THE LIFE, STATE, AND STORY OF THE REVERENT PASTOR AND PRELATE THOMAS CRANMER,
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY Thomas Cranmer, coming of an ancient parentage from the
Conquest to be deducted, was born in a village called Aslacton in
Nottinghamshire.
He came in process of time unto the University of Cambridge, and was chosen
Fellow of Jesus College.
The tongues and other good learning began by little and little to spring up again,
and the books of Faber and Erasmus to be much occupied and had in good estimation.
In whom Cranmer, taking no small pleasure, did daily rub away his old rustiness on
them, as upon a whetstone, until at the length, when Martin Luther was risen up,
the more bright and happy days of God's knowledge did waken men's minds to the
clear light of the truth, at which time, when he was about thirty years old,
omitting all other studies, he gave his whole mind to discuss matters of religion.
And because he saw that he could not judge of these matters unless he beheld the very
fountains thereof, before he would addict his mind to any opinion, he spent three
whole years in reading over the books of holy Scriptures.
After he had laid this foundation, no less wisely than happily, when he
thought himself sufficiently prepared, and being now instructed with more
ripeness of judgment, like a merchant greedy of all good things, he gave his
mind to read all kind of authors.
In the mean, while being addicted to no party or age, he weighed all men's
opinions with secret judgment.
He read the old writers, so as he despised not the new, and all this while,
in handling and conferring writers' judgments, he was a slow reader but an
earnest marker.
He never came to any writer's book without pen and ink, but yet he exercised his
memory no less than his pen.
Whatsoever controversy came, he gathered every author's sentence, briefly,
and the diversity of their judgments, into common places, which he had prepared
for that purpose, or else, if the matter were too long to write out, he noted the
place of the author and the number of the leaf, whereby he might have the more help
for his memory.
And so, being master of arts and fellow of Jesus College, it chanced him to marry a
gentleman's daughter, by means whereof he lost his fellowship there, and became the
reader in Buckingham College.
And for that he would with more diligence apply that his office of reading,
he placed his said wife in an inn called the Dolphin in Cambridge, the wife of the
house being of affinity unto her.
By reason whereof, and for his often resort unto his wife in that inn,
he was much marked of some popish merchants.
Whereupon rose the report, brooded abroad everywhere, after he was preferred to the
archbishopric of Canterbury, that he was but an hustler, and therefore without all
good learning.
Whilst this said, Master Cranmer continued as reader in Buckingham College,
his wife died.
The master and fellows of Jesus College, desirous again of their old companion,
chose him again fellow of the same college.
In few years, after he became the reader of divinity lecture in the same college,
and in such reputation with the whole university, that, being doctor of
divinity, he was commonly appointed one of the heads to examine such as yearly
profess in commencement, either bachelors or doctors of divinity.
By the approbation of these learned men, the whole university licenseth them to
proceed unto their degree, and by their disallowance the university rejecteth
them, until they be better furnished with more knowledge.
Now Dr. Cranmer, ever much favoring the knowledge of the Scripture, would never
admit any to proceed in divinity, unless they were substantially seen in the
story of the Bible.
By means whereof, certain friars and other religious persons, who were principally
brought up in the study of school authors, without regard had to the authority of
Scriptures, were commonly rejected by him, so that he was, for his severe
examination, much hated, and had in great indignation.
And yet it came to pass, in the end, that divers of them, being thus compelled
to study the Scriptures, became afterwards very well learned and well effected,
insomuch that, when they proceeded doctors of divinity, they could not overmuch extol
Master Dr. Cranmer's goodness towards them, who had for a time put them back,
to aspire unto better knowledge and perfection.
While Dr. Cranmer thus continued in Cambridge, the weighty cause of King Henry
VIII, his divorce with the Lady Catherine Dowager of Spain, came into question,
which, by the space of two or three years, had been diversely disputed amongst the
canonists and other learned men.
It came to pass that Dr. Cranmer, by reason that the plague was in
Cambridge, resulted to Waltham Abbey, to one Master Cressy's house there,
whose wife was of kin to the said Master Cranmer.
He had two sons of the said Cressy with him at Cambridge as his pupils,
wherefore he rested with the said two children during that summer time,
A.D.
1529.
It chanced that the King had removed himself from London to Waltham for a night
or twain, while Dr. Stephen Gardner, secretary, and Dr. Fox, almoner,
were lodged in the house of the said Master Cressy.
When supper-time came, they all three doctors met together, and as they were of
old acquaintance, the secretary and the almoner conferred with Dr. Cranmer
concerning the King's cause, what he thought therein.
Dr. Cranmer answered that in his opinion they made much ado in prosecuting the law
ecclesiastical than needed.
It were better, as I suppose, quoth Dr. Cranmer, that the question whether a man
may marry his brother's wife or no were decided by the word of God, whereby the
conscience of the prince might be quieted, than thus from year to year by frustratory
delays to prolong the time.
There is but one truth in it, which the Scripture will soon make manifest,
being by learned men well handled, and that may as well done in England in
the universities here as at Rome.
You might this way have made an end of this matter long since.
The other two well liked of his device, and conceived to instruct the King withal,
who then was minded to send to Rome for a new commission.
The next day, when the King removed to Greenwich, his mind being unquieted and
desirous of an end of his long and tedious suit, he called unto him Dr. Stephen and
Dr. Fox, saying unto them, What now, my masters, quoth the King, shall we do in
this infinite cause of mine?
There must be a new commission procured from Rome, and when we shall have an end
God knoweth and not I.
Dr. Fox answered, We trust that there shall be better ways devised for your
majesty.
It chanced us to be lodged at Waltham in Master Cressy's house this other night,
where we met with an old acquaintance of ours named Dr. Cranmer.
He thought that the next way were to instruct and quiet your majesty's
conscience by trying your highness's question out of the authority of the word
of God, and thereupon to proceed to a final sentence.
The King said, Where is that Dr. Cranmer?
Is he still at Waltham?
They answered that they left him there.
Marry, said the King, I will surely speak with him, and therefore let him be sent
for out of hand.
I perceive, quoth the King, that that man hath the sow by the right ear,
and if I had known this device but two years ago, it had been in my way a great
piece of money, and it also rid me out of much disquietness.
Whereupon Dr. Cranmer was sent for.
But when he came to London, he began to quarrel with these two his acquaintances,
that he, by their means, was brought thither to be cumbered in a matter wherein
he had nothing at all travailed in study, and therefore most instantly entreated
them that they would make his excuse that he might be dispatched away from coming
into the King's presence.
But all was in vain, for the more they began to excuse Dr. Cranmer's absence,
the more the King chide with them, so that, no excuse serving, he was feigned
to come to the court.
Master Doctor, said the King, I pray you, and nevertheless because you are a
subject, I charge and command you, all your other business set apart,
to take some pains to see this my cause to be furthered according to your device,
as much as it may lie in you, so that I may shortly understand whereunto I may
trust.
For this I protest before God and the world, that I seek not to be divorced from
the Queen, if by any means I might justly be persuaded, that this our matrimony were
inviolable, and not against the laws of God.
For otherwise there was never cause to move me to seek any such extremity,
neither was there ever Prince had a more gentle, a more obedient and loving
companion and wife than the Queen is, nor did I ever fancy woman in all respects
better, if this doubt had not risen.
Assuring you, that for the singular virtues wherewith she is endued,
besides the consideration of her noble stock, I could be right well contented
still to remain with her, if so it would stand with the will and pleasure of
Almighty God.
Doctor Cranmer besought the King's Highness to commit the examining of this
matter by the word of God unto the best-learned men of both his universities,
Cambridge and Oxford.
You say well, said the King, and I am content therewith, but yet, nevertheless,
I will have you specially to write your mind therein.
After the King's departure, Doctor Cranmer, incontinent, wrote his mind
concerning the King's question, adding to the same his opinion,
that the Bishop of Rome had no such authority as whereby he might dispense
with the word of God.
When Doctor Cranmer had committed this book to the King, the King said to him,
Will you abide by this that you have here written before the Bishop of Rome?
That will I do by God's grace, quoth Doctor Cranmer, if your Majesty do
send me thither.
Marry, quoth the King, I will send you even to him in a sure ambassage.
And thus by means of Doctor Cranmer's handling of this matter, in both the
universities of Cambridge and Oxford, it was concluded that no such matrimony
was, by the word of God, lawful.
Whereupon a solemn ambassage was sent to the Bishop of Rome, then being at Bologna,
wherein went Doctor Cranmer and Diver's other learned men and gentlemen,
A.D.
1530.
And when the time came that they should declare the cause of their ambassage,
the Bishop, sitting on high in his cloth of estate and in his rich apparel,
offered his foot to be kissed of the ambassadors.
The Earl of Wiltshire, disdaining thereat, stood still, and made no countenance
thereunto, so that all the rest kept themselves from that idolatry.
Howbeit, one thing is not here to be omitted, which then chanced by a Spaniel
of the Earl of Wiltshire.
For he stood directly between the Earl and the Bishop of Rome, when the said Bishop
had advanced forth his foot to be kissed.
The Spaniel straightway went directly to the Pope's feet, and not only kissed the
same unmannerly, but took fast with his mouth the great toe of the Pope,
so that in haste he pulled in his feet, our men smiling in their sleeves.
Without any further ceremony, the Pope gave ear to the ambassadors, who declared
that no man could or ought to marry his brother's wife, and that the Bishop of
Rome by no means ought to dispense to the contrary.
Diver's promises were made, and sundry days appointed, wherein the question
should have been disputed, and when our part was ready to answer, no man there
appeared to dispute in that behalf.
So in the end the Pope, making to our ambassadors good countenance, and
gratifying Dr. Cranmer with the office of the penitentiary ship, dismissed them
undisputed withal.
This matter thus prospering on Dr. Cranmer's behalf, Warren, Archbishop of
Canterbury, departed his life, whereby that dignity then being in the
King's disposition, was immediately given to Dr. Cranmer, as worthy for his travail
of such a promotion.
Upon this question of the marriage riseth another question of the Pope's authority.
The new Archbishop was not a little helped by his old collections and notes,
which he used in studying, for all the weight of the business was chiefly laid on
his shoulders.
He, therefore, alone confuted all the objections of the papists.
He showed that the Pope's lordship was brought in by no authority of the
Scripture, but by ambitious tyranny of men, that the chiefest power in earth
belonged to the Emperor, to kings, and to other potentates, to whom the
bishops, priests, popes, and cardinals, by God's commandment, were no less subject
than other men of the commonwealth.
That there was no cause why the Bishop of Rome should excel other bishops in
authority, and therefore it were best that the ambitious lordship of this bishop,
being driven out of England, should keep itself within his own Italy, as a river is
kept within his banks.
Soon after, the king and queen, by the ecclesiastical law, were cited at
Dunstable before the archbishop of Canterbury and Stephen Gardner,
bishop of Winchester, as judges, to hear the sentence of God's word
concerning the matter of their marriage.
The king refused not to appear, but the queen appealed to the Bishop of
Rome.
But forasmuch as the Pope's authority being banished out of the realm,
and as by public authority it was enacted that no man should appeal out of the realm
to Rome for any matter, the judges, making no delay, out of God's word,
pronounced the marriage to be unlawful, and so made divorce.
As the Pope's name and title were now abolished, the archbishop labored also to
banish out of the realm his errors, heresies, and corruptions.
And not content therewith, he obtained of the king, partly by his own suit,
and partly by other men's suit, that certain learned bishops should make a
book of ecclesiastical institutions, which should be better purged from all
Popish superstitions.
This book, by the title of the authors, they called the Bishop's Book.
It appeareth that the archbishop of Canterbury was not then well instructed in
the doctrine of the sacrament, because there is granted a real presence.
There was added also concerning worshipping of images, which article was
none of the bishop's, but added and written by the king's hand.
The abolishing of monasteries now began to be talked of.
The king's desire was that all the abbey lands should come to his coffers.
The archbishop and other men of the church thought it pertained more to Christian
duty, that all the goods of monasteries, which were very great, should be put to
the use of the poor, and erecting of schools.
For which cause the king's will being somewhat bent against the archbishop and
other maintainers of his doctrine, he set forth the six articles containing
the sum of Popish religion, and by full consent of Parliament established them.
What a slaughter by the space of eight years these six articles made!
It was superfluous to repeat.
This archbishop of Canterbury evermore gave himself to continual study.
By five of the clock in the morning he was at his book, and so consuming the time in
study and prayer until nine of the clock.
He then applied himself, if the prince's affairs did not call him away,
until dinnertime to hear suitors, and to dispatch such matters as
appertained unto his special cure and charge, committing his temporal affairs
unto his officers.
After dinner, if any suitors were attendant, he would very diligently hear
them, and dispatch them in such thought as every man commended his lenity and
gentleness, although the case required that some while divers of them were
committed by him to prison.
And having no suitors after dinner, for an hour or thereabouts, he would play
at the chess, or behold such as could play.
Then again to his ordinary study, at the which commonly he for the most part
stood and seldom sat, and there continuing until five of the clock, bestowed that
hour in hearing the common prayer, and walking or using some honest pastime
until suppertime.
At supper, if he had no appetite, as many times he would not sup,
yet would he sit down at the table, having his ordinary provision of his mess
furnished with expedient company, he wearing on his hands his gloves,
because he would, as it were, thereby wean himself from eating of meat, but yet
keeping the company with such fruitful talk as did repast and much delight the
hearers, so that by this means hospitality was well furnished, and the arms-chest
well maintained for relief of the poor.
After supper, he would consume one hour at the least in walking, or some other honest
pastime, and then again until nine of the clock, at one kind of study or other,
so that no hour of the day was spent in vain, but the same was so bestowed,
as tended to the glory of God, the service of the prince, or the
commodity of the church, which, his well bestowing of his time,
procured to him most happily a good report of all men, to be in respect of other
men's conversation faultless, as it became the minister of God.
It is required that a bishop ought not to be stubborn, with which kind of vice,
without great wrong, this archbishop in no wise ought to be charged, whose nature was
such as none more gentle or sooner won to an honest suit or purpose, especially in
such things, wherein by his word, writing, counsel, or deed, he might
gratify either any gentle or noble man, or do good to any mean person,
or else relieve the needy and poor.
Only in causes pertaining to God or His prince, no man more stout, more constant,
or more hard to be won.
Such things as he granted, he did without any suspicion of rebraiding or mead,
therefore, so that he was rather culpable of overmuch facility and gentleness.
If overmuch patience may be a vice, this man may seem peradventure to offend,
for he had many cruel enemies, not for his own deserts, but only for his
religion's sake.
And yet whatsoever he was that sought his hindrance, either in goods, estimation,
or life, and upon conference would seem never so slenderly to relent or excuse
himself, the archbishop would forget the offence committed, and show such pleasure
to him, that it came into a proverb, Do unto my lord of Canterbury displeasure,
or a shrewd turn, and then you may be sure to have him your friend while he liveth.
His quietness was such, that he never raged so far with any of his household
servants, as once to call the meanest of them violet or knave in anger,
much less to reprove a stranger with any reproachful words.
How he was no niggered, all kind of people that knew him can well testify,
and albeit such was his liberality to all sorts of men, that no man did lack whom he
could do for, either in giving or lending, yet nevertheless such was again his
circumspection, that when he was apprehended and committed by Queen Mary to
the Tower, he owed no man living a penny, whereas no small sums of money were owing
him of divers' persons, which by breaking their bills and obligations he freely
forgave and suppressed before his attainder.
When he perceived the fatal end of King Edward should work to him no good success
touching his body and goods, he incontinently called for his officers,
commanding them in any wise to pay where any penny was owing, which was out of hand
dispatched.
And then he said, Now I thank God I am mine own man.
Certain of the council attempted the king against the archbishop, declaring plainly
that the realm was so infected with heresies, that it was dangerous for His
Highness further to permit it unreformed, lest peradventure by long-suffering such
contention should ensue in the realm, and thereby might spring horrible
commotions and uproars like as in some parts of Germany, the enormity whereof
they could not impute to any so much as to the archbishop of Canterbury, who by his
own preaching and his chaplains had filled the whole realm full of divers' pernicious
heresies.
The king would need know his accusers.
They answered that for as much as he was a councillor, no man durst take upon him to
accuse him, but if it would please His Highness to commit him to the tower for a
time, there would be accusations and proofs anew against him, for otherwise
just testimony and witness against him would not appear.
The king granted unto them that they should the next day commit him to the
tower for his trial.
When midnight came, he sent Sir Antony Denny to Lambeth to the archbishop,
willing him forthwith to resort unto him at the court.
The archbishop coming into the gallery where the king walked and tarried for him,
His Highness said, Ah, my lord of Canterbury, I can tell you news.
For divers' weighty considerations, it is determined by me and the council
that you tomorrow at nine of the clock shall be committed to the tower,
for that you and your chaplains, as information is given us, have taught
and preached and sown within the realm a number of execrable heresies.
And therefore the council have requested me, for the trial of the matter,
to suffer them to commit you to the tower, or else no man dare come forth as witness
in these matters, you being a councillor.
This book is continued on DISK NINE Fox's Book of Martyrs by John Fox DISK NINE When
the king had set his mind, the archbishop kneeled down and said, I am content,
if it please your grace, with all my heart, to go thither at your Highness's
commandment.
And I most humbly thank your majesty that I may come to my trial, for there be that
have many ways slandered me, and now this way I hope to try myself not worthy of
such report.
The king, perceiving the man's uprightness joined with such simplicity, said,
O Lord, what manner a man be you!
What simplicity is in you!
Do you not know how many great enemies you have?
Do you not consider what an easy thing it is to procure three or four false knaves
to witness against you?
Think you to have better luck that way than your Master Christ had?
I see by it you will run headlong to your undoing, if I would suffer you.
Your enemies shall not so prevail against you, for I have otherwise devised with
myself to keep you out of their hands.
Yet notwithstanding tomorrow, when the council shall send for you, resort unto
them, and if they do commit you to the tower, require of them, because you are
one of them, a counselor, that you may have your accusers brought before them,
and that you may answer their accusations before them without any further endurance,
and use for yourself as good persuasions that way as you may devise.
And if no entreaty or reasonable request will serve, then deliver unto them this my
ring, which then the king delivered unto the archbishop, and say unto them,
If there be no remedy, my lords, but that I must needs go to the tower,
then I revoke my cause from you, and appeal to the king's own person by
this his token unto you all, for, said the king unto the archbishop,
So soon as they shall see this my ring, they know it so well, that they shall
understand that I have resumed the whole cause into mine own hands in
determination, and that I have discharged them thereof.
The archbishop, perceiving the king's benignity, had much ado to forbear tears.
On the morrow about nine o'clock before noon, the council sent a gentleman usher
for the archbishop, who, when he came to the council-chamber door, could not be let
in, but of purpose, as it seemed, was compelled there to wait among the
pages, lackeys, and serving-men all alone.
Dr. Butes, the king's physician, resorting that way, and espying how my
lord of Canterbury was handled, went to the king's highness, and said,
My lord of Canterbury, if it please your grace, is well promoted, for now he is
become a lackey or a serving-man.
For yonder he standeth this half-hour without the council-chamber door,
amongst them.
It is not so, quoth the king.
I trow, the council hath not so little discretion as to use the metropolitan of
the realm in that sort, specially being one of their own number.
But let them alone, said the king, and we shall hear more soon.
Anon the archbishop was called into the council-chamber, to whom was alleged,
as before is rehearsed.
The archbishop answered in like sort as the king had advised him, and when he
perceived that no manner of persuasion or entreaty could serve, he delivered them
the king's ring, revoking his cause into the king's hands.
The whole council, being thereat somewhat amazed, the earl of Bedford, with a loud
voice, confirming his words with a solemn oath, said, When you first began this
matter, my lords, I told you what would come of it.
Do you think that the king will suffer this man's finger to ache?
Much more, I warrant you, will he defend his life against brabbling violets.
You do but cumber yourselves to hear tales and fables against him.
And so incontinently, upon the receipt of the king's token, they all rose and
carried to the king his ring.
And they were come to the king's presence.
His highness, with a severe countenance, said unto them, Ah, my lords, I thought I
had wiser men of my council than now I find you.
What discretion was this in you, thus to make the primate of the realm and
one of you in office to wait at the council-chamber door amongst serving men?
I protest that if a prince may be beholden unto his subject by the faith I owe to
God, I take this man here, my lord of Canterbury, to be of all other a most
faithful subject unto us.
And with that, one or two of the chiefest of the council, making their excuse,
declared, that in requesting his endurance it was rather meant for his trial and his
purgation against the common fame and slander of the world than for any malice
conceived against him.
Well, well, my lords, quoth the king, take him and well use him, as he is worthy
to be, and make no more ado.
And with that every man caught him by the hand.
But yet look, where malice reigneth, there neither reason nor honesty can take
place.
And therefore it was procured by his ancient enemies, that not only the
prebenderies of his cathedral church in Canterbury, but also the most famous
justices of peace in the shire, should accuse him.
The articles were delivered to the king's highness by some of the council's means.
When the king had perused the book, he wrapped it up and put it in his sleeve,
and finding occasion to solace himself upon the Thames, came with his barge
furnished with his musicians along by Lambeth Bridge towards Chelsea.
The noise of the musicians provoked the archbishop to resort to the bridge to
salute his prince, whom when the king perceived, eff soons he commanded the
waterman to draw towards the shore, and so came straight to the bridge.
Ah, my chaplain, said the king to the archbishop, come into the barge to me.
The archbishop declared to his highness that he would take his own barge and wait
upon his majesty.
No, said the king, you must come into my barge, for I have to talk with you.
When the king and the archbishop, all alone in the barge, were set together,
said the king to the archbishop, I have news out of Kent for you,
my lord.
The archbishop answered, Good, I hope, if it please your highness.
Marry, said the king, they be so good that I now know the greatest heretic in Kent.
And with that pulled out of his sleeve the book of articles against both the said
archbishop and his preachers, and gave the book to him, willing him to peruse the
same.
When the archbishop had read the articles, and saw himself so uncourteously handled
of the prebenderies of his cathedral church, and of such his neighbors as he
had many ways gratified, the justices of the peace, it much grieved him.
Notwithstanding, he kneeled down to the king and besought his majesty to grant out
a commission to whomsoever it pleased his highness, to try out the truth of this
accusation.
In very deed, said the king, I do so mean, and you yourself shall be chief
commissioner to adjoin to you such two or three more as you shall think good
yourself.
Then it will be thought, quoth the archbishop to the king, that it is not
indifferent, if it please your grace, that I should be mine own judge,
and my chaplains also.
Well, said the king, I will have none other but yourself, and such as you will
appoint, for I am sure that you will not halt with me in anything, although you be
driven to accuse yourself.
And if you handle the matter wisely, you shall find a pretty conspiracy devised
against you.
Whom will you have with you?
said the king.
Whom it shall please your grace to name, quoth the archbishop.
I will appoint Dr. Bellhouse for one, name you the other, said the king.
Meet for that purpose.
My chancellor, Dr. Cox, and Hussie, my registrar, said the archbishop,
are men expert to examine such troublesome matters.
Well, said the king, let there be a commission made forth, and out of hand get
you into Kent, and advertise me of your doings.
The commissioners came into Kent, and there they sat about three weeks to
bolt out who was the first occasion of this accusation, for thereof the king
would chiefly be advertised.
Every man shrunk in his horns, and no man would confess anything to the
purpose.
For Dr. Cox and Hussie, being friendly unto the papists, handled the matter so
that they would permit nothing material to come to light.
This thing being well perceived by one of the archbishop's servants, his secretary,
he wrote incontinently unto Dr. Buttes and Master Denny, declaring that if the king's
majesty did not send some other to assist my lord than those that then were there
with him, it were not possible that anything should come to light,
and therefore wished that Dr. Lee, or some other stout man that had been
exercised in the king's ecclesiastical affairs, might be sent to the archbishop.
Dr. Lee was sent for by the king, and appointed the archbishop to name a
dozen or sixteen of his officers and gentlemen, such as had discretion,
wit, and audacity, to whom he gave in commission from the king, to search the
purses, chests, and chambers of all those that were suspected to be of this
confederacy, both within the cathedral church and without.
Such letters or writings as they could find they should bring to the archbishop
and him.
Within four hours the whole conspiracy was made manifest.
Amongst others came to my lord's hands two letters, one of the suffragan of Dover,
and another of Dr. Barber, whom continually the archbishop retained as a
counsellor in the law.
These two men, being well promoted by the archbishop, he used ever in such
familiarity, that when the suffragan, being a pre-bend of Canterbury,
came to him, he always set him at his own mess, and the other never from his table,
as men in whom he had much delight and comfort, when time of care and pensiveness
chanced.
But that which they did was altogether counterfeit, and the devil was turned into
the angel of light, for they were both of this confederacy.
When my lord had gotten their letters into his hands, he called to him into his study
the said suffragan of Dover and Dr. Barber, saying, Come your ways with me,
for I must have your advice in a matter.
When they were with him in his study altogether, he said to them, You twain be
men in whom I have had much confidence and trust.
You must now give me some good counsel, for I am shamefully abused with one or
twain to whom I have showed all my secrets from time to time, and did trust them as
myself.
The matter is so now fallen out, that they not only have disclosed my
secrets, but also have taken upon them to accuse me of heresy, and are become
witnesses against me.
I require you, therefore, of your good advice, how I shall behave myself towards
them.
You are both my friends, and such as I always have used when I needed counsel.
What say you to the matter?
Mary, quoth Dr. Barber, Such villains and knaves, saving your honour, were worthy to
be hanged out of hand without any other law.
Hanging were too good, quoth the suffragan, and if there lacked one to do
execution, I would be hangman myself.
At these words the archbishop cast up his hands to heaven, and said, O Lord most
merciful God, whom may a man trust nowadays?
Was never man handled as I am?
But, O Lord, Thou hast evermore defended me.
I praise Thy holy name, therefore.
And with that he pulled out of his bosom the two letters, and said, Know ye these
letters, my masters?
With that they fell down upon their knees, and desired forgiveness, declaring how
they a year before were tempted to do the same, and so very lamentably, bewailing
their doings, besought His grace to pardon and forgive them.
Well, said the gentle archbishop, God make you both good men.
I never deserve this at your hands, but ask God forgiveness against whom you
have highly offended.
If such men as you are not to be trusted, what should I do alive?
I am brought to this point now that I fear my left hand will accuse my right hand.
And so he dismissed them both with gentle and comfortable words.
This was the last push of the pike that was inferred against the said archbishop
in King Henry VIII's days, for never after durst any man move matter against him.
Until the entering of King Edward, it seemed that Cranmer was scarcely yet
thoroughly persuaded in the right knowledge of the sacrament.
Shortly after, he, being confirmed by conference with Bishop Ridley,
took upon him the defense of that whole doctrine, to refute the error of the
papists, that men do eat the natural body of Christ.
King Edward, when he perceived that his death was at hand, and knowing that his
sister Mary was wholly wedded to popish religion, bequeathed the succession to the
Lady Jane, being niece to King Henry VIII, by consent of all the counsel and lawyers
of this realm.
To this testament of the kings, when all the nobles and judges had
subscribed, they sent for the archbishop and required him that he also would
subscribe.
But he said that it was otherwise in the testament of King Henry, and that he had
sworn to the succession of Mary as the next heir, by which oath he was bound.
He was judge of no man's conscience but his own, and as concerning subscription,
before he had spoken with the king himself, he utterly refused to do it.
The king said that the nobles and lawyers counseled him unto it, and with much ado
the archbishop subscribed.
Not long after, King Edward died, A.D.
1553, being almost sixteen years old.
It was commanded that the Lady Jane should be proclaimed queen, which thing much
misliked the common people.
Mary, shifting for herself, effsoons prevailed, came to London, and caused the
two fathers, the Duke of Northumberland and the Duke of Suffolk, to be executed.
After that the Lady Jane, in age tender and innocent from this crime, could by no
means be turned from the constancy of her faith, she, together with her husband,
was beheaded.
The archbishop of Canterbury, though he desired pardon, could obtain none,
insomuch that the queen would not once vouchsafe to see him, for the old grudge
against the archbishop for the divorcement of her mother remained hid in the bottom
of her heart.
Besides this divorce she remembered the state of religion changed, all which was
imputed to the archbishop, as the chief cause thereof.
While these things were in doing, a rumour was in all men's mouths,
that the archbishop, to curry favour with the queen, had promised to say a mass
after the old custom in the funeral of King Edward her brother, neither wanted
there some which reported that he had already said mass at Canterbury.
This rumour, thinking speedily to stay, Cranmer gave forth a writing of his
purgation.
This bill, lying openly in a window in his chamber, cometh in by chance Master
Scorry, Bishop of Chichester, who, after he had read the same, required of
the archbishop to have a copy.
By the occasion of Master Scorry lending it to some friend of his, there were
divers' copies taken out, and the thing published abroad among the common people,
insomuch that every scrivener's shop, almost, was occupied in copying out the
same.
Some of these copies coming to the commissioners, the matter was known,
and the archbishop commanded to appear.
Whereupon Dr. Cranmer appeared before the said commissioners.
A bishop of the Queen's Privy Council bringing in mention of the bill,
My Lord, said he, there is a bill put forth in your name, wherein you seem to be
aggrieved with setting up the Mass again.
We doubt not, but you are sorry that it is gone abroad.
To whom the archbishop answered, saying, I do not deny myself to be the
very author of that bill.
I had minded to have set it on Paul's church door, and on the doors of all the
churches in London, with mine own seal joined thereto.
When they saw the constantness of the man, they dismissed him.
Not long after, he was sent to the tower, and condemned of treason.
The Queen, when she could not honestly deny him his pardon, seeing all the rest
were discharged, released to him his action of treason, and accused him of
heresy, which liked the archbishop right well, and came to pass as he wished,
because the cause was not now his own, but Christ's, not the Queen's,
but the church's.
It was determined that he should be removed to Oxford, there to dispute with
the doctors and divines.
Although the Queen and the bishops had concluded before what should become of
him, it pleased them that the matter should be debated with arguments,
that under some honest show of disputation the murder of the man might be covered.
We now proceed to his final judgment, an order of condemnation, which was the
twelfth day of September, 1555, and eighteen days before the condemnation
of Bishop Ridley and Master Latimer.
This thing let us consider, how unjustly these three poor prisoned bishops were
handled, which when they were compelled to dispute, yet were not suffered to speak,
but at their adversary's appointment.
And if they began to make any preface, or to speak somewhat largely for
themselves, by and by they were commanded from the High Chair of the Master
Prolocutor to go to the matter.
If they prosecuted their arguments anything narrowly, straightway they heard,
Short arguments, Master Doctor, short arguments, Master Doctor.
And so, condemned, they carried the Archbishop to prison with a great number
of spearmen and billmen.
Cranmer was of stature mean, of complexion pure and somewhat sanguine, having no hair
upon his head at the time of his death, but a long beard, white and thick.
He was of the age of sixty-six when he was burnt, and yet, being a man sore broken in
studies, in all his time never used any spectacles.
After the disputations in Oxford between the doctors of both universities and the
three worthy bishops, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, they were judged to
be heretics, and committed to the Mayor and Sheriffs of Oxford.
But forasmuch as the sentence given against them was void in law, for at that
time the authority of the Pope was not yet received into the land, therefore was a
new commission sent from Rome, and a new process framed for the
conviction of these reverend and godly learned men.
At the coming down of the commissioners, which was upon Thursday, the twelfth of
September, 1555, in the church of St. Mary, and in the east end of the said
church at the high altar, was erected a solemn scaffold, ten foot high,
with cloth of state very richly and sumptuously adorned for Bishop Brooks,
the Pope's legate, apparelled in pontificals.
The seat was made that he might sit under the sacrament of the altar, and on the
right hand of the Pope's delegate, beneath him, sat Dr. Martin, and on the
left hand sat Dr. Storey, the King and Queen's commissioners, which were both
doctors of the civil law, and underneath them other doctors, with the Pope's
collector, and a rabblement of such other like.
The archbishop was sent for to come before them.
He came forth of the prison to the church of St. Mary, set forth with bills and
glaives, for fear he should start away, being clothed in a fair black gown,
with his hood on both shoulders, such as doctors of divinity in the
university used to wear, and in his hand a white staff.
After he did see them sit in their pontificals, he did not put oft his cap to
any of them, but stood still till that he was called.
And anon, one of the proctors for the Pope, called, Thomas, Archbishop of
Canterbury, appear here and make answer to that shall be laid to thy charge.
That is to say, for blasphemy, incontinency, and heresy, and make answer
here to the Bishop of Gloucester, representing the Pope's person.
Being brought more near unto the scaffold, and spying where the King and Queen's
Majesty's proctors were, putting off his cap, he, humbly bowing his knee to the
ground, made reference to the one, and after to the other.
That done, beholding the Bishop in the face, he put on his bonnet again,
making no manner of token of obedience towards him at all, whereat the Bishop,
being offended, said unto him, that it might beseem him right well,
weighing the authority he did represent, to do his duty unto him.
Whereunto Dr. Cranmer answered, that he had taken a solemn oath,
never to consent to the admitting of the Bishop of Rome's authority into this realm
of England again, that he meant by God's grace to keep it, and therefore would
commit nothing, either by sign or token, which might argue his consent to the
receiving of the same.
After they had received his answers to all their objections, they cited him to appear
at Rome within fourscore days, to make there his personal answers,
which he said, if the King and Queen would send him, he would be content to do.
Thence he was carried to prison again, where he remained, notwithstanding that he
was commanded to appear at Rome.
But the Pope, contrary to all reason and justice, sent his letter unto the King and
Queen to degrade and deprive him of his dignity, which thing he did not only
before the eighty days were ended, but before there were twenty days spent.
Upon the receipt of this sentence, definitive of the Pope, another session
was appointed for the Archbishop to appear the fourteenth day of February,
before certain commissioners directed down by the Queen, the chief whereof was the
Bishop of Ely, Dr. Thurlby.
With him was assigned Dr. Bonner, Bishop of London, which too, coming to
Oxford as the Pope's delegates, commanded the Archbishop to come before
them, in the choir of Christ's church before the high altar.
They first began, as the fashion is, to read their commission, giving them full
authority to proceed to deprivation and degradation of him, and so upon
excommunication to deliver him up to the secular power.
Bonner, who, by the space of many years, had borne, as it seemed, no great goodwill
towards him, and now rejoiced to see this day wherein he might triumph over him,
and take his pleasure at full, began to stretch out his eloquence,
making his oration to the assembly after this manner.
This is the man that hath ever despised the Pope's holiness, and now is to be
judged by him.
This is the man that hath pulled down so many churches, and now is come to be
judged in a church.
This is the man that contemned the blessed sacrament of the altar, and now is come to
be condemned before that blessed sacrament hanging over the altar.
This is the man that, like Lucifer, sat in the place of Christ upon an altar
to judge others, and now is come before an altar to be judged himself.
Bonner went on in his rhetorical repetition, beginning every sentence with,
This is the man, this is the man, till at length the bishop of Eli,
divers times, pulled him by the sleeve to make an end, and said to him afterward,
when they went to dinner, that he had broken promise with him, for he had
entreated him earnestly to use the archbishop with reverence.
This done, they began to bustle toward his degrading, and first to take from him his
crozier staff out of his hands, which he held fast and refused to deliver,
and withal, imitating the example of Martin Luther, pulled an appeal out of his
left sleeve under the wrist, which he there and then delivered unto them,
saying, I appeal to the next general counsel.
This appeal being put up to Thurlby the bishop of Eli, he said, My lord,
our commission is to against you.
When they came to take off his pole, which is a solemn vesture of an
archbishop, he said, Which of you hath a pole, to take off my pole?
which imported as much as they, being his inferiors, could not disgrade
him.
Whereunto one of them said, In that they were but bishops, they were his inferiors,
and not competent judges, but being the pope's delegates, they might take his
pole.
And so proceeding took everything in order from him, as it was put on.
Then a barber clipped his hair round about, and the bishop scraped the tops of
his fingers where he had been anointed, wherein Bishop Bonner behaved himself as
roughly and unmannerly as the other bishop was to him soft and gentle.
Last of all, they stripped him out of his gown into his jacket, and put upon him a
poor yeoman beetle's gown, full bare and nearly worn, and as evil-favouredly made
as one might lightly see, and a townsman's cap on his head, and so delivered him to
the secular power.
After this pageant of degradation then spake Lord Bonner, saying to him,
Now are ye no lord any more.
And thus with great compassion of every man was he carried to prison.
There followed him a gentleman of Gloucestershire, who asked him if he would
drink.
The archbishop answered, saying, That if he had a piece of salt fish,
he had better will to eat.
For he had been that day somewhat troubled, and had eaten little.
But now that it is past, my heart, said he, is well quieted.
Whereupon the gentleman gave money to the bailiffs that stood by, and said,
That if they were good men, they would bestow it on him, for my lord of
Canterbury had not one penny in his purse to help him.
While the archbishop was thus in endurance, whom they had now kept in
prison almost the space of three years, the doctors and divines of Oxford busied
themselves all that ever they could to have him recant.
And to the intent they might win him easily, they had him to the dean's house
of Christ's church, where he lacked no delicate fare, played at the bowls,
had his pleasure for walking, and all other things that might bring him from
Christ.
They perceived what a great wound they should receive if the archbishop stood
steadfast, and again how great profit they should get if he, as the principal
standard-bearer, should be overthrown.
By reason whereof the wily papists flocked about him with threatening, flattering,
entreating, and promising, they put him in hope that he should not only have his
life, but also be restored to his ancient dignity, that there should be nothing in
the realm that the queen would not easily grant him whether he would have riches or
dignity.
But if he refused, there was no hope of health and pardon, for the queen was
purposed that she would have Cranmer a Catholic, or else no Cranmer at all.
At last the archbishop, being overcome, gave his hand.
The doctors and prelates, without delay, caused this recantation to be imprinted,
and set abroad in all men's hands.
All this while Cranmer was in uncertain assurance of his life, although the same
was faithfully promised to him by the doctors.
The queen, having now gotten a time to revenge her old grief, received his
recantation very gladly, but of her purpose to to death she would nothing
relent.
Now was Cranmer's cause in a miserable taking, who neither inwardly had any
quietness in his own conscience, nor yet outwardly any help in his
adversaries.
On the one side was praise, on the other side scorn, on both sides danger,
so that neither he could die honestly, nor yet unhonestly live.
The queen, taking secret counsel how to dispatch Cranmer out of the way,
who looked for nothing less than death, appointed Dr. Cole, and secretly gave him
in commandment that against the 21st of March he should prepare a funeral sermon
for Cranmer's burning.
Soon after, the Lord Williams of Thames, the Lord Chandos, Sir Thomas Bridges,
and Sir John Brown, with other worshipful men and justices, were commanded in the
queen's name to be at Oxford at the same day, with their servants and retinue,
lest Cranmer's death should raise any tumult.
Cole returned to Oxford, ready to play his part, who, the day before the execution,
came into the prison to Cranmer, to try whether he abode in the Catholic
faith wherein he had left him.
To whom Cranmer answered that by God's grace he would daily be more confirmed in
the Catholic faith.
Cole, giving no signification as yet of his death that was prepared.
In the morning appointed for Cranmer's execution, the said Cole, coming to him,
asked if he had any money, to whom, when he answered that he had none,
he delivered fifteen crowns to give to the poor.
And so, exalting him to constancy in faith, departed.
The archbishop began to surmise what they went about.
Then, because the day was not far past, and the lords and knights that were looked
for were not yet come, there came to him the Spanish friar, witness of his
recantation, bringing a paper with articles, which Cranmer should openly
profess in his recantation before the people, earnestly desiring him that he
would write the said instrument with his own hand, and sign it with his name,
which, when he had done, the said friar desired that he would write another copy
thereof, which should remain with him, and that he did also.
The archbishop, being not ignorant, whereunto their secret devices tended,
and thinking that the time was at hand in which he could no longer dissemble the
profession of his faith with Christ's people, put secretly in his bosom his
prayer, with his exhortation written, in another paper, which he minded to
recite to the people, before he should make the last profession of his faith,
fearing lest, if they had heard the confession of his faith first,
they would not afterward have suffered him to exhort the people.
Soon after, about nine of the clock, the Lord Williams, Sir Thomas Bridges,
Sir John Brown, and the other justices, with certain other noblemen that were sent
of the Queen's Council, came to Oxford with a great train of waiting men.
Also of the other multitude on every side was made a great concourse and greater
expectation.
They that were of the Pope's side were in great hope that day to hear something of
Cranmer that should establish the vanity of their opinion.
The other part could not yet doubt that he, who by continual study and labor for
so many years had set forth the doctrine of the gospel, either would or could now,
in the last act of his life, forsake his part.
Cranmer at length cometh from the prison of Boccato unto St. Mary's Church in this
order.
The mayor went before, next him the alderman.
After them was Cranmer brought between two friars, who, mumbling certain psalms,
answered one another until they came to the church door.
And then there began the song of Simeon, nunc dimittis.
Entering into the church, the friars brought him to his standing, and there
left him.
There was a stage set over against the pulpit, of a mean height from the ground,
where Cranmer had his standing, waiting until Cole made him ready to his
sermon.
The lamentable case and sight of that man gave a sorrowful spectacle to all
Christian eyes that beheld him.
He, that late, was archbishop, metropolitan, and primate of England,
and the king's privy counselor, being now in a bare and ragged gown,
and ill-favoredly clothed, with an old square cap, exposed to the contempt of all
men, did admonish men, not only of his own calamity, but also of their state and
fortune.
For who would not pity his case, and bewail his fortune, and might not fear
his own chance, to see such a prelate, so grave a counselor, and of so
long-continued honor, after so many dignities, in his old years to be deprived
of his estate, from such fresh ornaments, to descend to such vile and ragged
apparel, adjudged to die, and in so painful a death, to end his life?
When he had stood a good space upon the stage, turning to a pillar adjoining,
he lifted up his hands to heaven, and prayed unto God, till at the length
Dr. Cole, coming into the pulpit, began his sermon.
The latter part he converted to the archbishop, whom he comforted and
encouraged to take his death well, by the example of the three children,
to whom God made the flame to seem like a pleasant dew, adding also the patience of
St. Lawrence on the fire, assuring him that God, to such as die in his faith,
either would abate the fury of the flame, or give strength to abide it.
With what great grief of mind Cranmer stood hearing his sermon, the outward
shows of his body and countenance did better express, than any man can declare.
One, while lifting up his hands and eyes unto heaven, and then again for shame
letting them down to the earth.
A man might have seen the living image of perfect sorrow in him expressed.
More than twenty times the tears gushed out abundantly, dropping down from his
fatherly face.
Pity moved all men's hearts that beheld so heavy a countenance.
Cole, after he had ended his sermon, called back the people that were ready to
depart to prayers.
Brethren, said he, lest any man should doubt of this man's earnest conversion,
you shall hear him speak before you.
Therefore I pray you, Master Cranmer, openly express the true profession of your
faith, that all men may understand that you are a Catholic indeed.
I will do it, said the archbishop, and that with a good will, who began to
speak thus unto the people.
For as much as I am come to the end of my life, whereupon hangeth all my life to
come, either to live with my Master Christ for ever in joy, or else to be in pain for
ever with wicked devils in hell.
And I see before mine eyes presently either heaven ready to receive me,
or else hell ready to swallow me up.
I shall therefore declare unto you my very faith, without any colour or
dissimulation, for now is no time to dissemble, whatsoever I have said or
written in time past.
I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.
And I believe every word and sentence taught by our Saviour Jesus Christ,
His apostles and prophets, in the New and Old Testament.
And now I come to the great thing which so much troubleth my conscience, more than
any thing that ever I did or said in my whole life, and that is the setting abroad
of a writing contrary to the truth, which now, here, I renounce and refuse,
as things written with my hand, contrary to the truth which I thought in
my heart, and written for fear of death, and to save my life if it might be.
And that is all such bills and papers which I have written or signed with my
hand since my degradation, wherein I have written many things untrue.
And forasmuch as my hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, my hand
shall first be punished therefore.
For, may I come to the fire, it shall be first burned.
And as for the pope, I refuse him as Christ's enemy and antichrist with all his
false doctrine.
Here the standers by, amazed, did look one upon another whose expectation he had so
notably deceived.
Some began to admonish him of his recantation and to accuse him of
falsehood.
It was a world to see the doctors beguiled of so great a hope.
I think there was never cruelty more notably or better in time deluded,
for they looked for a glorious victory and a perpetual triumph by this man's
retractation.
As soon as they heard these things, they began to let down their ears to rage,
fret, and fume, insomuch the more because they could not revenge their grief,
for they could now no longer threaten or hurt him, for the most miserable man in
the world can die but once.
And when he began to speak more of the sacrament and of the papacy, some of them
began to cry out, yelp and bawl, and especially Cole cried out upon him,
Stop the heretic's mouth and take him away.
And then, being pulled down from the stage, Cranmer was led to the fire,
accompanied with those friars, vexing, troubling, and threatening him
most cruelly, to whom he answered nothing, but directed all his talk to the people.
When he came to the place where the holy bishops and martyrs of God, Hugh Latimer
and Nicholas Ridley, were burnt before him, kneeling down he prayed to God,
and not long, tarrying in his prayers, putting off his garments to his shirt,
he prepared himself to death.
His shirt was made long down to his feet.
His feet were bare, likewise his head.
His beard was long and thick, covering his face with marvellous gravity.
Then the Spanish friars, John and Richard, began to exhort him and play their parts
with him afresh, but with vain and lost labour.
Cranmer, with steadfast purpose, abiding in the profession of his doctrine,
gave his hand to certain old men and others that stood by, bidding them
farewell.
And when he had thought to have done so likewise to Eli, the said Eli drew back
his hand, and refused, saying, It was not lawful to salute heretics,
especially such a one as falsely returned unto the opinions that he had forsworn.
And if he had known before that he would have done so, he would never have used his
company so familiarly.
And he chided those sergeants and citizens which had not refused to give Cranmer
their hands.
This Eli was a priest lately made, and student in divinity, being then one of
the fellows of Brasenose.
Then was an iron chain tied about Cranmer.
When they perceived him to be more steadfast than that he could be moved from
his sentence, they commanded the fire to be set unto him.
And when the wood was kindled, and the fire began to burn near him,
stretching out his arm, he put his right hand into the flame, which he held so
steadfast and immovable, saving that once with the same hand he wiped his face,
that all men might see his hand burned before his body was touched.
His body did abide the burning with such steadfastness that he seemed to move no
more than the stake to which he was bound.
His eyes were lifted up into heaven, and he repeated, His unworthy right hand.
So long as his voice would suffer him, and using often the words of Stephen,
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit, in the greatness of the flame he gave up
the ghost.