In 1529, More had been made lord high chancellor of England. The new dignitary had been sounded by the king concerning the matrimonial cause. Although Sir Thomas excused himself from giving an opinion, on the plea that he was no divine, he was evidently expected ultimately to concur in forwarding the accomplishment of the king's wishes. But More was too candid and unworldly to adopt a policy of self-interest. He had foreseen the danger of his elevation, and in his opening speech had alluded to the sword of Damocles. One evening he had confided to Roper that he would gladly be tied up in a sack, and thrown into the Thames, if only there could be peace on earth, unity in the church, and a good termination of the divorce question. At last the decisive moment came, and Henry requested More to take the proposed divorce into consideration. The chancellor, falling on his knees, lamented his inability to serve the king in this matter with a safe conscience; he had, he said, borne in mind the words uttered by his majesty on More's first entering office, namely, first to look unto God, and after God unto the king. Henry, concealing his vexation, expressed a hope that More could serve him in other instances.
Then Cranmer broached his plan, and the universities began to dust folios and hold grave deliberations on the matrimonial cause. Not only Oxford and Cambridge, but Paris, Anjou, Bruges, Orleans, Padua, Toulouse, summoned their doctors, regents, and canons, to weigh and consider the important question. There was "much turning and searching of bookes;" divine law, civil law, were carefully discussed and examined. "There was in the realme much preching, one lerned man holding against another," (Holinshed.) Foreseeing the impending harvest of determinations and arbitraments, More perceived that the king would marry Anne Boleyn at any cost. In May, 1532, he tendered his resignation. Henry accepted it in an affable manner, and a weight fell from More's heart—for the nonce he gave himself up to his harmless gaiety. Lady More lectured him severely for not having taken care of his pecuniary interests when in office, and for relinquishing place through a selfish love of ease, without thinking of the children. "Tilly vally, what will you do, Mr. More?" cried Lady Alice; "will you sit and make goslings in the ashes? it is better to rule than to be ruled." More, quietly turning to his daughters, asked whether they did not see "that her nose standeth somewhat awry."
With calm dignity he proceeded to reduce his establishment; sent his jester to the lord mayor; and consulted with his children on the best means of avoiding the breaking up of the family. His income was little more than £100 a year; Lady More must have been hard up for pin money wherewith to buy gowns, coifs, and stomachers. He wrote to Erasmus that he had at last obtained freedom from public business; and he had his epitaph inscribed in the parish church of Chelsea. He was beginning to have a foreboding of approaching danger; whether from the declining state of his health—he had been liable, through much writing, to an "ache" in his breast—or his acquaintance with the king's character, At the height of his friendship with the monarch, when congratulated by Roper on the marks of favor he was receiving, More had mournfully answered that if Henry, by beheading him, could get one castle more in France, he would not scruple to do so. During several nights, it is said, he had been sleepless under the influence of a strange, haunting anticipation; he prayed for strength, his delicate frame being averse to bodily pain—or, as he said, "his flesh could not endure a fillip."
In the mean while the king married Anne Boleyn; Cheapside ran with claret. Sir Thomas received an order to attend the procession, with twenty pounds to buy a gown; but he declined to be present. The king's displeasure began to arise. More was much esteemed, had considerable influence, and his prolonged opposition was anything but agreeable to Henry. More's enemies began to cast about for a ground of accusation against him. The adventure of the Maid of Kent furnished them with an opportunity. Elizabeth Barton was a girl of cataleptic temperament, who had visions and uttered prophecies. Unfortunately for herself and others, she meddled with politics and inveighed against the king. More complained to Cromwell that he had been accused of communicating with that "nun of Canterbury;" whereas he had written to her, "Good madam, I will hear nothing of other men's matters; and least of all of any matter of princes or of the realm." The poor "good madam" was executed at "Tiburne." More's name had been included in the act of attainder, and a royal commission was appointed to examine him. It soon became apparent that the Maid of Kent's case had little to do with this prosecution of Sir T. More, and that the real question at issue was, that he should remember the king's former favors and give his consent to that divorce which the hierarchy, parliament, and the universities had approved. More answered, meekly but firmly, that he had hoped to hear no more of that matter. In the Maid of Kent affair, his innocence was so evident that Henry was obliged to yield to the pressure of the commissioners, who besought him on their knees to dismiss More from the accusation. But More knew this was only a reprieve. The commissioners had assured the king that they would in time find another opportunity that would serve the royal turn better. "Quod differtur non aufertur," answered More, when his "Megg" congratulated him on the bill being withdrawn. There had been no chance of getting a verdict against him. But a "meet matter" for his enemies to act upon was not long in supervening. The succession to the crown for the issue of the new marriage, and the king's ecclesiastical supremacy, became law. An oath of allegiance was required. Sir T. More and Bishop Fisher were recusants. More could not be brought to imply that the marriage with Catherine had been illegal. His innate nobleness made him very little anxious as to the consequences of his opposition. The Duke of Norfolk gave him advice one day. "By the mass, Mr. More, it is perilous striving with princes; therefore I would wish you somewhat to incline to the king's pleasure, for, Mr. More, 'indignatio principis mors est." We can imagine the sweet smile with which More answered, "Is that all, my lord? then in good faith the difference between your grace and me is but this, that I shall die to-day and you to-morrow."
He was too brave and merry not to despise death; but, the day he was summoned to Lambeth, he was afraid to face his family on his departure. Whenever he went down the river, they used to accompany him to the boat and be dismissed with kisses; but that morning he did not allow them to follow him. With Roper he took boat to Lambeth. There the vicar of Croydon, and many London clergy were sworn; after which proceeding, the reverend the vicar, "Either for gladness or dryness, or else that it might be seen 'quod ille notus erat pontifici,' went to my lord's buttery-bar and called for drink, and drank 'valde familiariter.'" (Sir T. More's Letters.) Sancho is ever near Quixote. Without blaming those who took the oath, More maintained that his conscience would not be satisfied if he allowed himself to be sworn. In vain did "my lord of Westminster" charge him to "change" his conscience, because the great council of the realm had determined on acknowledging the points at issue. More said his opinion was backed by the general council of Christendom. He and Roper were committed to the Tower, probably through the influence of Queen Anne, who was herself "behedded" a few years afterward.
And now his greatness showed itself in adversity, as it had before brightened his prosperity. He had something worse than a vultus instantis tyranni to endure, namely, the expostulations of his wife. Having obtained leave to visit him, she gave him a lecture in her positivistic philosophy: "I marvel that you, who hitherto have been taken for a wise man, will now so play the fool to lie here in this close, filthy prison, and be content thus to be shut up among mice and rats, when you might be abroad at your liberty, and with the favour and good-will both of the king and his council, if you would but do as all the bishops and best learned of this realme have done; and seeing you have at Chelsea a right fair house, your library, your gallery, garden, orchard, and all other necessaries so handsome about you, where you might, in the company of me, your wife, your children, and household, be merry, I muse what a God's name you mean here still thus fondly to tarry." His daughter Margaret, however, proved a better comfort to him. She, too, attempted to persuade him to take the oath; he playfully compared her to Eve, thinking more of his body than his soul. She quoted all the instances of great doctors who had taken the oath. At last she said that, like Cressida in Chaucer, she was at her wit's end; what could she say more but that his jester had said, "Why does not he take the oath? I have done so," and that she herself had taken it? More than a year did he stay in that prison, to the detriment of his health. He was then tried and found guilty. On his return from the trial, when he landed at the Tower-wharf, his poor daughter rushed from the crowd and kissed him frantically several times. One more letter did he write to her with a coal. As he had once written, pecks of "cole" would not have sufficed to express all his love for her. He expressed himself much indebted to the king, who was sending him out of this wretched world. He wanted to go on the scaffold in his best clothes, and sent the executioner a piece of gold. On the platform he evinced that mixture of gayety and piety which was characteristic of him. The structure being somewhat cranky, "I pray see me up safe," he said, "and for my coming down, let me shift for myself." He then knelt down and said a psalm. He then addressed the executioner: "Thou will do me this day a greater benefit than ever any mortal man can be able to give me. Pluck up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thy office. My neck is very short; take heed, therefore, that thou strike not awry, for saving thy honesty." When about to lay his head on the block, he craved time to remove his beard, "as that had never committed treason." "So, with great alacrity and spiritual joy, he received the fatal blow of the axe, which, no sooner had severed the head from the body, but his soul was carried by angels into everlasting glory."
Margaret bought his head, enclosed it in a leaden box, and it was afterward buried with her at Canterbury. In the nineteenth century, the head was found, with the metal covering corroded away in front. (See Gentleman's Magazine, 1837.)
Dr. Lark, rector of Chelsea, and More's friend, was so influenced by More's death that he soon after denied the supremacy, and was executed. More's death made a deep impression on men's minds throughout Europe. When the report of the execution reached the king, he looked steadfastly on Anne, and said, "Thou art the cause of this man's death," and soon after retired in sadness to his chamber. Scarcely, however, can readers of history deplore a death which brought out the beauty of such a character.