For a short time after the death of Edward VI, Philpot had remained in post as Archdeacon of Winchester, despite the immediate deprivation of the bishop who had appointed him, John Ponet, and the restoration of Stephen Gardiner to the see. But not being one to lie low and see how things would turn out, Philpot had used the opportunity of the Canterbury convocation (the assembly of bishops and clergy of the province of Canterbury), held in London at St Paul’s during October 1553, to speak out against the doctrine of the real presence and other matters with which he disagreed. (His performance at the convocation was later described by one of the Queen’s commissioners as ‘howling and weeping’.) For him there was never any possibility of compromise; he saw himself, and all Protestant believers, as living in the midst of evil, now that the Mass and other Catholic practices had been restored. He was as damning of the ‘unreformed’ as they of the ‘reformed’, as convinced of the wickedness of his theological opponents as they were of his; negotiation was impossible.
Philpot was by no means alone in espousing such views. Many people wrote to ask the advice of their Protestant leaders as to how they should behave now that times had changed again: could they, if they succeeded in avoiding the Mass, still attend (as they were officially required to do) the other services of Matins and Evensong? Or could they appear to follow Catholic practice outwardly, while denying it in their hearts (the old method of ‘Nicodemitism’, which had been pursued in an earlier reign by Friar John Forest and others)? But this generation of Protestant leaders did not incline to half-measures and supported John Calvin, who had coined the term ‘Nicodemitism’ in 1543, in viewing such dissembling as the most heinous of all sins. Bradford, for instance, insisted to one of his correspondents that ‘this Latin service is a plain mark of Antichrist’s Catholic synagogue’ and that to attend would mean being ‘cut off from Christ and His Church’. He underlined the point in a letter to Protestant believers in Coventry: ‘My dearly beloved, therefore mark the word, hearken to the word; it allows no massing, no such sacrificing nor worshipping of Christ with tapers, candles, copes, canopies, etc. It allows no Latin service, no images in the temples, no praying to dead saints, no praying for the dead. It allows no such dissimulation, as a great many now use outwardly.’
By March 1554 Philpot had been deprived of his archdeaconry, excommunicated and placed in the King’s Bench prison (where John Bradford was one of his companions for a time). He now began writing a series of pastoral letters to fellow Protestants, encouraging them to stand firm and accept exile, or even martyrdom if necessary; these letters, numbering twenty in total, were preserved and later printed by John Foxe and Miles Coverdale. He spent eighteen months in the King’s Bench, before being transferred in October 1555 to Bishop Bonner’s coalhouse prison, just after the start of a lengthy series of examinations. Philpot managed to make a record of these examinations, writing it in sections and getting it smuggled out of prison, a section at a time; this record was published by Foxe in his Latin and English versions of Acts and Monuments, supplemented with accounts of the trials both from eyewitnesses and official records.
Philpot’s first examination, on 2 October, was conducted by three of the Queen’s commissioners – Sir Roger Cholmley, Mr Roper and Dr John Story, chancellor of the diocese of London – with one of the scribes of the Court of Arches in attendance, and took place at Newgate Sessions Hall. Prior to the examination, Dr Story came out into the hall to look over who was there, recognized Philpot, and then commented on how he appeared to have put on weight – that he was ‘well fed indeed’. Philpot’s response was that it should be no surprise if he had become fat, as he had been ‘stalled up’ in prison for eighteen months, ‘in a close corner’. And he then demanded to know of Story why he had been sent for. ‘We hear you are a suspect person,’ replied Story, ‘and of heretical opinions, and therefore we have sent for you.’ Philpot’s immediate objection, which he made time and again during the course of his examinations, was that he had already been questioned by his ‘ordinary’ – that is, by the bishop of his own diocese which in his case was Stephen Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester – and that those questioning him now had no authority to do so. Story intimated that he would get nowhere with such a defiant attitude, and went into the ‘parlour’, into which Philpot himself was soon summoned.
The examination began with some sparring between Philpot and Story, Philpot asserting that it was Bishop Gardiner, rather than Ponet, who had originally intended to make him Archdeacon of Winchester, and Story telling his fellow commissioners: ‘You may be sure that my Lord Chancellor would not make anyone like him an Archdeacon.’ Philpot attempted from the start to set the agenda for this interrogation, demanding that either he be charged with having broken the law in some way or that he be released from his ‘long wrongful imprisonment’. And he further insisted: ‘I am no heretic.’ Story (who would himself be hanged, drawn and quartered for treason, under Elizabeth I, and later adjudged a Catholic martyr) begged to differ: ‘I will prove you a heretic,’ he said. ‘Whoever has held against the blessed Mass is a heretic, and you have held against it – therefore you are a heretic.’ Philpot’s defence, which he again repeated several times, was that he had indeed spoken against the Mass but that he had done so at the convocation, where everybody had been given liberty, by the will of the Queen and her Council, to speak freely in matters of religion. Therefore, he argued, he should not have been ‘molested and imprisoned’ for expressing his opinion in that arena, and neither should he be questioned about that incident now. As Philpot continued to stress this point, and to insist that only his ‘ordinary’ had the right to question him at all, his examiners and their scribe soon began to tire of the conversation. ‘This man is full of vainglory,’ said the scribe; as has been seen, this was the usual accusation levelled at those accused of heresy who had the temerity to stand up for themselves. Cholmley tried a more conciliatory approach: ‘Play the wise gentleman and be conformable,’ he said, ‘and be not stubborn in your opinions, neither cast yourself away. I would be glad to do you good.’ Philpot would not give an inch, continuing to insist that, if they were to keep him in detention, they should charge him with something. Ignoring this, Story asked him the inevitable question: ‘How do you say to the sacrament of the altar?’ Philpot replied: ‘Sir, I am not come now to dispute with your mastership, and the time now does not serve for that, but to answer to that with which I may be lawfully charged.’
Philpot’s second examination took place just over three weeks later, on 24 October, again at Newgate Sessions Hall, before the same commissioners but with the addition of a Dr Cooke. Dr Story, who seems to have found Philpot particularly disagreeable, was determined to take a hard line from the outset, announcing to his fellow commissioners that he had spoken to Lord Chancellor Stephen Gardiner (who was now mortally ill and unable to attend the examinations himself), whose will it was that Philpot should be committed to the Bishop of London – ‘there to recant, or else burn’. Having made this announcement, he left the room. Philpot refused to acknowledge that he had done anything requiring recantation and continued to assert that the Bishop of London had no jurisdiction over him, and that he should not in any event be re-examined over a matter for which he had already been unjustly imprisoned and suffered the loss of his living.
‘There was never poor Archdeacon so handled at your hands as I am,’ he complained, ‘and that without any just cause you are able to lay against me.’
‘You are no Archdeacon,’ retorted Dr Cooke.
‘I am still an Archdeacon,’ insisted Philpot, ‘although another is in possession of my living, for I was never deprived by any law.’ It was not the loss of the living itself which distressed him, he asserted, but the injustice of the way he was being treated, ‘contrary to all law’.
Cooke’s response was that of officialdom in every age: ‘If we do you wrong, complain about us’ – and in the meantime he would be accommodated in the Lollards’ Tower at St Paul’s, the reg
imen at the King’s Bench having been altogether too lenient.
‘Sir, I am a poor gentleman,’ protested Philpot. ‘Therefore I trust of your gentleness you will not commit me to so vile and straight a place, as I am no heinous criminal.’
‘You are no gentleman,’ retorted Cooke.
‘Oh, yes I am,’ said Philpot.
But Cooke declared that a heretic was, by definition, not a gentleman. Philpot responded that a gentleman remained a gentleman, even if he was a traitor – but, he said, he would not insist on his status, given that they placed so little value on it.
At this point Dr Story returned, and was dismayed to find that Philpot had not yet been despatched to the Lollards’ Tower. ‘What? – will you allow this heretic to prate with you all day?’ he asked.
‘He says he’s a gentleman,’ said Cooke.
‘A gentleman, he says?’ exploded Story. ‘He is a vile heretic knave; and a heretic is no gentleman.’ So saying, he called in the keeper of the Lollards’ Tower and demanded he take Philpot away.
The latter continued to protest vigorously – ‘Sir, if I were a dog,’ he cried, ‘you could not appoint me a worse and more vile place! God give you a more merciful heart – you are very cruel to one who has never offended you.’ And he appealed to Sir Roger Cholmley, who had so far played no part in the day’s proceedings, to intervene on his behalf. Cholmley appeared to wish to dissociate himself from his colleagues, implying in an undertone to Philpot that he did not understand either the laws they were relying on or their motivation. Philpot’s parting shot, as he was being taken away, was to quote, in Latin, the words of Christ to Judas when he was preparing to betray him: ‘What you are about to do, do quickly.’
The implication was not lost on Story – ‘Do you not hear how he makes us Judases?’ he exclaimed.
Philpot, with four other prisoners, was initially taken to the keeper’s house in Paternoster Row, next to St Paul’s; he was offered a bed for the night by Archdeacon Harpsfield’s servant, on the instruction of the archdeacon. Philpot thanked him, but refused, fearing that one night in a comfortable room would only make prison conditions harder to bear. And so after supper Philpot and his fellow prisoners were escorted to the bishop’s coalhouse. A married priest called Thomas Whittle, and another man, were already imprisoned there. Whittle had a story to tell of Bonner’s brutality, consistent with other episodes related of the irascible beard-hating bishop: having been brought to a state of physical wretchedness through ill-treatment and imprisonment, Whittle had recanted and been set free but then, his conscience proving even more of a torment than his body, he had torn up his recantation – whereupon Bonner sent for him ‘and fell upon him like a lion, and like a manly Bishop buffeted him well, so that he made his face black and blue, and plucked away a great piece of his beard’. Bonner’s violent tendencies were acknowledged – and viewed as a source of embarrassment – even by his close associates, who, probably with some justification, put them down to his bitter experiences under the previous reign. Dean Feckenham is recorded by Foxe as having said to the Rector of Hadham, after the bishop had lost his temper and hit him, ‘Bear with my lord; for truly his long imprisonment in the Marshalsea … hath altered him.’
Philpot’s own turn to encounter Bishop Bonner came on the second night of his imprisonment in the coalhouse. Bonner began with an attempt to soften him up, by sending to him his registrar, Robert Johnson, ‘with a mess of meat and a good pot of drink, and bread’, and claiming not to have known that Philpot was being held in his coalhouse and that he was sorry about it. Philpot took the food and drink to share with his fellows, Johnson conveying the message that ‘My Lord would know the cause of your being sent here (for he knows nothing thereof) and wonders that he should be troubled with prisoners of other dioceses than his own.’ Philpot recounted his view of the case, and the registrar departed to report back to the bishop.
A little later Philpot was himself taken to see the bishop, sitting at a table with several of his chaplains (whom Foxe sometimes refers to as ‘Bonnerlings’) and the registrar. Bonner was in emollient mood. ‘Mr Philpot, you are welcome,’ he said, ‘give me your hand.’ Rather taken aback by this courteous greeting, Philpot responded with equal courtesy. The bishop continued the comedy of having no idea what was going on. ‘I am right sorry for your trouble,’ he asserted, ‘and I promise that until two hours ago I did not know you were here. Please tell me why you have been sent here, for I promise you I know nothing about it as yet, and I wouldn’t want you to think it was my doing.’ And he proceeded to depict himself as a poor put-upon functionary – ‘I marvel that other men trouble me with their matters, but I must be obedient to my betters: and, I suppose, men speak otherwise of me than I deserve.’ Philpot stated that he had been unjustly detained because of what he had said at the convocation. The bishop pursued his tactic of pretending to be a harmless old buffer, perhaps hoping to trick Philpot into an admission of guilt. ‘I marvel that you should be troubled for that,’ he said, ‘if there was really no other cause than this. But perhaps you have maintained the same since – perhaps some of your friends have asked you recently whether you still think the same way, and you have said “Yes”, and for this you might have been committed to prison.’ Philpot insisted he had done nothing beyond speaking at the convocation and refusing to take back what he had said, and that he had only spoken of those doctrinal matters which it had been agreed might be discussed at that assembly.
‘Why,’ said Bonner, persisting with his air of puzzled wonderment, ‘may we dispute our faith?’
‘Yes, we may,’ replied Philpot.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Bonner, ‘not according to the law.’
Philpot expressed his belief that, though the civil law forbade such disputation, God’s law encouraged people to be able to give an account of their faith. Taking up this cue, Bonner asked Philpot to tell him how he interpreted the sacrament of the altar. But Philpot was not going to be trapped so easily, and gave two reasons for his refusal to answer: first citing St Ambrose that disputation of the faith should take place in the congregation and not privately, and secondly that he knew it would endanger his life to speak his mind on that subject, so he could not – until such time as he was on trial and bound by the law to answer, when he would freely do so. ‘I perceive you are learned,’ observed Bonner and, trying out another tactic, declared that he could do with someone like Philpot on his staff. But for that to happen, he would have to come and ‘be of the Church, for there is but one Church’. Philpot replied that he had never left it.
‘How old are you?’ asked Bonner.
‘Forty-four,’ replied Philpot.
Bonner now asserted that Philpot was no longer of the faith he was baptized into as a child, but that he had been of a different faith for the last twenty years. Philpot responded that he had grown up with no real faith at all, but refused to answer as to whether the current official faith of England was the true one. Bonner agreed not to pursue the question for the time being, and changed the subject. ‘I marvel that you are so merry in prison as you are,’ he said, ‘singing and rejoicing. I think instead you should lament and be sorry.’ Philpot defended the singing of hymns and psalms, as commanded by St Paul – particularly as he and his fellow prisoners were in ‘a dark comfortless place’ and needed to keep themselves cheerful. In ending the conversation, Bonner maintained his kindly demeanour and insisted Philpot be given ‘a good cup of wine’ – before being returned to the coalhouse.
At the outset of Philpot’s next examination, held in the Archdeacon of London’s house before the bishops of London, Bath, Worcester and Gloucester, Bonner again seemed in a conciliatory mood, addressing Philpot in a respectful manner, and making it sound as though this was an ad-hoc examination, called just because these other bishops happened to have turned up. The Bishop of Worcester, Richard Pate, suggested Philpot should pray that God would open his heart to the truth, whereupon Philpot, needing no encouragement to eng
age in extempore prayer at which he was expert, fell to his knees and prayed aloud: ‘Almighty God, which art the giver of all wisdom and understanding, I beseech thee of thine infinite goodness and mercy in Jesus Christ, to give me, most vile sinner in thy sight, the spirit of wisdom to speak and make an answer in thy cause, that it may be to the contentation of the hearers before whom I stand and also to my better understanding, if I be deceived in anything.’ Bonner, despite his assumption of an avuncular manner, had got the measure of his man more fully than had Pate, and was displeased at Philpot having been given this opportunity for grandstanding. ‘No, my Lord of Worcester,’ he said, ‘you did not well to exhort him to make any prayer. For this is the thing they have a singular pride in, that they can often make their vain prayers in which they glory much.’
‘I can’t make out what he was praying for anyway,’ said Bishop Bourne of Bath. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’
Philpot repeated what he had been saying all along so far – that he had been in prison for the last eighteen months for no just reason, that he had been unlawfully deprived of his living, that he had now been brought into another bishop’s jurisdiction instead of that of his ordinary, and that if there was nothing to charge him with, then he should be released. Bonner also repeated what he had said before – that Philpot had been sent to him without his knowledge, and that he only wished to do him good. And he encouraged Philpot to say whatever he wanted ‘without any fear’. But Philpot, rightly, continued to be very wary, having learnt enough in his legal training (as a young man and fellow of New College, Oxford, he had spent some time studying law in Italy) to know not to endanger himself by giving a reply before he absolutely had to. And he repeated that, as Bonner was not his ordinary, he was not obliged to answer his questions. Bonner, beginning to lay aside his earlier friendly manner, asserted that Philpot had offended in his diocese by speaking against the sacrament of the altar, and so he did have the right to summon him and proceed against him. No, responded Philpot, he had not offended in Bonner’s diocese, but in the convocation house of St Paul’s – which, so he understood, was a ‘peculiar’ jurisdiction belonging to the Dean of St Paul’s and not to the bishop.
The Burning Time Page 34