His intended measures were approaching maturity, when all Europe was startled by the news that Rome had been stormed by the Imperial army, that the pope was imprisoned, the churches pillaged, the cardinals insulted, and all holiest things polluted and profaned.  A spectator, judging only by outward symptoms, would have seen at that strange crisis in Charles V. the worst patron of heresy, and the most dangerous enemy of the Holy See; while the indignation with which the news of these outrages was received at the English court, would have taught him to look on Henry as the one sovereign in Europe on whom that See might calculate most surely for support in its hour of danger.  If he could have pierced below the surface, he would have found that the pope’s best friend was the prince who held him prisoner; that Henry was but doubtfully acquiescing in the policy of an unpopular minister; and that the English nation would have looked on with stoical resignation if pope and papacy had been wrecked together.  They were not inclined to heresy; but the ecclesiastical system was not the catholic faith; and this system, ruined by prosperity, was fast pressing its excesses to the extreme limit, beyond which it could not be endured.  Wolsey talked of reformation, but delayed its coming; and in the mean time, the persons to be reformed showed no fear that it would come at all.  The monasteries grew worse and worse.  The people were taught only what they could teach themselves.  The consistory courts became more oppressive.  Pluralities multiplied, and non-residence and profligacy.  Favoured parish clergy held as many as eight benefices.[96] Bishops accumulated sees, and, unable to attend to all, attended to none.  Wolsey himself, the church reformer (so little did he really know what a reformation meant), was at once Archbishop of York, Bishop of Winchester, of Bath, and of Durham, and Abbot of St. Alban’s.  In Latimer’s opinion, even twenty years later, and after no little reform in such matters, there was but one bishop in all England who was ever at his work and ever in his diocese.  “I would ask a strange question,” he said, in an audacious sermon at Paul’s Cross, “Who is the most diligent bishop and prelate in all England, that passeth all the rest in doing of his office?[97] I can tell, for I know him who it is; I know him well.  But now I think I see you listening and hearkening that I should name him.  There is one that passeth all the others, and is the most diligent prelate and preacher in all England.  And will ye know who it is?  I will tell you.  It is the devil.  Among all the pack of them that have cure, the devil shall go for my money, for he applieth his business.  Therefore, ye unpreaching prelates, learn of the devil to be diligent in your office.  If ye will not learn of God, for shame learn of the devil."[98]

Under such circumstances, we need not be surprised to find the clergy sunk low in the respect of the English people.  Sternly intolerant of each other’s faults, the laity were not likely to be indulgent to the vices of men who ought to have set an example of purity; and from time to time, during the first quarter of the century, there were explosions of temper which might have served as a warning if any sense or judgment had been left to profit by it.