be very surprising if any direct evidence for what Henry was up to had survived, since it would have served him not at all for it to have got out that a conspiracy had been a set-up. One possible danger was Agostini, who in this scenario would have been all too well aware of the lengths to which the government had gone to invent a case against Wolsey. The way round it was that curious recognizance by which Agostini promised on pain of a fine of £100 not to reveal to anyone what was contained in a book ‘written with his own hand concerning the late cardinal of York’.156 It was also probably fear of what might emerge about the set-up that explains why surprisingly – whatever one’s interpretation of the events – the government did so little to exploit the propaganda value of Wolsey’s ‘treason’, which by no means needed to disappear with his death. Interestingly, insofar as it was exploited at all, it was very briefly used with the French who, just because they were more anxious than the others to keep in with Henry, were the least likely to challenge the official story. What is also true is that a dead Wolsey provided Henry with neither the room for manoeuvre nor the impact that he had hoped for. A posthumous trial would have been an anti-climax, while a dead man could hardly grant him a divorce. One way and another, it probably seemed better to let the matter drop.

  As this book draws to a close, it is proper that the focus of attention should return to the man whose political career has been its subject. Wolsey had reached Southwell, in the south of his very extensive diocese of York, on 28 April, and there he remained for the next three months. He was extremely busy, performing both the role of pastoral bishop and that of leading representative of the Crown, keeping open house for the important families of the area and helping to settle their disputes.157 The high point was to have been his enthronement as archbishop in the great abbey church of St Mary’s, York, on Monday 7 November, when he had hoped also to open northern convocation. As it was, his arrest on the 4th intervened, prompting some people to argue that it was precisely to prevent his enthronement that it occurred when it did. Far from being unpopular in the North, he had won golden opinions from almost everybody; and almost everybody of importance would have been present at York for his enthronement. This surely was the moment for him to declare his hand, and in the name of Catherine, or the pope, or the emperor, or Francis, or perhaps in the name of all of them – it is all so unlikely that it hardly matters who it was – to declare war upon his former master.158 In this version of events Wolsey’s performance as the good bishop is entirely hypocritical, calculated only to secure for himself a power base from which to attack the king. But there is no inconsistency between Wolsey the active resident bishop and Wolsey the cardinal legate and lord chancellor. There has been no attempt in this study to portray him as a deeply religious man, but he certainly believed that active intervention in the affairs of the day, whether national or local, was to the benefit of the common weal. It was very much in his nature to get involved. He also had great confidence in his own ability to put things right, and justifiably so. Negotiator par excellence, it mattered little to him whether the dispute was between humble villagers or pope and emperor. So it is not at all surprising that, having been denied the larger theatre, he threw all his energies into the life of his diocese.

  And if one has to admit that his conduct in the North would have been the same even if more Machiavellian motives had lain behind it, the same can hardly be said of the many other matters which occupied him at this time. He was still embroiled in trying to rescue as much from his initial downfall as possible: organizing a defence of his colleges, which involved trying to secure the support of all those supposedly his enemies such as Norfolk and the Boleyns;159 fighting off attempts to exploit his conviction for praemunire in order to secure the title to archiepiscopal land;160 and coping with demands from hither and yon for the payment of past bills and debts, the inevitable consequence of his loss of political clout and credit-worthiness.161 Moreover, he found that the lack of a resident archbishop, whatever its effect on the spiritual life of the diocese, had certainly done nothing for the archiepiscopal properties. Many repairs were needed, which Wolsey maintained were of an extremely modest and essential kind, while to his enemies they smacked of his usual extravagance and love of magnificence.162 Then in August he was faced with the demands of a former comptroller of his household, Thomas Strangeways. For some reason, perhaps because in a quarrel between him and Thomas Cromwell Wolsey had sided with the latter, this man appears to have formed a grudge against the cardinal. At any rate, Wolsey’s political disgrace gave him an opportunity to appeal to the Council concerning the sum of £700 which he claimed Wolsey owed him in connection with a wardship. It was all extremely aggravating, not least because any claim for money at this time was an acute embarrassment.163

  In none of these matters did Wolsey show many signs of giving in to the pressures imposed by his new circumstances. True, he had to write letters to former colleagues seeking their help, and to that extent he had to be conciliatory. During the 1520s he had usually signed himself in letters to Norfolk as his ‘loving friend’,164 but by August 1530 he had become ‘your daily chaplain and bedesman’.165 What he did not do – despite much prompting – was to give in on what he considered to be matters of substance. As we have seen, many people, including Norfolk, had advised him to stop badgering the king and to be content with what he had got.166 But the very last thing Wolsey was during the last months of his life was content, nor was he at all averse to letting people know it, including foreign ambassadors. Earlier it was suggested that what Wolsey was hoping to gain from these contacts was the support of their masters for his efforts to recover everything he had lost at his downfall, in return for which he would do his utmost to further their causes. With Chapuys, at least, he frequently raised the issue of the divorce, apparently offering advice very favourable to Catherine. If that advice is taken at its face value, it will incline one to the view that he was up to no good though, as was pointed out earlier, to be in favour of Catherine at this t
ime was technically no crime. What was also suggested was that it would be wrong to take this particular evidence at face value. All Wolsey was doing was making noises that he knew would please Chapuys who would then favour his cause, but in the full knowledge that his advice was neither here nor there and that he was not giving anything away. This was more or less what the Milanese ambassador reported Wolsey had been up to,167 and it makes a good deal of sense, especially when the very public nature of Wolsey’s contacts with these foreign ambassadors is borne in mind. There is little to suggest that Wolsey’s or his chaplain’s letters to Chapuys were clandestine ones, nor that Chapuys took Wolsey’s suggestions very seriously. One way and another, for supposedly one of the best political operators in Europe, Wolsey seems to have gone about organizing his conspiracy in a curious way. Short of writing to Henry to tell him of it, he could hardly have behaved with greater stupidity, on the one hand drawing attention to himself by his constant complaints and high profile, and on the other making no secret of his many contacts with foreign powers. It really makes no sense at all – unless the truth is that he felt no need to behave in a Machiavellian way because he did not believe that what he was up to was in any way treasonable.

  This was certainly Wolsey’s own view, for on his arrest on 4 November he immediately declared his innocence to the two men to whom the task of making the arrest had been delegated, the earl of Northumberland and Walter Walsh.168 And it was a declaration that he was to repeat to each of his new custodians in turn. The earl of Shrewsbury, whose treatment of him could hardly have been more courteous and sensitive, received many protestations of his innocence, and to this effect: if someone who owed everything to Henry’s favour and who now, when his enemies had gained the upper hand, was more in need of his support than ever before, should have set about conspiring against him, then, indeed, ‘all men might justly think and report that I lacketh not only grace, but also both wit and discretion’.169 All he now wanted to do was to prove his innocence by confronting his so far unnamed accusers in the king’s presence, ‘when I doubt not but you shall see me acquit myself of all their malicious accusations and utterly confound them’.170