It is quite evident that the king's purpose to destroy the whole
monastic institution was partly the result of the determined resistance
which the monks offered to his authority. The contest between the king
and the monks was exceedingly fierce and bloody. Many good men lost
their lives and many innocent persons suffered grievously. Perhaps the
most pathetic incident in the sanguinary struggle between the king and
the monks was the tragic fall of the Charterhouse of London. The facts
are given at length by Froude, in his “History of England,” who bases
his account on the narrative of Maurice Channey, one of the monks who
escaped death by yielding to the king. The unhappy monk confesses that
he was a Judas among the apostles, and in a touching account of the
ruin that came upon his monastic retreat he praises the boldness and
fidelity of his companions, who preferred death to what seemed to them
dishonor.
The pages of Channey are filled with the most improbable stories of
miracles, but his charming picture of the cloister life of the
Carthusians is doubtless true to reality. The Carthusian fathers were
the best fruit of monasticism in England. To a higher degree than any
of the other monastic orders they maintained a good discipline and
preserved the spirit of their founders. “A thousand years of the
world's history had rolled by,” says Froude, “and these lonely islands
of prayer had remained still anchored in the stream; the strands of the
ropes which held them, wearing now to a thread, and very near their
last parting, but still unbroken.” In view of the undisputed purity and
fearlessness of these noble monks, a recital of their woes will place
the case for the monastic institution in the most favorable light.
Channey says the year 1533 was ushered in with signs,—the end of
the world was nigh. Yes, the monk's world was drawing to a close; the
moon, for him, was turning into blood, and the stars falling from
heaven.
More and Fisher were in the Tower. The former's splendid talents and
noble character still swayed the people. It was no time for trifling;
the Carthusian fathers must take the oath of allegiance or perish. So
one morning the royal commissioners appeared before the monastery door
of the Charterhouse to demand submission. Prior Houghton answered them:
“I know nothing of the matter mentioned; I am unacquainted with the
world without; my office is to minister to God, and to save poor souls
from Satan.” He was committed to the Tower for one month. Then Dr.
Bonner persuaded the prior to sign with “certain reservations.” He was
released and went back to his cloister-cell to weep. Calling his monks
together he said he was sorry; it looked like deceit, but he desired to
save his brethren and their order. The commissioners returned; the
monks were under suspicion; the reservations were disliked, and they
must sign without conditions. In great consternation the prior
assembled the monks. All present cried out: “Let us die together in our
integrity, and heaven and earth shall witness for us how unjustly we
are cut off.” Prior Houghton conceived a generous idea. “If it depends
on me alone; if my oath will suffice for the house, I will throw myself
on the mercy of God; I will make myself anathema, and to preserve you
from these dangers, I will consent to the king's will.” Thus did the
noble old man consent to go into heaven with a lie on his conscience,
hoping to escape by the mercy of God, because he sought to save the
lives of his brethren. But all this was of no avail; Cromwell had
determined that this monastery must fall, and fall it did. The monks
prepared for their end calmly and nobly; beginning with the oldest
brother, they knelt before each other and begged forgiveness for all
unkindness and offence. “Not less deserving,” says Froude, “the
everlasting remembrances of mankind, than those three hundred, who, in
the summer morning, sate combing their golden hair in the passes of
Thermopylae.” But rebellion was blazing in Ireland, and the enemies of
the king were praying and plotting for his ruin. These monks, with More
and Fisher, were an inspiration to the enemies of liberty and the
kingdom. Catholic Europe crouched like a tiger ready to spring on her
prostrate foe. It is sad, but these recluses, praying for the pope,
instilling a love for the papacy in the confessional, these honest and
conscientious but dangerous men must be shorn of their power to
encourage rebels. There was a farce of a trial. Houghton was brought to
the scaffold and died protesting his innocence. His arm was cut off and
hung over the archway of the Charterhouse, as other arms and heads were
hideously hanging over many a monastic gate in Merry England. Nine of
the monks died of prison fever, and others were banished. The king's
court went into mourning, and Henry knotted his beard and henceforth
would be no more shaven—eloquent evidence to the world that whatever
motive dominated the king's heart, these bloody deeds were unpleasantly
disturbing. Certainly such a spectacle as that of a monk's arm nailed
to a monastery was never seen by Englishmen before.
The Charterhouse fell, let it be carefully noted, because the monks
could not and would not acknowledge the king's supremacy, and not
because the monks were immoral. Some spies in Cromwell's service
offered to, bring in evidence against six of these monks of “laziness
and immorality.” Cromwell indignantly refused the proposal, saying, “He
would not hear the accusation; that it was false, wilfully so.”
The news of these proceedings, and of the beheading of More and
Fisher, awakened the most violent rage throughout Catholic Europe.
Henry was denounced as the Nero of his times. Paul III. immediately
excommunicated the king, dissolved all leagues between Henry and the
Catholic princes, and gave his kingdom to any invader. All Catholic
subjects were ordered to take up arms against him. Although these
censures were passed, the pope decided to defer their publication,
hoping for a peaceful settlement. But Henry knew, and the Catholic
princes of Europe knew, that the blow might fall at any time. He had to
make up his mind to go further or to yield unconditionally to the pope.
The world soon discovered the temper of the enraged and stubborn
monarch. He might vacillate on speculative questions, but there were no
tokens of feeble hesitancy in his dealings with Rome. The hour of doom
for the monasteries had struck.
Having thus glanced at the character of Henry VIII., the prime mover
in the attack upon the monasteries, and having surveyed some of the
events leading up to their fall, we are now prepared to consider the
actual work of suppression, which will be described under the following
heads: First, The royal commissioners and their methods of
investigation; Second, The commissioners' report on the condition of
affairs; Third, The action of Parliament; Fourth, The effect of the
suppression upon the people; and Fifth, The use Henry made of the
monastic possessions. These matters having been set forth, it will then
be in order to inquire into the justification, real or alleged, of the
suppression.