Thomas More is rightly regarded as a man in whom the spirit burned brighter and clearer than in most of his contemporaries; and yet his matrimonial relations savour more of convenience or even of business than of affection.  For his first wife, we are told—­and there is no reason to doubt the story—­, his fancy had lighted on an Essex girl, the daughter of a country-gentleman; but on visiting her at home he found that she had an elder sister not yet married.  Feeling that to have her younger sister married first would be a grief to the elder, he ‘inclined his affection’ towards her and made her his wife in place of his first choice.  The interpretation that when he saw the elder sister, he preferred her before the other, might be probable to-day:  to apply it to the story of More would be a case of that commonest of ‘vulgar errors’ in history,—­judging the past by the ideas of the present.  For five or six years More lived with his girl-bride, whose country training and unformed mind caused much trouble and difficulty to them both.  The unequal relation between them appears in a story told by Erasmus; that More delighted her once by bringing home a present of sham jewels, and apparently did not think it necessary to undeceive her about them.  Happiness came in time; but after bearing him four children, she died.  Within a month the widower came to his father-confessor by night and obtained leave to be married next morning.  His new wife was a middle-aged lady of no charms—­indeed she seems to have been a regular shrew—­who served him as a capable housekeeper and looked after his children while they were young.  But she never engaged his affections; and it was his eldest daughter, Margaret, who became the chosen partner of his joys and sorrows in later years.

The habitual remarriage of widows proceeded in part from the desire, or even need, for a husband’s protection; and in consequence it was not only the young who were open to men’s addresses.  Beatus Rhenanus, writing to a servant-pupil who had recently left him to launch forth into the world, counsels him to marry, if possible, a rich and elderly widow; in order that in a few years by her death he may find himself equipped with an ample capital for his real start in life.  Such advice from a man like Beatus can only have been in jest:  but if there had not been some reality of actual practice, the jest would have fallen flat.  Indeed Beatus goes on to indicate that this course had been taken by Reuchlin; whose elderly consort was, however, disobliging enough to live for many years.  The ill-success attending Oporinus’ essay in this direction we have already seen.

But it was not so with all.  Not infrequently Erasmus deplores the imprudence of the young men who had left his service, in allowing themselves to fall in love and marry without securing proper dowries with their young brides.  He was indeed, considering his natural shrewdness, singularly ignorant of women; as his advice to youthful husbands sometimes shows.  To one, for example, who had written to announce that before long he hoped to become a father, he replies with congratulations, and then says:  ’Now that your wife no longer needs your care, you will be able to betake yourself to a university and finish your studies’—­advice which we may surely suppose was not taken.